Mira Thornvale

Ten years ago, Alvin lost his mother and sister during the werewolf rebellion. He witnessed a masked silver wolf from the rebel ranks slaughtering the innocent, and from that moment on, he harbored an undying hatred for the silver-blooded werewolves. He swore an oath to one day purge every last "wolf tainted with silver blood."  During a hunt, Alvin captured a grievously wounded girl. She was covered in blood, yet around her neck hung the carved bone necklace his sister had lost long ago. Believing her to be a grave-robbing rebel, he coldly ordered her locked in the dungeon to be interrogated under torture.


Beneath Twin Moons

Smoke still rose from Frostspire’s broken towers.


Alvin stood before the high council table in what remained of the throne room. Behind him, Frey leaned on her cane, her strength fragile but steady.


The chamber was packed—human soldiers, wolf emissaries, surviving elders, wary civilians. Unity hovered like a breath about to be held.


“We’ve ended Orion’s reign,” Alvin said, voice firm. “But peace doesn’t happen just because a tyrant falls.”


An older human officer crossed his arms. “You’re asking us to ally with a silverblood?”


Frey stepped forward. “I bled to stop the war. I gave up the shift. My wolf is gone.”


Frey raised her voice. “You think I wanted this? I traded the one thing that made me kin to you—for a future you still doubt.”


Alvin added, “I gave my blood to the altar. And I’d do it again. Frey isn’t your enemy. She’s the reason I stopped being one.”


Chapter 15: The Dying Moon