Chapter 7 - Shock.

The Present…

Now the halls burn with chaos.

Screams split the air, bouncing off the stone corridors as metal clashes in the distance, and Alina fears it may not just be any ordinary metal...

Deep, guttural growls echo as she makes her way through the hallways, unnatural and primal, letting her know that people have shifted into their wolf forms, and the situation is now dire. Smoke rolls through the stronghold like a living thing, drowning out the familiar scents of timber and stone, replacing them with ash and blood.

This isn’t a siege.

This is destruction.

Alina descends the stairs swiftly, followed by six guards in tight formation. Her body moves with purpose, her senses sharpened to a razor’s edge. Beneath her skin, her wolf snarls to be let free, pacing just beneath the surface. She holds it back, just barely, for now...

She first needs to understand who’s attacking, and why.

She emerges from the corner, and that's when the great hall comes into view. Its tall windows glow with firelight, not from a lit hearth, but the wild, consuming ones burning outside he castle. Shapes move beyond the stained glass and inside, figures shift in the dimness, armed, masked, and dangerous.

Her breath catches as she watches them come into full view. A battalion of attackers, about 20 to 30 in number. They wear no crests. No flags. No sigils. Just all black tactical gear and expressionless masks. Ghosts, dressed in black with no allegiances.

For a brief moment, she thinks they might be Hunters. But then her nose confirms what her eyes cannot. Their scents; they didn't even bother to mask them. They wanted the Xalverias to know who was attacking them.

Lycans.

But which of the 6 noble Houses has the gall to turn against House Xalveria...?

Alina feels her fists tighten beside her, a ferocious growl rumbling in her throat as she faces the men head-on.

"Sword." She demands, and that's when one of the guards moves forward quickly, holding onto her specialised sword, one made of silver and infused with Rezionite, a weapon that most certainly will put an end to Lycan.

The guard bows as she takes it from him, and she unsheathes it immediately, making the blade ring out through the air.

Twenty-five against six.

The odds are abysmal.

But Alina doesn’t retreat.

They can win this.

They must.

She gives no warning and points her sword out in front of her, letting out a powerful battle cry.

"Attack!!" She commands, and immediately the men behind her charge forward, just as she does the same, taking on the attackers head-on.

She faces her first opponent and pivots instinctively, bringing her own weapon up just in time to parry. The blow shudders through her bones. The attacker is strong, but she’s stronger, and she doesn’t fall back... she drives forward.

Steel shrieks against steel, firelight flashing off blood and blade. Alina moves like a cold phantom, her movements fluid and unrelenting. Her strikes land with surgical precision. Each parry, each slash, is the result of years of training and hard-earned instinct.

She was made for this.

She was made to survive.

They came thinking Xalveria would fall.

They were wrong.

But the victory is steep.

As the final enemy collapses at her feet, silence falls heavy in the hall and blood pools across the stone floor. Her chest heaves, her lungs dragging in smoke-laced air. Her dress is torn, her arms marked in crimson... but she is still standing.

And no one else is.

The guards... every last one of them... lay dead on the floor.

Her breath catches in her throat and she turns slowly, eyes sweeping over the fallen. These were her people. Her protectors. Men and women she trained with. Bled with.

And they died protecting her.

Grief slams into her, hot and unbearable. But before the silence can swallow her whole... She hears a strange noise...

Clapping...

It is slow, ominous and taunting. That's when she spins towards the source, her claws extending with a vicious snap. A voice soon follows, one that is smooth, familiar and... mocking.

“Well done, love. You put up quite the fight. Can’t say the same for your guards though…” the man speaks up, and as soon as she hears him...

Her heart freezes.

She knows that voice. She knows exactly who it belongs to...

From the shadows, he emerges... gold hair catching the firelight, his face calm, his expression vindictive and unrecognisable. His golden armour is stained with blood, the same as the sword at his hip.

Magnus Vorathiel...

Her voice cracks. “Magnus?” Shock and confusion showing up on her face.

He steps fully into view, and that's she sees there’s no remorse on his face. No urgency. No guilt.

Only stillness. Only control.

Sinister control.

Alina’s steps falter as she moves toward him, her legs trembling beneath her. The pain from her wounds fades rapidly thanks to her accelerated healing, but nothing can numb the gnawing ache in her chest, a void that grows deeper with every breath.

“Magnus…” she whispers as her eyes search his face, desperate for something familiar. A flicker of recognition, a sign that this is some cruel illusion.

But she gets nothing.

“What… what are you talking about?” Her voice wavers. “We have to go. We have to get out of here...” she says, as if she is in denial that Magnus could possibly be a part of this.

“I’m not going anywhere with you, Alina.” His voice is cold and absolute. “Don’t you see it yet? Don’t you understand?”

She stumbles forward another step, her sword dragging against the floor as she raises her other hand, halfway between pleading and self-defence. “This wasn’t you… It couldn’t have been you…”

But even as she speaks, her heart knows the truth.

He is behind the attack on Castle Xalveria.

“What does it look like to you?” Magnus asks, tilting his head slightly. His tone is almost amused.

Her stomach lurches as the truth sharpens, now being impossible to deny.

“You… you betrayed me?” The words fall out of her mouth like broken glass. “You orchestrated the attack on my family… Tell me that’s not what this is. Please…”

Tears blur her vision, finally breaking through. Her body trembles, not from injury, but from grief, disbelief... and rage.

A low chuckle escapes Magnus, echoing across the stone walls, thick with contempt.

“Ah, Alina,” he says. “Still so naive.” he laughs and her hand tightens around her sword, her anger now being impossible to ignore.

“Naive?” Her voice rises, cutting through the air. “I trusted you. We all did. You said you’d stand with me. You promised...”

“And you believed me.” The smile fades from his lips, replaced with a glare sharp enough to wound. “That’s on you.”

Alina stands frozen.

Blood trickles from her clenched fists as her razor sharp claws dig into her own flesh, tears tracing lines through the ash and grime on her cheeks.

Everything she’s built — her trust, her bonds, her legacy — crumbles before her.

And Magnus stands at the center of it, watching her fall apart, untouched.

He brought it all down.

And he did it smiling.