"Whispers of Darkness: A Return from the Unknown"

In the Western Kingdom

Deep within the dark palace, the Alpha sat upon his throne, his piercing gaze sweeping over the gathered council. The crimson jewel atop his chair gleamed under the flickering torchlight, a watchful, bloodstained eye overseeing the room.

For years, the thought echoed in his mind: Everything is under my control. His dominion had expanded, his grip tightening like an unbreakable chain. Wars had never ceased, but neither had his power wavered.

With a mere flick of his hand, silence fell. His voice, calm yet laced with iron authority, sliced through the air:

"I want a report on the borders. What happened to the wolves sent on the last mission?"

Khoury, the chief warrior, stepped forward, bowing slightly. His tone was steady, yet a shadow of unease lingered beneath his words:

"We haven't heard from them in four days, Alpha."

A muscle in the Alpha's jaw tightened, though his expression remained unreadable. His gaze, cold and calculating, bore into Khoury as he commanded, "Send a scouting party. Immediately."

Eamon, the Royal Beta, hesitated before speaking, his voice cautious. "It may not be an ordinary ambush. The mages have been silent for too long… and silence can be deceptive."

The Alpha didn't respond at once. Instead, he lowered his gaze to the map sprawled before him, the dark lines marking the expanse of his territory.

"If they believe we are weak, they will regret it."

Before another word could be spoken, the heavy doors burst open. A guard rushed in, breathless, his face pale with urgency.

"Alpha! We found their bodies."

The Alpha rose slowly, his imposing figure casting a long shadow against the stone walls. The flickering flames made him appear almost otherworldly.

"Where?"

"Near the border…" The guard swallowed hard before continuing. "There's no sign of blood. No visible wounds. They are… dead, yet the cause is unknown."

A suffocating silence gripped the room. The Alpha's gaze bore into the messenger, his eyes narrowing with deadly intensity. Then, in a voice sharp as a blade, he ordered:

"Take me there."

Without hesitation, he moved. His steps were swift, decisive. Behind him, Khoury, Eamon, and an elite force of warriors followed. They strode through the dim corridors, their shadows stretching long against the flickering torchlight before emerging into the courtyard. Their horses stood ready.

The Alpha mounted his steed and spurred it forward, his warriors falling into formation behind him. The wind howled around them, tearing at their cloaks as they vanished into the night. Only the moon's pale glow and the eerie shimmer of their eyes cut through the darkness.

Upon arrival, a chilling sight awaited them.

Seven bodies lay still, their faces frozen in silent terror, eyes wide as if staring into the abyss itself. No blood. No wounds. No signs of struggle. Just empty husks, drained of something far more vital than life.

Khoury knelt beside one of the fallen, pressing a hand against the cold flesh. His jaw tightened. "This isn't a wound... nor poison. This is something else."

Eamon studied the corpses, unease creeping into his voice. "They're not just dead... Their souls have been stolen."

A shiver ran through the Alpha. Inhaling deeply, he sifted through the air—then he caught it. Faint. Nearly imperceptible. Yet unmistakable.

Magic.

His gaze snapped to Eamon and Khoury, his voice razor-sharp. "Mobilize all forces. We stand at the brink of war."

Yet, as silence settled around him, something deeper stirred. A whisper slithered through the darkness, coiling around his thoughts like a specter from a past he had fought to bury.

This isn't just war.

The past was clawing its way back to him.

"This isn't just an attack… it's a warning."

Eamon frowned. "A warning? From whom?"

The Alpha didn't answer immediately. Instead, he crouched beside one of the fallen warriors, his fingers brushing the cold skin. A shiver ran through him—not from fear, but from something far worse.

"No wounds. No weapons. Just… death."

Slowly, he lifted his gaze. For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—an emotion neither Eamon nor Khoury had ever seen before.

A chilling mixture of realization and barely contained dread.

Khoury's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. "Are you saying this is the work of the mages?"

But the Alpha shook his head, his voice lower, darker, as if dredging up a secret that should have remained buried.

"No… It's not them."

He exhaled slowly, his next words spoken like a death sentence.

"It's someone else. Someone who should have been dead a long time ago."

A sudden gust of wind howled through the trees, rattling the leaves like whispered warnings. The storm inside him was rising, and he knew—he could no longer delay the inevitable.

"Summon the royal guards. Double the watch at the borders. I want reinforcements—now."

Eamon and Khoury exchanged uneasy glances but did not question him. The truth was clear.

War was no longer a possibility.

It was inevitable.

And somewhere, deep in the abyss of the night, unseen eyes watched.

Lips curled into a slow, satisfied smile.

"At last… the game begins."

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1_Who is the mysterious enemy that everyone believed to be long dead?

2_How can they face a foe who wields a power that steals souls without leaving a trace?