Chronicles of Rohan: The Birth of the True Alpha

Chapter 13: The Pact of Shadows

Smoke still clung to Lucas’s jacket.

The underground lab had collapsed into fire and ash, but the truth it revealed burned hotter. Someone had been watching them—long before the first shift, before the first attack. This wasn’t just about werewolves anymore. It was about control. Experimentation. War.

They made camp near the edge of Blackroot Ravine.

Dan set up a fire while Skylar stood guard. Dylan sat with his back against a tree, still pale but recovering. Lucas stayed silent, staring into the flames.

“Talk to me,” Dan finally said.

Lucas didn’t look away from the fire. “They knew who I was before I did. They were studying me. Preparing.”

Skylar tossed a twig into the flames. “They were building weapons. Using wolves like parts.”

Dylan added, “And the Ash Queen... she’s tied to all of this. Malcolm Sire didn’t just want control. He wanted her power.”

Lucas stood. “Then we stop him. All of them.”

Skylar raised a brow. “And how do you plan to do that?”

Lucas looked into the dark. “We find others like us. Wolves. Hybrids. Anyone with a reason to fight. We build a pack strong enough to take on hunters and rogues alike.”

Dan stood too. “And we lead it together.”

Skylar crossed her arms. “You trust too easily.”

“I trust the ones who stayed,” Lucas said.

Silence.

Then Dylan nodded. “I might know where to start. There’s a gathering ground in the northern ridge. Old territory. Forgotten by most. Some of the survivors fled there after the blood cull.”

“Blood cull?” Dan asked.

Skylar explained, “Rogue Alphas turned on peaceful packs. Slaughtered them. Only the strongest escaped.”

Lucas’s jaw tightened. “Then those survivors will want justice.”

Dylan looked at him. “They’ll want proof. And strength.”

Lucas met his gaze. “Then let’s give them both.”

---

They traveled for three days.

Cold winds battered them from the north. Each night, Lucas trained with Dylan—learning to control his senses, his partial shifts, and the strange visions that now came more often.

The dreams were sharp now. Not like before. Clearer. Sometimes he saw the Ash Queen. Sometimes fire. Sometimes a blade coated in silver and blood.

On the third night, as frost crept across the trees, they reached the ridge.

The ground was marked by old campfires and fresh tracks.

Skylar signaled for caution.

They stepped into the clearing.

Dozens of figures emerged from the trees.

Wolves in human form. Scarred, wild-eyed, tense. Weapons drawn.

A woman stepped forward—tall, lean, with a deep scar over her left eye. Her voice cut like steel.

“Who enters Fangrest Ridge uninvited?”

Lucas stepped forward. “My name is Lucas Tallman. I’m here to speak.”

The woman sniffed the air. “You smell like Alpha blood.”

“Because I am.”

Whispers spread through the crowd.

Skylar whispered to Dan, “This could go very wrong.”

Lucas raised his voice. “We were all hunted. Torn apart. Watched. Used. That ends now.”

The woman narrowed her eyes. “And why would we follow you?”

Lucas didn’t flinch. “Because I’m not asking you to follow. I’m asking you to fight.”

Murmurs again.

He continued. “The hunters are building something worse. The Ash Queen is returning. We don’t have time to hide anymore.”

Someone in the crowd shouted, “Words mean nothing!”

Lucas growled low.

His eyes burned gold.

He stepped forward—and let the shift take hold.

Bones cracked.

Fur rippled across his arms.

Not a full transformation. Just enough.

A glowing mark appeared on his chest—the crest from the visions.

Gasps.

Then silence.

The woman stared. “That mark... it hasn’t been seen in centuries.”

Lucas stood tall. “I’m not here to be a king. I’m here to survive. And if we don’t stand together now, none of us will.”

She stepped closer.

Then, slowly—she knelt.

One by one, the others followed.

Dylan whispered, “He did it.”

Dan blinked. “That’s... wow.”

Skylar didn’t kneel. She just watched. Carefully. Silently.

Lucas spoke again. “We leave at dawn. We hunt the ones hunting us. And we end this—on our terms.”

Behind the crowd, one wolf remained standing.

A man with long black hair and pale eyes.

He didn’t bow, didn’t speak. He just stared.

And when Lucas met his gaze, he felt something twist inside his chest.

He recognized him—not from now, but from a memory.

A forgotten corner of his past. A voice calling his name through fire and blood. A night he’d buried beneath years of silence.

The man tilted his head slightly, as if testing the air between them.

Lucas blinked—and the memory sharpened.

A broken chain. A scream. A pair of hands dragging him from rubble when he was still too young to shift.

The man had saved him.

Or betrayed him.

He couldn’t remember which.

But the mark on the stranger’s neck—the same crest Lucas now bore—burned like a second sun.

Skylar noticed his stillness. “Lucas?”

But Lucas didn’t answer.