Veronica_Hazel

Five siblings. One prophecy. And a witch with a vendetta that could shatter the very soul of their world.

Born together under a blood moon, the quintuplets of Crescent Hollow were never destined for quiet lives. From the moment they took their first breath, the pack whispered of fate—of greatness, of ruin, of power too wild to be tamed. But none could have foreseen just how deeply the stars had etched these five names into the fabric of war, love, and legacy.

They are the children of Alpha Griffin and Luna Lila—each one a howl in the night, a piece of a puzzle the gods themselves can’t seem to solve.

Opal is the only girl among them, but don’t make the mistake of thinking that makes her the softest. She’s steel wrapped in silk, a storm behind violet eyes. Born a leader, but unwilling to embrace a crown simply because it’s expected of her, Opal is sharp-tongued and slow to trust. Her instincts are fierce and unyielding. While the others trained for war, she studied people—how they move, how they lie, how they break. She doesn’t need brute strength to bring someone to their knees. Her voice is enough.

But underneath the strength is a soul that’s tired of carrying the weight of being “the one who must choose.” Because when the witch comes—and she will come—it’s Opal who must make the final decision: love or survival, sacrifice or damnation. The wrong move won’t just cost her life. It could cost them all.

Ash has spent his life wearing the heavy armor of responsibility. He’s the one who wakes first, who stands tallest, who speaks last. Loyalty is carved into his bones, but so is guilt—because no matter how many battles he wins or enemies he slays, he can’t protect everyone. Not always. Especially not from the things that crawl out of the dark and into their minds.

Ash doesn’t believe in fate. He believes in preparation. In discipline. In never letting your guard down. But when the world starts cracking around them, even he has to admit: something ancient is rising. And it doesn’t care how hard he trained. It just wants his sister’s blood.

Ridge is the quiet blade. The shadow behind the strike. He’s never been loud like Forrest or fiery like Ash, but don’t mistake silence for softness. Ridge watches, absorbs, and then—when it counts—strikes with devastating precision. Wolves underestimate him. They call him the “muscle,” the one who lifts more than he speaks. But Ridge has a mind for strategy that rivals generals, and a heart that beats only for his pack.

What he hides, even from his siblings, is the growing rage inside him—the ache for justice.

Brooks is the brain. The tactician. The one who always has a backup plan… and a backup for that one, too. Books were his first weapons, logic his armor. He’s the type who calculates the angle of a blade mid-air and still finds time to debate ancient pack law over breakfast. But beneath the intellect lies a deep, pulsing fear: that no matter how many scenarios he prepares for, he’ll never be able to outthink fate.

Brooks understands magic better than he wants to. He sees patterns others miss. Symbols. Cycles. Rituals that once felt like stories now feel like ticking time bombs. The witch isn’t just a threat. She’s a puzzle. And solving her might be the only way to save the people he loves—if he doesn’t lose his mind in the process.

And then there’s Forrest.

The loudest. The chaos wrapped in charm and grins and duct-tape booby traps that probably won’t kill anyone.

Forrest was never meant to be predictable. He’s the brother who jumps first and asks why midair. His mind moves faster than his body, and thatsaying something—because he moves like wildfire. He hides fear behind jokes, pain behind pranks, and when the darkness comes, Forrest is the one who tries to make the others laugh even as they bleed.

But the thing about chaos? It sees everything

the five howls of fate

The forest behind their village glowed with the last gold of summer light, sun filtering in molten ribbons through a lattice of ancient oak leaves. The branches whispered to one another with secrets that only the woods and the witches could hear. Two girls—barefoot and breathless—ran through the trees, laughter trailing in their wake like wind-borne magic.

Selene was the quieter of the two. Taller, with sharp cheekbones and thick lashes, she moved like a shadow wrapped in silk, her silver hair tumbling behind her like moonlight in motion. Her twin, Azeala, was all fire and chaos. Her dark curls bounced as she ran, and her eyes—once a mirror of Selene's gentle gray—now burned with an amber hue that had grown more vivid with each passing year.

They were both sixteen. And the power had started to come.

chapter 150 sisters of magic