New era

The past year had reshaped the shelter from a humble refuge into a fortress — a sprawling haven of reinforced walls, complex defensive systems, and storerooms brimming with supplies. Once a fragile outpost, it now stood among the strongest shelters in the world — a bastion carved out of chaos and war.

Within its walls, Ariel had transformed as well. Gone was the quiet human who once carried crates and scrubbed blood from the floors. Now, she was an elite fighter — precise, swift, and deadly. Together with her team — Violet, Frank, Oswald, and Rolf — she had become part of an unbreakable force.

Tonight, they moved as one. 

The air inside the Lycan den was suffocating — damp, stale, and pungent with animal musk. Jagged rock walls pressed in around them, the shadows twitching like restless spirits.

Oswald led the way, his keen senses sharpening the darkness into something tangible. Every scrape of claw against stone, every low breath from the deeper tunnels whispered to him.

Rolf and Frank flanked — broad, powerful walls of muscle and steel. Ariel walked at the back, a pair of small guns in hand. Each bullet was meticulously crafted — silver wrapped in a layer of dried wolfsbane. With Violet close by, her staff glowing faintly in preparation, Ariel felt secure.

Their formation was perfect. Tight. Controlled.

Then, Oswald froze. His hand shot up — fingers stiff like claws. Danger.

Before anyone could react, the growl struck — low, guttural, and close. A flash of fur lunged from a hidden passage.

"Contact!" Oswald barked.

The beast hit like a battering ram, slamming Rolf and Frank back. Ariel barely had time to raise her weapon before Rolf's blade buried itself in the werewolf's shoulder. The creature howled, but it was Ariel's dagger that found its throat — silver biting deep, spraying hot blood over her arm. The beast collapsed in a writhing heap, twitching as it shrank back into human form.

More growls followed.

"More incoming!" Oswald warned.

They surged forward — Lycans with matted fur and gleaming yellow eyes. Teeth bared. Claws out.

A blur of movement from her right — too fast. Ariel spun — too slow. The werewolf was nearly on her when Frank hurled himself in the way, deflecting its claws with his sword.

"You alright?" he shouted over his shoulder.

Ariel barely had time to nod before another beast lunged.

"Enough," Violet muttered.

She slammed her staff to the ground, and a wave of fire rippled outward. Flames snaked down the corridor, licking at the walls and forcing the Lycans back. The air crackled with heat, and the tunnel filled with the scent of burning fur.

"They're regrouping," Oswald warned, pressing his ear to the stone. "Reinforcements… a big group… coming from deep inside."

Ariel grinned. "We gotta get faster."

She didn't fear it — the chaos of battle, the furious rhythm of steel and fire. She thrived in it. It was where she felt most herself — a place where instinct took over and nothing else mattered.

Damon twitched on her shoulder — that tiny, unshakable presence always by her side. His whiskers twitched in warning, little paws clinging tightly to her leather armor.

The hamster had saved her more than once. Even Oswald, with his keen senses, respected Damon's uncanny ability to predict danger. The team often joked that Damon was their sixth member — but there was truth in the jest.

"Right side!" Violet shouted.

But Ariel was already moving. Her dagger flashed, cutting through a Lycan's throat before it could strike. The beast staggered back, choking on blood, before collapsing into its human form.

The fight raged on — steel against claw, flames against fur.

Blood pooled beneath their boots, and the walls shook with furious howls. Ariel's muscles burned, her breaths ragged. But she never stopped — she couldn't.

Then, from the tunnel ahead, a mass of Lycans charged together — a wave of gnashing teeth and howling fury. The air thickened with primal magic — wild and chaotic.

"Violet—"

"I've got it!" Violet's voice was strained, and her fingers trembled as she raised her staff.

The air seemed to vibrate. Her spell twisted the oxygen from the room, forcing the Lycans to stagger and choke. Then came the blood — bubbling from their eyes, their mouths, their ears.

They collapsed one by one, leaving the tunnel littered with bodies.

Violet staggered, her face pale and drenched in sweat.

"Violet!" Ariel caught her before she could fall. "You alright?"

"I'll… be fine." Her voice was faint. "Just… overdid it."

"You're done for now," Ariel said firmly. She turned to Rolf. "Stay with her. Protect her."

Rolf didn't argue. He planted himself beside Violet, sword in hand.

The control room stank of wet fur and stale sweat. Crude maps, torn papers, and half-burnt journals were strewn across the wooden table. Ariel flipped through the scattered documents, her gloved fingers smudging the ink.

"These Lycans aren't much for technology," she muttered, eyes scanning crude diagrams of werewolf anatomy mixed with tactical sketches. "But they've been experimenting... with primal magic."

"Primal?" Oswald scoffed. "That's practically suicide for a werewolf."

"It's not for them," Ariel murmured, lifting a parchment marked with strange glyphs. "Looks like they've been developing techniques for turning half-breeds into something... worse."

Oswald let out a low whistle. "That could be dangerous."

"It would give them an edge against purebloods," Ariel concluded grimly.

She shuffled through the papers until a name caught her eye — Leo. Her breath hitched.

The name was scrawled in looping script beside the sigil of a known demi-vampire faction — one notorious for ruthless dealings. Ariel's fingers froze. The parchment felt heavy in her hand, colder than the cavern air.

"You good?" Frank asked from across the room. His sharp gaze never missed much.

"Yeah... just tired," Ariel lied, folding the paper and slipping it into her jacket.

Back at the shelter.

The cafeteria buzzed with conversation. A dozen warriors in tattered gear swapped stories over mugs of spiced wine. Ariel barely heard the noise. She sat at their usual table, Damon curled on her lap. The little hamster was still, his beady black eyes locked on Frank.

"You looked troubled ever since we returned from the Lycans' den," Frank pressed gently. His voice was softer now — no longer the leader commanding his team, but a friend offering comfort.

"It's nothing," Ariel deflected, stroking Damon's fur. The hamster twitched, clearly displeased.

"I'd lend an ear," Frank offered. His blond hair flopped boyishly over his forehead. He always seemed more relaxed off the battlefield, but his eyes were still sharp — watching, measuring.

Ariel sighed. "It's about my brother... Leo."

Frank's brow furrowed. "Leo?"

"You know about him?"

"Violet mentioned him once." He looked embarrassed, shifting in his chair. "I didn't mean to pry."

"It's fine." Ariel traced the rim of her glass absently. "It's not like I hide it."

"So... what about Leo?"

"I saw his name in the Lycans' documents." Ariel paused, still doubting her thoughts. "A member of the demi-vampires."

Frank blinked, then let out a dry chuckle. "Leo's a common name. Could be anyone."

"Exactly," Ariel muttered. "Just a common name." But her fingers still dug into the wooden table.

"I'll look for him," Frank offered.

Ariel glanced up, startled.

"I have access to records most people don't," Frank explained. "If you've got a picture of Leo, I can search."

Ariel hesitated. For over a year, she had trained herself to trust only her team — but Frank had earned his place.

"I'll get it from my room," she said finally.

"I'll stop by before I head for the archives," Frank replied.

As Frank turned away, Damon let out a soft, irritated squeak. Ariel smirked faintly, scratching his tiny head.

"What's your problem?" she murmured. The hamster glared in Frank's direction, his whiskers twitching furiously.

"Don't like him?" she teased. 

But beneath her teasing tone, Ariel's heart felt heavier than ever.