Chapter 116: Report To Lycanthria
An emergency council meeting had been called at the early hours of the day. The elders of Lycanthria stood in small groups, their low, urgent whispers creating a dull hum that echoed in the vaulted space. Some had their arms folded. Others paced. The air felt tense.
The heavy doors swung open. Aveloria walked forward without hesitation. She wore a simple, grey gown, and her hair was hastily braided. Galen was directly behind her, his expression alert and assessing, and Lucien followed at her right, watchful. Theron walked at her left; his usual relaxed posture was gone, replaced by a soldier’s readiness.
The whispering stopped. The silence was sudden and heavy. The elders bowed their heads slightly. The four of them moved to the center of the room. Her mates took positions slightly behind her.
Aveloria had received the news at the temple just an hour earlier. Emberspire was gone.
Already present, off to one side were Captain Thalrik and five of his soldiers. Their travel-stained cloaks, dusty armies, and tired eyes were evident. Thalrik was a solid man, grizzled and permanently squinting. He stood at attention, but his hands were clenched at his sides.
Aveloria looked directly at Thalrik. "Captain Thalrik, you were at Emberspire to collect the Royal tribute. Tell us what happened to Emberspire." Aveloria said. Her voice was clear.
Thalrik stepped forward and bowed shortly. "Your Majesty," His voice was steady. "When we arrived at Emberspire, they were preparing for their festival of initiation. Alpha Faelan received us. The tribute was prepared. We were prepared to depart at dawn after the initiation." He paused briefly before continuing. "But I requested we travel that night together with the merchant caravan from SilverVale cause it would be safer to travel in great numbers. When Lyric, someone close to the Alpha, said it was acceptable, I did not see a need to disturb Alpha Faelan for permission on a matter of travel logistics anymore."
He cleared his throat. "We were already deep into the forest when one of our scouts noticed smoke rising from the horizon of Emberspire. We thought little of it cause one of the merchants who claimed to be from Emberspire originally said the Festival of Initiation often involved large bonfires."
A few elders exchanged glances.
"How far were you?" one elder asked.
"Far enough that we could not see the settlement anymore," Thalrik answered.
Aveloria watched him closely. There was a murmur in the hall.
"But by midday the following day, as we continued our journey, we found a young man lying unconscious near a clearing. The merchant recognized his clothing. It was from Emberspire, the kind worn by newly initiated pack members. When he regained consciousness, he said the pack was destroyed. He said he ran. So the attack must have happened after we left."
Aveloria lifted her hand, stopping him. Her question cut through his narrative. "Is this young man here?"
Thalrik nodded. "Yes, Your Majesty."
"Bring him in. Let’s hear from him."
Thalrik gestured. Two soldiers left the hall. The silence returned; no one moved. The elders watched the door.
The doors opened several moments later. The soldiers led a young man inside. He was thin and tall. His short brown hair was unkempt. His clothes were slightly torn and dirt-streaked. He kept his head bowed so low that his chin almost touched his chest. His entire body was rigid, but his fingers plucked nervously at the seams of his dirty clothes. He did not look up.
The soldiers guided him to the center of the hall.
"His name is Astrid. The only survivor we have found." Thalrik said quietly.
At the sound of Thalrik’s words, he flinched. Then, suddenly, Astrid dropped to his knees. A ragged sound escaped from him. Tears streamed down his face freely.
"I have sinned," he said, his voice broken and choked with tears. "I have sinned against the Moon Goddess. Against my people. I am a coward! I should have died with them! I should have died!" Astrid’s shoulders shook as he wailed louder.
The raw pain he was feeling was evident in his expression. Aveloria stepped forward immediately. She walked to him, crouched in front of him, and placed her hand on his shoulder. Astrid trembled violently under her touch.
"Astrid, look at me." She said, her voice was calm.
Slowly, Astrid raised his head. His eyes were red and swollen. He avoided looking around the hall. He looked only at her.
"Tell me what happened to your pack," Aveloria said.
Astrid swallowed, sniffing back tears. His words came in bursts, between gasps. "I was...I was alone at the old farmhouse after the girl I cared for told me she had found her mate. I did not want to stay near the festival anymore. I just wanted to be alone." He paused, wiped his nose with his sleeve. "I heard noises. Shouting. At first, I thought it was the celebration. Maybe more singing because the festival of initiation involved loud chants, bonfires, and shouting." His voice trembled.
The hall remained completely still.
Astrid continued. "But then it changed. But the screams did not stop. They sounded...wrong." He pressed his hands into the floor. "I looked out through the windows, and I saw soldiers. They were rounding people up and pushing the young ones into lines. The older ones were killed. They set roofs on fire."
Aveloria kept her gaze steady on his. "What did the soldiers look like? Their war colors or emblems or armor?"
Astrid closed his eyes briefly. "They didn’t have color. They wore mismatched armors, different pieces." He opened his eyes again. "But their commander was clear. He kept shouting orders."
"What orders?" Aveloria asked.
"Take the young wolves alive. Kill anyone who resists!" He mimicked the cold command, his voice cracking.
The words echoed heavily in the chamber.
Aveloria did not look away from him. "Was there anything else?"
Then Astrid’s eyes widened, the memory hitting him. "There were other things. Not soldiers alone."
"Yes? What other things?" Aveloria mumbled.
A low murmur ripples through the elders.
"Creatures. There were strange creatures with them." Astrid breathed, the word full of terror. "I’ve never...never seen anything like that. They stood taller than normal wolves, matted fur, distorted faces, elongated, dried claws...they moved wrong. I couldn’t see them properly because it was dark." He began to cry again.
A sharp intake of breath came from most of the elders.
"That matches the description of a wanderer." One elder stepped forward.
The words sent a wave of sound through the hall. Voices rose, fearful, overlapping. Chaos descended in the hall.
