CHAPTER 187: CHAPTER 187: THE LIGHT WITHIN

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More than half of the Crimson Hunt soldiers had abandoned their posts in the yard and rushed to the north wall of the academy. The air trembled with the sounds of steel against steel, cries of war, and the thunderous crash of stone breaking.

A small army had forced its way in through the northern defenses, led by Astrid Voss, Magnus Thorn and Alistair Ashthorne. No one knew how they had discovered the flaw in the northern wall, but it was the only section of the academy’s fortress that could be exploited with enough brute force. Now, the weakness had been split open, and blood was pouring into it.

The Crimson Hunt soldiers swarmed in response, but Astrid and Magnus carved through them like wolves among sheep. Astrid’s blades flashed in the dimming light, her movements precise and merciless, her strikes leaving corpses in her wake. She moved with the discipline of a trained assassin, but her rage made her all the more lethal.

Magnus was no less brutal, his massive battle axe splitting shields and skulls alike. He swung with such raw force that bodies were hurled into the air, crashing into others and breaking the Crimson Hunt’s lines. His roars echoed across the courtyard, feeding his allies with courage, while instilling dread into their enemies.

Alistair fought differently, less flamboyant, more desperate. His sword strikes were steady, calculated, but every blow he delivered carried the weight of a man determined not to fall here. Though not as savage as Magnus or as sharp as Astrid, Alistair endured, blocking strikes and countering with sheer grit. Still, for every soldier he felled, two more seemed to take their place.

The Crimson Hunt had numbers, and sheer numbers had their own kind of cruelty. Slowly, they began to encircle the intruders, pressing in with shields and blades, their formation tight

Then the ground itself seemed to shudder, because another army had arrived.

The soldiers heard the horn first, then the pounding boots of reinforcements storming into the fray. Another troop descended upon them, this one from the south, tearing into the Crimson Hunt’s rear lines. The defenders spun around, panic flashing in their eyes. This second force was led by none other than the Queen, Varya, and Cyrin.

The Crimson Hunt soldiers at the academy gates had been ordered to the north wall when the breach occurred, leaving the gates nearly unguarded. That mistake had cost them dearly. The Queen’s forces had slipped in like a blade through an open wound, and now the Crimson Hunt was surrounded on both sides.

And the Queen, she was no longer the woman they had once called Queen. She was now the Ghosthound.

Her transformation was complete. No trace of royal composure remained, only a monster cloaked in bloodlust. She tore into soldiers with claws sharper than steel and teeth that ripped flesh from bone. The Ghosthound moved with horrifying speed, weaving through enemies, shredding them as though they were made of paper. No one could withstand her.

Those foolish enough to cross her path lasted mere seconds before their bodies fell in pieces, staining the earth crimson. Her roars split the air, drowning out the clamor of battle. Soldiers tried to regroup, to hold the line, but how could they resist a beast that was death itself incarnate?

Cyrin and Varya fought close to her, not with her savagery but with cold precision. Varya’s spear darted through armor, finding gaps, striking throats and hearts with every thrust. Cyrin’s calm as he fought alongside his daughter was lethal, their presence balanced the Ghosthound’s chaotic fury, the three of them working in tandem like a storm guided by intent.

The Crimson Hunt had thought themselves invincible within the academy walls. But now, surrounded on both sides, their confidence cracked. Their formation faltered, their discipline wavered. Panic spread like wildfire through their ranks.

Astrid’s laugh cut through the screams as she spun her blades, reveling in their enemies’ despair. Magnus’s axe was a hammer against their crumbling line, smashing through defenses as though they were brittle twigs. Alistair pressed forward despite his wounds, every strike buying precious seconds for his allies.

And in the center of it all, the Ghosthound tore the Crimson Hunt apart, her beastly form unstoppable.

Their plan was working. The north wall was theirs. The Crimson Hunt was being pushed back.

They were winning.

Lorraine’s POV

I had resigned to my fate already. This is the end for me.

The women in white robes chanted and swayed around me, their voices rising and falling like the crashing waves of a storm. Each word, each guttural sound, scraped against my skull, pulling something from deep within me. My wolf stirred, faint at first, then stronger, like she was being yanked out, ripped away from the core of my being. The ritual wasn’t just breaking me, it was severing us.

And I knew what that meant. If they took her, I would die.

My chest heaved against the gag, tears soaking the cloth as despair gnawed through me. All my life, I had never been worthy enough to summon her, to speak to her, to even feel her. And now, here, at the edge of my end, the Leader was going to succeed in doing what I couldn’t, drag her out of me by force.

I wanted to scream. To fight. But I was so tired. My body was broken. My spirit was frayed. Maybe this was how it was always meant to end.

The runes drawn across my forehead burned, my veins alight with fire. The women’s chants rose higher, frenzied, as if they were close, so close, to breaking the final barrier. My wolf clawed against my insides.

I failed you, I thought bitterly, squeezing my eyes shut. I was never worthy of you. And now, he’ll take you, and I’ll die as nothing more than a shell.

And then....

"You are worthy."

The voice wasn’t faint anymore. It wasn’t distant, or a dream. It was there, in me, around me, louder, clearer, ethereal, filling every hollow corner of my being.

My breath caught. My eyes snapped open.

And then everything changed.

At first, it felt like my essence was unraveling, no, transforming. I grew lightheaded, my skin tingling as though I was dissolving into air, as though my body itself was undergoing some impossible metamorphosis. My heart raced but my mind went terrifyingly still, caught in something too vast, too holy to comprehend.

The wind howled around us. My hair whipped against my face as the chants broke in startled gasps.

Above, the moon had risen, full and radiant. But now, before my eyes, its light swelled, burning so brightly it hurt to look at. It was as though the heavens themselves had turned their face upon me.

"What is going on?" the Leader’s voice cut through the chaos.

The women stumbled, their words faltering, some clutching at their throats, others dropping to their knees. "Her wolf... it’s resisting!" one cried out breathlessly.

I blinked, the world blurring as heat pulsed beneath my skin. My body, no, my entire being, was glowing. A blinding white radiance emanated from me, drowning the night and painting the yard in silver fire.

The Leader’s gaze snapped to me, his smirk gone, his arrogance extinguished.

I gasped as my feet lifted off the ground. The ropes and gag binding me slipped away like mist. My body floated, weightless, caught in some divine current. My breath hitched as I felt a sharp throb where my left arm used to be. Pain, white hot, surged through me, then turned into something else, something new. Before my eyes, before all of theirs, flesh knitted, bone reshaped, veins stretched. My arm..... my arm... grew back.

I couldn’t breathe. My body burned, every nerve aflame, as if I was in my body but not in control of it, as if something greater than me had taken hold. My black hair turned silver white, strands glowing like woven moonlight.

The women screamed. Soldiers staggered back. The Leader froze.

And then, I moved.

I didn’t even think. I just lifted my hand, and Kieran’s cage shattered with a deafening crack. The silver chains broke, scattering like brittle twigs, and Kieran stood up from the shambles, his eyes wide on me.

The soldiers surged toward him, shouting, blades raised.

I waved my hand.

Their heads snapped at once. One sharp crack, then silence. Dozens of bodies dropped like discarded dolls.

The yard went still.

I turned, slowly, to the Leader. His mouth hung slightly open, his chest rising and falling too fast, too uneven. That smirk he always wore,gone. That endless well of confidence, drained. His eyes locked on me, and for the first time, I saw it.

Fear.

Real fear.

And it was directed at me.

And it felt..... exhilarating.