Moonlit Prophecy: A Witchs Curse A Wolfs Redemption

The waning moon cast long shadows across the cobblestone streets of Ravencrest, a city as infamous for its criminal underworld as it was for its gothic architecture. Lyra and Fenris moved silently through the narrow alleys, their cloaks billowing in the chill night air. Their destination loomed before them: a towering mansion of black stone and wrought iron, its windows dark save for a single flickering light in the highest tower.

“Remind me again why we’re breaking into a vampire’s lair?” Fenris whispered, his eyes constantly scanning their surroundings for any sign of danger.

Lyra’s fingers traced the outline of the Moonstone shard in her pocket, drawing comfort from its familiar energy. “Because,” she murmured, “Lord Valerian is rumored to possess a map that shows the location of the Air artifact. And given that the Skyspire Mountains are virtually impassable without it, we don’t have much choice.”

Fenris nodded, a wry smile tugging at his lips. “Right. Just a routine burglary from one of the most dangerous creatures in the realm. No pressure.”

They paused at the base of the mansion’s outer wall, its surface smooth and seemingly unscalable. Lyra closed her eyes, focusing her magical senses on the stone before her. After a moment, she opened them with a triumphant smile. “There’s a weak spot in the wards here. I can create an opening, but it won’t last long. Are you ready?”

Fenris rolled his shoulders, loosening up for the climb ahead. “As I’ll ever be. Lead the way, witch.”

Lyra placed her palm against the cold stone, whispering an incantation under her breath. For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, with a soft grinding noise, a section of the wall shimmered and became translucent. “Now!” she hissed, pushing Fenris through before following close behind.

They emerged in a moonlit garden, its beauty marred by an undercurrent of wrongness. The flowers that bloomed here were pale and sickly, their scent cloying and unnatural. In the center of the garden stood a magnificent fountain, its waters running red in the moonlight.

“Blood,” Fenris growled, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “This whole place reeks of it.” Lyra nodded grimly, her eyes darting to the shadowy corners of the garden. “Stay alert. Valerian is old and powerful. He’s bound to have more than just magical wards protecting his home.”

As if summoned by her words, a low growl emanated from the darkness. A massive shape detached itself from the shadows, padding towards them on paws the size of dinner plates. The beast that emerged into the moonlight was like no natural wolf Lyra had ever seen. Its fur was midnight black, its eyes glowing with an unholy red light. Wickedly curved fangs protruded from its mouth, dripping with some dark ichor.

“Fenris,” Lyra breathed, fighting to keep her voice steady, “please tell me that’s a distant cousin of yours.”

Fenris shook his head, his body tensing for a fight. “No relation. That’s a shadow wolf – a creature born of dark magic and vampire blood. They’re said to be virtually unkillable.”

The shadow wolf stalked towards them, its red eyes fixed on Lyra with predatory intensity. She raised her hands, summoning her magic, but before she could cast a spell, Fenris sprang into action.

With a snarl that was more wolf than human, he launched himself at the monstrous creature. They collided in a tangle of fur and fangs, rolling across the garden in a deadly dance. Lyra watched in horror and awe as Fenris fought with a ferocity she had never seen before, his partially transformed state lending him inhuman strength and speed.

But the shadow wolf was a formidable opponent. Its claws raked across Fenris’s chest, drawing blood and a pained growl. Lyra knew she had to act fast. Concentrating her power, she wove a net of pure light, remembering an old lesson about darkness being vulnerable to its opposite.

“Fenris, move!” she shouted, flinging the magical construct at the battling pair.

With a superhuman effort, Fenris disengaged from the shadow wolf and rolled clear. The net of light engulfed the creature, which let out an unearthly howl of pain. For a moment, it thrashed wildly, its form seeming to dissolve at the edges. Then, with a final, ear-splitting shriek, it vanished in a puff of dark smoke.

Lyra rushed to Fenris’s side, her hands already glowing with healing magic. “Are you alright? Those wounds look deep.”Text property © Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Fenris winced as he sat up, but managed a reassuring smile. “I’ve had worse. Nothing a little werewolf healing can’t handle.” His expression grew serious as he glanced at the spot where the shadow wolf had disappeared. “But that was too close. We need to move quickly before Valerian realizes his pet has been destroyed.”

Supporting each other, they made their way to the mansion proper. The back door yielded easily to Lyra’s lock-picking spell, and they slipped inside. The interior was a study in opulence gone wrong – priceless artworks adorned walls of deep crimson, and luxurious carpets muffled their footsteps. But everything was touched by an air of decay, as if the very life had been sucked out of the surroundings.

They moved swiftly through the lower floors, encountering no further resistance. As they ascended a grand staircase towards the upper levels, Fenris suddenly froze, his nostrils flaring.

“What is it?” Lyra whispered, her hand going to the knife at her belt.

Fenris’s eyes were wide with a mixture of disgust and alarm. “Blood. A lot of it. And it’s fresh.”