Batwolf

THE WIND WHIPPED like a wild ghoul over the ancient stones of the Batwolf Isles. Blackened skies overhung the legendary Sapphire Coliseum, darkening its’ shiny crystal facade. Deep within the recesses of the grand arena, seven cold, hungry, and worried rulers gathered in a desperate meeting. “We can’t do this any longer!” Jayda, the Fairy Queen cried. “I’ve lost over half my soldiers to this disaster. We must find a way to end it!” Around her, six other antsy kings and queens sat in worry. They were quite a motley bunch; one you wouldn’t expect to see sitting in a room usually used for holding sporting equipment. Sitting to the left of the frantic fairy was her good friend and ally Alvara, the Pixie Empress. On the queen’s right was a centaur with an ebony coat and strong stallion legs. Phibran, Chieftain of his half-horse, half-man comrades as well as Commandant of the Myth Mountains, was a stoic type who only spoke when necessary. Across the table were two creatures that appeared nothing alike. The tall, slender Goblin King, Dmok, and the lumbering, idiotic Troll King, Notg were polar opposites. The former was quick and cunning, equipped with two sets of sticky fingers. His companion, however, was short and stumpy, with sausage-like limbs and was about as bright as a wet candle in a dark cave. Despite this, the two ruled hand-in-hand, even in these times of horror. At the head of the table was a pair so close, they were brothers in all but blood. Sudreth was the wise and seasoned Dragon King of the West, and his friend was no different. Thunder Winterwind was the undisputed Alpha of the Batwolves, sleek blonde fur and hardened blue eyes pronouncing his dominance. It was his home they were meeting at, and his Coliseum they cowered under. Thunder had never been one for fleeing from a potential war, but as the raging storms burned on outside, even he was losing heart. His crown he outwardly bore with pride sat heavy atop his skull. The anxious batwolf shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “I…I wish I could help with your loss of troops, Jayda,” he said, addressing the twitchy queen, “but as you know, everyone here is at a loss of soldiers. If but one kingdom were to provide for your people, we’d lose protection of our own.” Jayda was obviously riled up at Thunder’s response, but it was no surprise: fairies and batwolves hated each other. “You know he is correct, your majesty,” Sudreth grumbled.

The queen muttered to herself, and only received some level of calmness when Alvara laid a hand on her shoulder. “You must be calm, my friend,” the kind pixie murmured. “In this time of sorrow, we must not turn upon our friends.” Jayda snorted. “Friends, hardly.” Thunder brushed the remark off, only barely registering the hint of rage at the spoiled queen’s remark, and continued. “As you all are aware of, a time of great strife has reached the Archipelago. In the last three Half Moons, there have been fires on Dragon Island, floods in the Pixie Valley, insect infestations in the Troll Swamps, and not to mention the strange new virus spreading throughout the Archipelago.” They all shuddered at the mention of the Basilisk Syndrome. Jayda had another, more valid reason for her shrill attitude other than her natural fairy mannerisms: she was a new queen, only ruling for a few moons. The previous fairy royal and Jayda’s older sister, Queen Lantana, had been struck down by the plague only five months prior to the meeting. Jayda had been thrust from princess to queen in a heartbeat, and she was not taking it well. Dmok, the Goblin King, who had so forth been unnaturally quiet, sniggered at Thunder’s statement.

“You say this, you talk about the Strife as if you’ve got everything under control, yet you have done nothing to help prevent it,” he remarked. “My kingdom has lost half our population, but you batwolves are living in luxury! Perhaps it’s you that’s caused the Strife, to kill us all for your own benefit!” Thunder puffed his chest. “Luxury? You call countless arrests and murders a luxury? In case you weren’t aware, the crime rate on the Batwolf Isles has tripled following this catastrophe! My own child was killed last week by a crazed batwolf, driven mad by hunger!” He stretched his tired, worn wings. “Besides, if I were, in some blue moon chance, the cause of this fiasco, what ‘benefit’ would I receive? All sources of income or slave work would have been destroyed.” Dmok hunched in his seat, irritated with being shown up. Sudreth, sensing the tension rising in the room, decided to address the stony centaur. “What of you, Phibran?” the dragon asked, attempting to ease the stressed crowd. “I have heard word that you sent a scout team to the Skin Borders. How have the Nowings been faring?” Phibran clicked his hooves uncomfortably at the newfound attention. “It is true, scaly one.

I recently sent a band of scoutmen to the human borders, though I’ve yet received little more than infrequent Cloudcalls.” Alvara huffed. “I hate to be rude, Phibran, but your methods of communication are…questionable, at best.” The stoic tribal leader raised an eyebrow. “And at worse, lady of insects?” Alvara narrowed her jade eyes. “At worse, they are an unreliable source of information. Your ‘Cloudcalls’ rely on precise ‘readings’ from masses of clouds, which are constantly changing. Even if your men used magic to manipulate them to form some sort of message, the distance from human land and the Myth Mountains is extreme; no amount of enchantments would help the cloud keep its’ shape for that long.” The normally unbiased Phibran crossed his arms. “I do not see you trying to send any scouts at all, Insect Queen. Have faith in my scoutmen, as they are the only ones providing any source of information as to the human’s behavior.” Across from Alvara, Sudreth butted in. “It’d be nice if you were to share some of this information with us, Phibran.

Perhaps the humans are having another Industrial Era. We all know how catastrophic the last one, the Bronze Age they call it, was.” Thunder nodded. “Every time humankind makes a great change, it upsets the balance of things. Slowly, they are creeping towards an era of destruction and chaos; an era of Discord. Perhaps this is just a step closer?” Phibran shrugged. “Our non-magical neighbors are merely basking in the glory of their ‘discovery’ of bronze. They are a slow species, no doubt about that, but they are intelligent.

Do not worry; ever since the Division War, it’s unlikely the humans will bother with us. I hear they’ve already tried to etch our existence out of their minds.” Dmok snorted. “The humans are downright idiots! They couldn’t be the source of the Strife, not one chance!” At that moment, a crash of thunder shook the building. A cloud of dust rained from the ceiling, covering the seven in a coat of dirt. Jayda squealed. “Oh, drat! I just had this dress tailored.” Thunder rolled his eyes as another boom rocked the foundation. “It is getting late and deadly, my companions. It will be wise to leave now, before you are caught up within the storm. I’d like to say times will get better, but as of late, I am not so sure.” The troubled rulers said their goodbyes and left the Sapphire Coliseum, leaving a worried Thunder wondering if his words were as hollow as they sounded.

Thunder feared returning home, as the storms had gotten so violent. A single strike of lightning would rob the batwolves of a trusted leader. He put his trust in the fact that the Skywolf King, Lightning Wind, would watch over him as Alpha, but now, even his reliance in the gods was starting to wane. It had grown late into the night; the sky was as black as ink, sun snuffed out by the cool blanket. No citizens roamed the streets at this hour, nor would it be a good idea. The roads were all dirt, or at this point, all mud. Thunder’s magic was powerful enough to keep a detached flame hovering nearby, but what with the darkness surrounding him; it barely shone five feet ahead. Thunder’s coat, normally the tint of a fresh apricot, was reduced to little more than a clay colored mess due to the rain. His eyes, usually sparkling with an azure creativeness adopted straight from his children, were now dull and lifeless after the loss of his daughter, Mulberry. She had only been ten years old, just learning how to perform basic magic. Thunder had immediately clawed down the maddened man who had killed her. What’s worse was that her murderer was a healer, a batwolf named Oak Mintcry. He was a valued doctor in a kingdom with so few, and now the batwolves had lost one more. Thunder indeed felt guilty for his crime, but he knew what had to be done.

Oak could have seriously hurt anyone; it just happened to be his own child. Yes, it was true. Thunder could see his empire slowly submitting to the Strife. What his allies had said had taken a toll upon the troubled Alpha, already so weak and vulnerable. He feared he, too, was going mad. It would have been quicker to fly to his mountain castle (batwolves flew much faster than they walked), but without accompaniment, it would be a suicide act. Instead, Thunder took the direct path to Silvermoon Castle: Marketway Cut.

It was an old trail that sliced straight up the middle of the Isles. In fact, all other paths branched off from the spinal road. As its name would suggest, the majority of the Cut was flanked by the various shops and workplaces located on the island. The Gravity Marketplace was the closest place citizens of the capital could buy their daily wares, unless they wanted to journey to another town, or leave the Isles altogether. Until, of course, the Strife happened. Almost every store along Marketway Cut had shut down due to lack of funds, and Thunder was once again reminded of this as he slowly trudged down the muddy road, darkening his fur to a greater degree. Silvermoon Castle was an intimidating figure against the rainy blackness, stone pillars rising high into the sky. It had been carved straight into Crescent Peak (the majority of the castle was actually located in the mountain) and for over twenty generations had stood as a solid statement that the batwolves were a force to be reckoned with. The deterioration of the palace was but another reminder at how the kingdom had gone under.

Even Thunder himself was lacking enough money to bother fixing the place, so it was no shock when a portion of the West Wall collapsed the day before. He noticed the work teams still toiling away, trying their best to repair the walls despite their lack of resources. As always, the men bowed when he passed by, but Thunder barely noticed. He swiftly passed down the decrepit halls, barren of the portraits and treasures that once lined their surfaces. Thunder did his best not to acknowledge the bone-thin servants and maids that moved like ghosts throughout the cracked passageways. He finally reached his room, pronounced proudly with the intricate woodwork and jeweled inlays. As carefully as he could, Thunder pushed open the creaky door. He yelped and raised his hackles when yet another hinge snapped off, falling to the ground with a loud clatter. In an instant, two servants rushed to repair the broken piece, but Thunder dismissed them with a wave of his paw. I’ll have them fix it later, he thought. They have enough to worry about as is. Thunder slowly crept into the candlelit room. He noticed a quiet, slumbering form curled in the corner of the space.

On the large bed, three other snuffling figures, these much smaller and quite a bit louder, lay in sleep. Thunder padded over to the mass of fur hunched on a thin, coarse jackalope blanket and nudged it. With a slight groan, a twitch of the snout, and a sudden flex of the wings, the sleepy figure sat up. Dandelion eyes blinked open at him. “Serene,” Thunder breathed, wrapping his wings around his mate. The female grunted and nuzzled her snout into his shoulder. “Greetings, my king,” Serene mumbled into his fur. Her dusty grey coat was matted and ruffled after waking, and her tired yellow eyes observed him in calmness. “I beg of you to stay quiet; it took me well over an hour to get the children to bed.” Thunder followed Serene’s gaze over to his remaining children. Two boys and a girl. They were all under the age of seven, but they were old enough to understand what happened to their oldest sister, Mulberry. They whined and cried for hours on end, begging to the Skywolves for their sister to return. ‘She will not,’ Serene would tell them. ‘Mulberry is now dancing among the stars, and she does not wish to come back down.’ Serene would then cry herself, wanting just as much as the puppies did for her beloved child to walk again. “Why do they sleep on our bed instead of their own?” Thunder inquired. Serene shrugged. “They say it smells of her,” she replied. “They wouldn’t sleep unless I let them lay there. I must’ve fallen asleep myself before I could find a suitable place besides the floor.” Thunder and Serene silently paced over to the bed, licked their sleeping children goodnight, then entered the next room over. The two curled up on the smaller bed, intended for the kids, and stared at each other. Tears pricked at Serene’s eyes. “I don’t know what we will do,” she whispered. “What have we done to deserve this? Have we insulted the Skywolves in some way?” Thunder shrugged. “I do not know, my loyal queen. I just do not know.”

A violent crash shook Silvermoon Castle to its core. In an instant, Thunder and Serene were up, staring at first each other, then the room where their children slept. Serene left first, bounding over to the other space. Thunder followed, seeing that his three children were all awake, and Serene was staring out the window. “Thunder, come here, quick!” she barked. Thunder sprinted to her side and looked out upon the kingdom. His blood ran cold at what he saw. A roiling mass of disorganized soldiers foamed around the base of the mountain, hastily slipping into armor whilst charging to meet the incoming threat. Further down the Marketway, in between the towering mountains creating the bowl Silvermoon sat in, an endless sea of black poured from every break in the unbreakable defenses. Thunder’s blood ran cold when he saw the attackers. They were almost batwolves. Almost. Standing close to nine, perhaps ten feet, the strange hybrids ran on two legs, clutching battle axes and spears in their clawed hands. They wore no shoes, but were adorned in elaborate armor complete with horned helmets and scale breastplates. Some had flailing stumps where wings had once been, but had sense fallen off. The batwolf soldiers met them in brutal combat, using their flight advantage to take off into the sky. Their leathery wings blotted out what little moonlight could be seen beyond the mountaintops. Catapults flung enchanted boulders and debris towards the invaders, knocking them out by the dozen. Thunder sat back, content to watch the struggle, but couldn’t help but wonder: these beasts were out of legend; not seen for generations, yet still inspiring terror in the hearts of pups and adults alike. Why, in night’s good name, did they suddenly attack? Raiding a fortified castle like Silvermoon, one that had very few exits and a military system trained their entire lives for battle, was dangerous. Doing so without a coherent plan or backup was plain suicide. Thunder cocked his head in curiosity as he noticed the beasts beginning to clump together in groups. He found this rather odd, and as Serene’s expression told him, so did she. So packed together, they were easy prey.

That’s when he noticed something even more suspicious: an odd whistling noise, somehow making it past the turmoil of battle. “Thunder,” Serene gasped, her ears pricking upwards. “That can’t be…” Thunder clicked on to what she was implying, the name of a beast almost as old as the attackers swimming into focus. “NO!” he roared at the soldiers. “RETREAT! GET AWAY!” But he was too late. Just as a commander was taking slight notice of his words, the ground burst open. Dirt and rock flew everywhere, shredding mountainsides and still-standing market stalls. From the gaping wounds in the ground spilled forth a cloud of bone-white things. In a mass of slashing claws, the monsters laid waste to the aerial forces. Some of the bipedal dog-men rode them like ghostly steeds, using massive bows to fling arrows at the ground soldiers. Thunder could only watch as the Silvermoon forces were cut down like leaves during harvest. But as he was to discover, the worst had yet to come. Thunder had just spun around to order the guards outside his room to call for reinforcements in neighboring Wyjolf, an army outpost if there ever was one, but stopped mid-command when the whole castle seemed to pitch to one side.

Wall furnishings and elaborate gifts from other Archipelagan kingdoms fell to the floor, some shattering on impact. Thunder’s pups were thrown about like playthings. Serene screamed when the window fell outwards, cascading to the ground below where it splintered into a million pieces. Thunder grabbed his children with one wing and his mate with the other as the building continued to sway on its foundation. A breath of relief was exhaled when the quivering stopped. A massive explosion sounded outside. Rubble sprayed hundreds of feet in the air, some even flying into the room. A horrific screeching, almost like that of a dragon on its deathbed, split the night. Thunder anxiously poked his head off the balcony, ready to see who led the monsters this time around. From the yawning canyon that had cracked the Marketway down the middle crawled more of the monstrous winged transports the dogs used, though these were far larger with no riders. In their midst was the biggest of them all, well over three hundred feet tall with smooth white skin hanging off its exposed bones. Its head had completely decayed, leaving a bleached skull with empty sockets.

Razor sharp teeth gnashed around the blazing gray fire deep within its gullet; its horns hung decorated with shreds of colorful fabric, standing out against its snowy-white skin. Wings, one of which had deteriorated to nothing but thin bones, stretched out to blanket any remaining soldiers. Atop its back sat its rider. He was one of the dog-men as well, but was sporting gold armor that shone against his black fur. Clutched in one clawed hand was a long, double-sided spear as long as Thunder was tall.

In the other was a diamond shield with a hissing snake on the front. On his head was an elaborate helmet, carved to look like some wild cat’s head. From within the animal’s gaping jaws, the attacker looked up to Thunder with a smug grin. Before the Alpha could react, the warrior tapped the side of his great skull-beast, and the flying terror pitched forward, extended its wings, and soared to where the couple stood. The creature knocked several crumbling statues from the castle’s walls as it scrambled to where its master directed. When the beast was eye-level with Thunder, it belched a stream of foul-smelling air. Its rider climbed down the beast’s head to crouch threateningly in front of the Alpha couple. The warrior removed his helmet, revealing his slender head. Green eyes stared down from his impressive height to silently mock the two. He cocked his head, allowing one of his pointed ears to twitch in curiosity. “You know,” he muttered calmly, “I thought you’d be taller.” Thunder bared his teeth. “You and your kind are not welcome here, Ahuizotl. The jackalites were given their chance, and they passed it up. Return to your territory, and this conflict will be forgotten.”

The doggish creature chuckled darkly, running an elegant, yet deathly clawed, hand over his pointed ears. Ahuizotl lowered his shield to reveal his chest armor, also appearing similar to that of the humans in the acrid dunes just south of their old allies. Only instead of leather and cloth, hard plates of metal pressed into the seal of his foul species.

“Yes, unfortunately, we did,” Ahuizotl lamented. He let his khopesh drag along the hard stone of the balcony, leaving a sizeable gash in its wake. “I, however, do not agree with how my father ruled. He was petty and selfish.” Ahuizotl waved a hand, dictating the great bowl the capital rested in. “We could have had all this as one united empire, Thunder. It is not as if we jackalites and you batwolves are so different.” He smiled, revealing racks of sharp ivory teeth. It was not, however, a friendly smile. Behind it lurked malice ten times that of the jackalite’s predecessor. At his side, Serene growled.

“Though we may both resemble canines, we are not in any way the same,” she retorted. Ahuizotl frowned.

“Fine,” he huffed. “Be shallow-minded if you will. It is not as if this will change.” He leaned over the ledge, clutching the railing with one hand and stroking his beastly mount with the other. “We jackalites need to feed on energy, you know that. So it should come as no surprise to you when I say that we seek land with the most energy to feed on.” Thunder stiffened.

“That’s the very reason we gave you your own territory in the east–so you could feed and leave us alone.” Ahuizotl gave another snarky grin, shrugging his thin shoulders.

“It was a finite resource. Simply put, we’ve run out. That’s why we’ve started expanding our horizons. Finding new sources of food. It’s just your fault that you happen to be in our way.” Ahuizotl turned, looking over his shoulder at the battle beneath his paws. “With you weakened by the plague we’ve spread, I’ll admit there won’t be much to eat at first, but the plants and animals you filir-’qlir have risen will be plenty enough.” Thunder refused to let his shock and fear show through. So the jackalites were behind the terrors spreading throughout the Archipelago? Somehow, Thunder was not surprised, but shaken nonetheless. “I do hope you won’t mind me making some renovations,” Ahuizotl continued. “I plan on making the Isles the new jackalite capital and don’t exactly like most of your architectural designs. Do you think jade or onyx would serve better for my statue?” Thunder raised his hackles, gesturing to the guards outside while the jackalite king observed the battle.

“Of course,” he continued, unaware as the batwolves crept forward on silent paws, “it will be hard to replicate the wonders of Ratuo’n, but batwolf structures are acceptable.” Ahuizotl continued to ramble as the guards reached Thunder’s side. With a flick of his paw, he ordered the soldiers to attack. The guards lunged, making little more than a whisper as they soared through the air. As he finished his sentence, Ahuizotl swung his khopesh. Thunder was sure the armor the soldiers wore would protect them, but the blade sliced through as if it was warm bread. The batwolves gave only a single cry of protest before skidding on the balcony. Both fell limply over the side, cascading down to the frothing chaos below. There wasn’t as much as a drop of blood on Ahuizotl’s weapon. In an almost gentlemanly nature, the jackalite began wiping his spotless blade on one of his mount’s snout horns. Ahuizotl made a tisking noise as he shook his head.

“For shame, Thunder Winterwind,” he chuckled as he returned the khopesh to his side. “I thought I could reason with you like a civilized soul but it seems you are beyond persuasion. I’m afraid I’ll have to–” But what Ahuizotl’s actions were to be remained unknown, as at that very moment, a horrendous screeching, worse than the skull-beasts, tore through the air. Below, the jackalite soldiers, who had seemed nearly victorious, dropped their weapons to cover their huge, sensitive ears.

“What?” Ahuizotl gasped in shock. Thunder couldn’t help but think the same, as standing on the peak of a smaller mountain was a massive batwolf, twice Thunder’s size and the color of an evening sky, surrounded by a halo of radiant golden light. Only, except for the nightmarish skeletal wings that Thunder’s species bore, this figure had those of a majestic bird spreading wide from their back. In terror, jackalites dropped their weapons and began to flee. Batwolf soldiers that were still standing watched in confusion, but also quivered at the paws of the wolf on the mountaintop. Ahuizotl whirled on Thunder, his paw clutching onto the khopesh like a lifeline.

“What have you done?” he roared. Thunder couldn’t answer, as he held the gaze of the mauve figure standing casually on the peak, daring him to attack the jackalite before him. Thunder’s paws itched to dig deep into Ahuizotl’s chest, but the will of the shewolf overcame his own. He returned his stare to the king, matching Ahuizotl’s unfiltered rage with his quivering calm. “I think this should serve as a message to you,” he said boldly, though he shook like a tree on the inside. “The Isles are protected with forces you can’t conquer. Leave now, and your pathetic race will be spared.” For good measure, Thunder lashed out with his claws, giving the king a shallow cut on his forearm. Ahuizotl howled, though the alpha suspected it was more from rage than pain. The jackalite turned one final time, observing the carnage before him. A few stragglers from his army were being taken care of by the now dominant batwolf soldiers. His emerald eyes narrowed, a fierce rage burning behind them. But instead of fighting, as Thunder nervously thought he would, Ahuizotl simply drew himself as high as he could, which made him quite intimidating despite the minor slouch in his defeated shoulders.

“If I were not a fair man, I would accuse you of cheating. But one cannot control the gods and their wishes, now can they?” As if in answer, the figure on the mountain roared a bellow like a ferocious storm. Ahuizotl gave the wolf a bored look. He turned back to Thunder, sizing him up again. “We may run today, tiny batwolf, but we will return tomorrow. In another time, another age, you will face us again. For the jackalites must feed, and I fear your lands are on the dinner menu.” With those last words, Ahuizotl propelled himself over the railing onto the back of his beast. The creature bellowed and took off, buffeting Thunder and his family in its foul-smelling wake. As Ahuizotl followed his wicked race back over the mountains, he directed a final string of words towards the glowing savior of Silvermoon.The shewolf turned her head to follow the movements of the fleeing army. She looked at the stunned batwolf and his own personal pack staring in wonder. She couldn’t help but laugh at what her sister would do if she were there: always one for the praise mortals gave, she could’ve turned this solemn moment on its head. Wishing to dismiss the matter, the goddess nodded her head at the Winterwind king. She was glad when he returned the gesture and ushered his family inside their castle. A sudden urge to return to her own home sprang up in the goddess’s chest, but she knew there was one last thing to do.With a shake of her bushy shoulders, the light around her dissipated, leaving only the unearthly glow that attached to her fur like an invasive mold. The shewolf spread her feathery wings and started north towards the center of the island. Whereas a batwolf would’ve taken several days to make the journey by flight, the goddess landed in her desired location within the hour.Rearing before her was an ancient palace. A temple from a bygone age, overrun with the invasive forest surrounding it. Inlaid into its ragged stone walls, mold-ridden with time, were the old symbols of the Skywolves: her father’s raging thunder cloud now green with moss, one half of the intersecting circles representing her mother’s earth, the turbulent river and stretching tree for her aunt and uncle, as well as her brother’s radiant sun. Her eyes picked out where her glorious moon had once been, accompanied by the stars of her sister and the swirling lines of her son, but time and troubles had rotted the stone away to nothing. Now, all that remained of her and her family’s marks were distant carvings, forgotten by all but the priests.The temple had been abandoned for ages, but with tried practice, she made her way into the ruined fortress of worship. Inside, it was nearly dark except for the light of her moon, already making her descent to leave room for the harsh sunlight her brother wrought. Inside the crumbling ruins, nearly everything that had once been was now pulverized. In a far corner, the toppled statues of the Most High were poking from the piles of rock. If she squinted, she could just make out the head of one of her many uncles, a crown of twisted flame atop his blind head. But in the midst of all the decay and forgotten memories, a single figure stood amongst them. Not of stone or vines, a wolf of flesh like her own sat pondering amongst the chaos. His fur was dusty gray, highlighted with streaks of purple and blue, damaged by a line of deep scars running from his shoulders to the base of his spine. He didn’t wear his crown; rather, it set next to him, carved of the lightest and strongest stone in the cosmos. “You have come, my child,” he said, his voice calm yet strong, like the thunder he ripped the sky with. As he spoke, a distant clap could be heard far away. A storm was brewing even as he sat and talked. How he managed his multitasking was beyond her.“Of course, father,” she responded. “How could I refuse the orders of my king?” the wolf said nothing, only rotated a small stone between his thick claws.“My brother’s children have been driven out?” he asked. She nodded, the sour taste of black magic still sticking to her tongue. The dog-men were growing worse by the decade.“Thaxos and his foul offspring will not trouble the mortals for some time. But their leader, the one they call Ahuizotl, swore he’d be back.” She prowled closer until she stood just behind him. “My king, you know just as well as I that they speak on behalf of my uncle and your brother, and Thaxos does not make false threats. I fear the jackalites will prove more troublesome in the future.” Her father dropped the rock he’d been fiddling with. In its place, a small trail of lighting sparked between his claws.“I do not understand why we simply cannot destroy their numbers,” she continued. “It would end our threat and theirs, and Thaxos would be powerless to stop us!” The lightning flared.“That, my child, is exactly what my brother was trying to do. He wanted to control the mortals like puppets. He wished to seize control of their will and wisdom and twist it into something wrong.” He turned, revealing the blue-gray eyes containing a thousand storms. “If we destroyed the jackalites, we are no better than my brother, Thaxos.” The shewolf wanted to object, but the stormy look in her father’s eyes told her to stay quiet.Instead, she took her spot sitting slightly behind him, itching to move on with business. “I have brought what you asked for,” she said, hoping to break the tension. He nodded.“So have I.” Her father gestured to something outside her line of sight. From within the shadows of the temple, a third figure came forth. Mortal in body, but something else in soul, his fur had turned gray with age, yet his yellow eyes shone with the fierceness of a hundred fires. He dipped his head to them both. “My King, Amirir.” He turned to her. “Princess Nasiy.” Both lifted their heads in a sign of respect for the man before them. “I came as soon as I could.”“Thank you, Crow; you’re help will be much appreciated. You brought your quill?” His mouth tilted up at the corner.“As long as Lady Nasiy brought the parchment,” he replied. Amirir chuckled as his daughter grunted. She lifted one of her feathered wings to procure a blank scroll.“It was crafted from the wings of my son’s children. Treat it as if it was made from your children’s wings.” She handed it off to the prophet, who carefully laid it out. The parchment lifted itself from the ground, almost as if it thought it were too precious for the filthy temple floors, and hovered, waiting for someone to write. In turn, Crow levitated a long white quill from his satchel.“Phoenix feather,” Amirir remarked. “You really are making this special.” Crow shrugged.“Any other quill would produce finite writings. We wouldn’t want our successors to be ignorant to this danger due to fading ink, now would we?” Crow chuckled, despite it being more of a wheezing half-cough, and positioned the quill over the parchment. “Lady Nasiy, if you please,” he muttered. The shewolf cleared her throat and began to recite the string of words Ahuizotl had slung at her:

On a date marked in a thousand years

The land will be stained with mortal tears

We will emerge from our cursed lands

And take for us what father planned

The magic kind shall stand no chance

Against the jackal battle chants

But as all darkness has a light

You may be rescued from your destined plight

Dragon turned against his kind,

Alphas forged, uncle blind

Batwolf colored white as snow

Human to deal the final blow

But be warned, as father’s wrath

Will bring forth a dark bloodbath

A human child shall unite the tribes

And with their help, no world will die

It’s far from over, I will return

Find the ill-fated one, and your fate may turn

Crow turned to Nasiy as her voice died out.“That is all?” he asked. The goddess nodded. A silence descended on the trio, a sickly air of worry between them.“So it is true, then?” Amirir said, his voice empty. “My brother truly is going to return, with an army of jackalites by his side.” He shook his head bitterly. “And all he gives us are riddles and false hopes.” Crow shrugged.“Not exactly.” He waved his hand towards the transcription. “It seems as if he has named a potential savior in a human youngling.” Nasiy scoffed.“Humans were a mistake: they are ungifted and selfish, which was more than evident when they declared war on our children!” She grated her claws into the ground. “If a human child truly is their only hope, I do not like the gold-bloods’ odds.” Amirir was silent, but it was clear he shared his daughter’s sentiment. Crow looked between the two.“Perhaps from a god’s standpoint, your greatest failure being destined to save your crowning achievement is hard to process, but from a mortal’s point of view,” he chuckled dryly, “we need all the help we can get. As Thaxos says,” he laid a paw on the prophecy, a hard, sorrowed look in his eyes, “this is only the beginning.”