Not the best Reunion

An unnerving silence fell upon the three, thick and heavy. For some inexplicable reason, the street, moments before bustling, now seemed eerily empty, as if they were the only souls left. Lucas and the man standing before him – the man who could only be Dmitri – locked gazes. Their stare was intense, firm, a silent, potent challenge that spoke volumes without a single word. Something dangerous was about to unfold between them, and their eyes were proof enough.

Catherine watched them both, her brow furrowed. The sheer intensity between the two men was baffling. She didn't understand this sudden tension, adding to the already unsettling memory of her father's decaying face that still haunted her from earlier.

Mina, however, sensed something far more immediate. Her stare drifted from the two men to their surroundings. She muttered, a worried frown creasing her face, "Something's wrong..."

Where are the people? Mina thought, her expression turning skeptical as she scanned the unnaturally deserted street.

It was Dmitri who finally broke the charged quiet. "Where's my hug, brother?" His voice was light, almost playful, a jarring contrast to the atmosphere.

Lucas chuckled, a brief, sharp sound, masking his true intent behind a calculated smirk. "Glad to see you're well," he replied.

"But I'm afraid that will have to wait..." Lucas's voice dropped, becoming slower, firmer. His eyelids lowered for just a breath, and when they lifted, his eyes were no longer their usual shade. They blazed a bright, unnatural blue, the smirk instantly vanishing as that fierce, altered gaze fixed on Dmitri.

"Catherine, Mina," Lucas called out, his voice sharp with command.

"Sir?" Mina responded instantly.

Lucas communicated with Mina telepathically, a subtle flow of thought that Dmitri wouldn't hear, thanks to an ability that shielded his intentions. Run. Go back to the palace. Now. He kept his stern gaze locked on Dmitri as he sent the silent order.

Mina processed the command. She walked swiftly to Catherine, taking her hand. Catherine looked over, confused, but gripped Mina's hand tightly. Mina leaned closer to Catherine's ear, her words a low murmur.

"Why are you being harsh now? You know I wouldn't do anything... crazy," Dmitri chuckled, a low, mocking sound.

"Dmitri," Lucas began, his voice level but laced with steel. "I cannot allow you to go to the palace. Or remain on this land any longer."

Dmitri's silence was unnerving, and then his gaze flickered past Lucas to Catherine. "Still alive, are you?" he murmured, his eyes assessing her. "Earlier, I thought you were merely a resemblance, but seeing you now..."

Catherine's attention snapped between Mina and Dmitri. His words left her on edge, utterly bewildered by what he was implying.

"She's not Sandra," Lucas stated firmly, cutting across Dmitri's observation. "Don't get distracted."

Catherine's brow rose higher. She looked at the two men, more confused than ever.

"Catherine, let's go now," Mina urged, tugging gently on her hand.

Catherine looked at her, slowly nodding, her confusion warring with trust. Together, they turned, beginning to walk away from the confrontation.

They took only a few steps.

A sickening, invisible force ripped through the air, and across their chests.

Blood erupted in a crimson spray. Their faces froze in expressions of utterly silent shock, their bodies utterly unresponsive to the impossible speed of the attack. They didn't cry out, didn't even flinch. Slowly, impossibly, they crumpled, falling heavily to the ground. Blood dripped from the raw gashes on their chests, a trickle appearing at the corners of their mouths.

Lucas stared in stunned silence, disbelief freezing him for a timeless moment. The world seemed to slow to a crawl. But then, instinct took over. He turned, acting on pure adrenaline, just as Dmitri's fist connected with his face, a brutal impact that sent Lucas staggering sideways, knocked off his feet.

"Didn't you notice?" Dmitri's voice was sharp, laced with triumph. "This street belongs to me now." He smiled, and his eyes held a chilling, sinister glint. "No one leaves while my ability holds."

Lucas pushed himself up, staggering slightly, but holding himself still. He didn't move, didn't rush. He just stared at Dmitri, refusing to make a hasty move, forcing himself to think.

"So," Lucas asked, his voice tight, "this is your new ability?"

"Yes," Dmitri beamed, a look of pure pride on his face. "Isn't it beautiful? Everything I've done... it was worth it." He paused. "Thanks to them, of course," he added, almost to himself.

"Them?" Lucas echoed, his eyes narrowing.

"Oh, they know many things, brother," Dmitri said, turning to gaze up at the sky, a strange, almost childish glee in his tone. "Not just power, but knowledge I never dreamed of... Knowledge I have now."

Lucas saw his chance. While Dmitri was distracted, caught up in his own triumph, Lucas closed his eyes, focusing inward. He chanted silently within his mind, 'Entity of the shadowed mask, I seek permission for your power... Break this barrier.'

His eyes snapped open, the bright blue still blazing. He didn't hesitate, sprinting to Catherine and Mina's bodies. With desperate strength, he scooped them into his arms, one in each arm, and began to run. The power he'd invoked took effect instantly.

A low hum, barely audible, seemed to emanate from Dmitri. He frowned, a flicker of surprise crossing his face. The invisible tension, the illusion of emptiness, shattered. Suddenly, the street was real again. People reappeared, bustling along, oblivious to the drama that had just unfolded. The mundane noise of the city returned. It was as if nothing had happened.

"How could I forget?" Dmitri murmured, watching Lucas vanish into the distance, carrying his lifeless cargo. A slow, almost amused smile spread across his face. "But is it stronger than mine...?" he mused, a silent challenge echoing in the now-normal street. He made no move to run, merely turned and began walking leisurely in the direction Lucas had gone. He didn't need to rush. He was patient. He knew Lucas couldn't escape him, not truly.

Lucas ran, the weight of the two women heavy in his arms. The sudden reappearance of the street brought the shock of the mundane meeting the horrific. Passersby recoiled, gasping, eyes wide with terror and disbelief at the sight of the bloodied, limp bodies he carried. But Lucas barely registered them. His only thought, his sole focus, was the palace, getting them help, clinging to the desperate hope that it wasn't too late. His face was a mask of desperate anxiety.

"Royal Highness!" A voice cut through the chaos. Wilbert was waving frantically from down the street, his face a picture of utter shock as he took in the scene before him.

Lucas's head snapped up. He sped towards him, a single goal burning in his eyes.

"What in the fuckery is this—?!" Wilbert choked out, disbelief written all over him.

"Take Catherine!" Lucas shouted, his voice raw with panic. "We need to get back to the palace! He's here," he added, his voice dropping slightly as he reached Wilbert, the implication chilling.

Wilbert froze for a second, stunned, the sudden, brutal reality of the situation hitting him.

"Now!" Lucas demanded, his impatience a palpable force.

"Right, sir." Wilbert nodded sharply, overcoming his shock. He gently took Catherine's body from Lucas's arms, and together, they turned and ran, accelerating towards the distant spires of the palace, leaving the suddenly normal, suddenly horrifying street behind.

Jasper ran, his powerful wolf form carrying him deep into the forest until he reached the edge of a small, unassuming cabin. He didn't shift to human just yet, approaching slowly, scenting the air. As he drew closer, he stopped, his head snapping around ninety, then a full hundred and eighty degrees. He caught a scent – not the usual wildlife or damp earth, but something else entirely. The scent of someone he didn't recognize.

"Who's there? Come out," Jasper's voice, deeper and rougher in his wolf throat, sliced through the quiet. Every muscle in his body tensed, his posture fierce and wary.

Silence answered him, absolute and unnerving. Jasper remained focused, his eyes scanning the trees, awaiting a response.

Then, a flicker of movement registered. Jasper spun just as a massive rock hurtled towards him. He ducked his head, the stone smashing into a tree trunk behind him with a deafening crack. Jasper's gaze snapped back to the tree canopy from where the projectile had come.

"A cheap trick," he muttered to himself, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

The unfamiliar scent grew stronger now, closer. Jasper slowly turned. From the top of the leaves, a figure emerged. Jasper's eyes locked onto it instantly, staring up with unyielding focus. The figure launched downwards, a shadow detaching itself from the branches. As it descended, the details sharpened, becoming clear. Jasper's eyes widened. Recognition hit him like a physical blow. The figure, too, seemed to transition mid-air, the fierce focus of the attack softening into surprise as she landed lightly just a few feet away. She struck a combat-ready pose, but her eyes, meeting his, held dawning recognition.

"Jasper?"

"Lady Amara?" Jasper replied, shifting back slightly on his paws.

"Why are you here?" Amara demanded, her confusion evident. "Why are you on my land?"

Jasper lowered his head slightly, a wolfish equivalent of a raised brow. "Your land?" he rumbled, his voice carrying. "Lady Amara, this is my ancestors' land."

"What?! No way! This is my ancestors' land," Amara countered, a spark of pride in her tone. "I thought your kind had moved on, to a different planet even."

Jasper paused, weighing whether to even dignify her claims with a response.

"So?" Amara pressed, not backing down. "What are you doing here?"

"As I said, I don't know where these... accusations... are coming from," Jasper insisted, his tone formal despite the absurdity of the argument. "This has been our land for millennia."

Amara paused, a thoughtful look on her face, but before she could speak, a tiny sound broke the tension. From behind the thick trunk of the tree Amara had descended from, a baby crawled out, making curious, gurgling noises and heading straight for Jasper.

Jasper's fierce expression softened, replaced by sheer surprise. He backed away slightly as the baby toddled closer. "Is...?" he began softly, eyes wide.

"Hey!" Amara's voice was sharp, laced with immediate panic and exasperation. "Get back here! I told you to stay hidden behind the big tree!" She pointed, scolding the infant loudly.

Jasper flinched slightly at the harshness of her tone, observing Amara closely.

"And don't get any ideas!" Amara snapped, turning back to Jasper, her expression tight. "That thing isn't mine!" She stared firmly, then immediately stumbled over her words. "What?! No! What am I saying? I mean... I don't know where... it... came from."

Jasper sighed softly, letting go of his immediate questions about the baby. His posture relaxed slightly. "Lady Amara," he said, his tone more measured, "it's good to see you again. But... I am curious. Where have you been all these years?"

"Where have I been?" Amara started, her voice regaining some of its edge. "Here. With my people—" She cut herself off abruptly. Her expression crumpled, the sharp lines of defiance dissolving into a profound, heartbreaking sadness. Her gaze went distant, nonverbal grief clouding her features as she remembered.

Jasper's ears twitched, sensing the sudden, deep unease radiating from her. "What's the matter?" he asked gently.

Amara didn't answer. She simply lowered her head, the weight of her sorrow pressing down on her.

"Lady Amara?" Jasper prompted again.

Amara's head slowly lifted. Her eyes, once clouded with grief, were now blazing with cold, hard anger, meeting Jasper's yellow gaze. Her voice, when she spoke, was low and laced with menace. "Jasper. Don't get in my way. Not now."

"I have... business to deal with," she finished, her tone stern and utterly chilling.

Amara walked towards the baby, her movements stiff with suppressed rage. She scooped the child up gently, cradling it instinctively in her arms. Without another word or even a glance back at Jasper, she turned and began walking away.

Jasper watched her go for only a moment, a thought forming in his mind. Then, in a flicker of displaced air, he was human again, standing silently behind her. He reached out and took Amara's hand. She hissed, whirling, attempting a retaliatory kick, but recoiled instantly as a sharp jolt, a sudden shock like electricity, coursed through her body from his touch.

"What the—?!" Amara gasped, staggering back from the unexpected sensation. The baby stirred in her arms, letting out a surprised cry, sensing Amara's sudden jolt of fear and pain.

Jasper's own eyes widened, though his human face remained neutral. His touch was one of his abilities; it allowed him to read impressions, memories, deep within another being, instantly. He wasn't just reading... he was seeing. What flooded his mind, pulled unwillingly from Amara's recent past, was a torrent of agony, violence, and unimaginable loss. A horrifying truth that made his own breath catch. He stood frozen for a second, the speed and brutality of the memories staggering him. He quickly composed himself, though the cold weight of what he'd just witnessed settled deep in his gut, leaving him feeling physically ill.

"My lady," Jasper said, his voice heavy with sympathy, "I'm sorry." He released her hand.

Amara stared at him, frowning, then quickly averted her gaze. "Right," she muttered, shifting her hold on the baby. "Guess it's been so long, I forgot your wolf tricks weren't your only ones." She laughed awkwardly, a brittle sound.

Jasper looked down for a moment, the horrific images from her memory still burning behind his eyes. The sheer weight of what he'd seen made it difficult to speak, needing a moment to simply regain his equilibrium.

She straightened, her voice hardening again. "So what if you know? I don't need your help!" she declared firmly. "I'll handle this myself. You're out of this! Stay away!"

"Lady Amara," Jasper said, his tone stern, refusing to be dismissed, "how can you hope to kill the one responsible... without my help?"

She lifted her head elegantly, meeting his gaze with renewed defiance. "It's not 'Lady'," she corrected, her voice sharp, "It's Queen."

"Queen?" Jasper repeated, surprised.

"Indeed," she stated, her posture regal despite the circumstances. "You may have known me as Lady in the past, Jasper, but things are different now. Address me as Queen Amara."

Jasper stared at her for a moment, considering the weight of the title, the shift in power it represented.

Amara watched his hesitation, an annoyed grunt escaping her. She turned away, clearly done with the conversation, and began walking again.

"Do you even know who the killer is?" Jasper called after her, curious.

Amara ignored him, quickening her pace, refusing to listen.

"If not," Jasper continued, his voice hardening, "then I'm coming with you. To show you who. Because at this rate..." He cut himself off, the words hanging in the air. In a swift transition, he was a wolf again, his form shifting, growing slightly larger than average. He trotted after her, quickly closing the distance. Then, without breaking stride, he nudged her forcefully with his shoulder, using his powerful jaws gently to grasp the back of her tunic, lifting her slightly, and swinging her onto his broad back.

"Bastard! Damn you! What do you think you're doing?!" Amara shrieked, utterly surprised by the sudden, forceful maneuver. She clutched the baby tightly against her chest, protecting it instinctively. The sudden jostling startled the baby, and it immediately began to cry, a frightened wail. "Calm down! It's nothing," she yelled over the baby's cries, her own voice laced with frustration and irritation at its distress.

Ignoring her protests, Jasper broke into a run, heading purposefully in a direction only he knew.

"What are you doing?! Let me down! I told you to stay out of this! This is my fight! Not yours!" Amara demanded, pounding his back weakly.

Jasper didn't slow. "Well," he said, his voice a low rumble in his chest, "I guess you're not alone anymore." His yellow wolf eyes fixed on the path ahead, sharpened with cold resolve, his tone bitter with the truth he now carried.

Okay, here is the scene revised for a novel structure, aiming for a casual yet engaging tone with slight formalities.

Lucas and Wilbert sprinted back to the palace, the limp bodies of Mina and Catherine heavy in their arms. As they burst through the main gates, the guards on duty snapped to attention, startled by the sudden, desperate arrival.

"Your Royal Highness!" several guards called out, some stepping forward, alarm etched on their faces as they saw the two men and their grim cargo.

"Guard the palace," Lucas ordered, his voice sharp with urgency as he paused only long enough to fix them with a fierce gaze. "No one follows us."

A chorus of "Right on it, Sir!" answered him, though many guards exchanged confused glances, itching to know what catastrophe had unfolded. They saluted, reluctantly remaining at their posts.

Inside the palace walls, a wave of shock rippled through the staff and courtiers. Gasps and murmurs erupted as people stumbled back, eyes wide with disbelief at the sight of the bloodied, seemingly lifeless women Lucas and Wilbert carried.

Lucas wasted no time. "I need a medic! Now! And the regenerative herbs!" he commanded, his voice echoing with urgency. He turned and sprinted for the stairs, Wilbert close behind.

Workers nodded, scrambling into action, hurrying to follow orders, while others remained frozen, questions flooding their minds and etched on their faces. On the ground floor, Princess Delphine emerged from a washroom just as Lucas and Wilbert swept past. She froze, utterly speechless, her eyes fixed on the grim cargo they carried as they ascended the grand staircase. Without a moment's hesitation, her shock gave way to action. She turned and ran in the opposite direction, knowing she had to find Eddie.

The medic team didn't wait for a second summons. Three or four healers, laden with pouches of potent herbs, hurried upstairs. Lucas and Wilbert led them to a large, unoccupied chamber suitable for medical work. Lucas burst into the room, leaving the door wide, and gently laid Mina onto a spacious bed. Wilbert placed Catherine on the bed beside her.

Within moments, the medics arrived, setting up quickly. They divided into two teams, one for each woman. Lucas and Wilbert stepped back, allowing the healers to begin. The wolf people's healing herbs were far from ordinary; imbued with ancient magic and potent regenerative power, they were a vital tool, accelerating the natural healing process drastically, even closing grievous wounds with unnatural speed.

The medics began applying the finely ground herbs directly to the gaping wounds on both women's chests. The herbs worked almost instantly on Mina. The large, bloody gash across her chest visibly knitted itself together, the torn flesh regenerating rapidly. Her body responded, color returning to her skin. On Catherine, however, the herbs did... very little. There was a faint reaction, a slow pulse of energy, but the wound barely began to close. It was effective, yes, but agonizingly slow, not the near-instantaneous healing they expected. The medics on her side exchanged bewildered glances.

Seeing the concerning lack of progress, one of Catherine's medics quickly excused herself and went out to report to Lucas and Wilbert, who were waiting anxiously just outside the room.

"Sir, we have a problem," the female medic stated, her voice tight with concern.

"What is it now?" Lucas demanded, his patience worn thin.

"It's... the other woman, sir," the medic explained, quickly describing Catherine's distinct features. "The unique-looking one."

"Catherine? What's wrong?" Lucas pressed.

"The herbs... they're not working as they should," she reported, her concern deepening. "They're barely healing her. It's incredibly slow. On Mina, they're working effortlessly, but on the other woman... nothing like that."

Lucas froze, his gaze snapping to Wilbert. Wilbert's eyes widened in sudden understanding. He remembered. He had healed Catherine before, hadn't he? Used a different method entirely. A risky one. But if the herbs weren't working... This was it. This was the only way. Despite the dangerous consequences he'd faced last time, he had to try again.

"Let me do it," Wilbert said, his decision firm. He turned to the medic. "Show me where she is." He walked past her towards the door. The female medic nodded quickly and followed him inside, closing the door softly behind them.

Lucas watched him go, a deep line of concern creasing his brow. He crossed his arms, lowering his head slightly, the weight of the situation settling upon him.

Inside, Wilbert went directly to Catherine's bedside, motioning for the attending medics to give him space. He addressed them quickly, his voice hushed but clear. "Alright, everyone, listen. What I'm about to try isn't... typical healing. It's a spell." He didn't need to elaborate on the dangers, just acknowledged the potential risks. "This spell has consequences if it goes wrong, but I... I believe I can handle it." He looked down at Catherine's still body, her eyes vacant. Taking a deep, centering breath, he closed his eyes, shutting out the room, and began to chant, his voice low, calm, and filled with focused intent.

"I call upon the soul of Catherine and her higher guides," he chanted, his voice resonant and clear. "I seek permission for her to return to this realm, to be reunited with her body. Let it be done if her soul so wishes."

The moment Wilbert finished the chant, a palpable wave of energy pulsed outwards. The entire palace plunged into darkness. Lights flickered out, the hum of the energy system died, and a stunned silence gave way to gasps of surprise, quickly escalating into panicked shouts as people stumbled in the sudden, unexpected blackout.

"Everyone, please calm down!" Wilbert's voice cut through the rising panic.

But his words did little. People bumped into each other, disoriented. Some fumbled for doors, desperate to get out, while others with night vision abilities adjusted their sight to the sudden dark. Amidst the chaos, Wilbert remained calm. He activated his own night vision, his focus solely on Catherine. He chose to stay right beside her bed, protecting her from the surrounding commotion while the palace descended into disarray.

Through the confusion, Lucas pushed the door open and stepped back into the now-darkened room. "What happened?" he asked, his voice tight. "Was that the spell?"

"I think the heck not?" Wilbert scoffed, a hint of disbelief in his tone. "I... I don't know, sir. The lights just went out."

"How convenient," Lucas muttered, a cold edge to his voice, "that my brother isn't here yet."

"Sir," Wilbert said, the urgency returning. "If... if it's true he's coming here, you should go. Find him. Leave me in charge here. I'll explain the situation, secure the room."

Lucas considered this for a moment, then gave a sharp nod. "Right," Lucas agreed, turning for the door. "Don't make any funny mistakes," he added, a rare, playful jab despite the gravity of the situation. He left the room, closing the door behind him, plunging Wilbert back into the relative quiet of the chamber, illuminated only by night vision, while the palace outside remained in chaos.

Jasper had been running at a steady pace when a prickle of unease, a feeling of wrongness he couldn't explain, suddenly settled over him. An involuntary shiver ran down his spine. Without consciously deciding, his body responded, his stride lengthening, his pace quickening instinctively as the feeling intensified, lodging itself uncomfortably in his mind.

Amara, who had settled onto the ground grumpily, cradling the baby tightly, immediately noticed the shift in his rhythm. Her ears twitched, alerted by the increased speed of his footfalls.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Amara called out.

Jasper didn't reply. His focus was solely on the unnerving sensation driving his accelerated pace; it felt too urgent, too real, to ignore. He couldn't spare the attention to acknowledge her question, the discomfort of the feeling pressing in on him.

Amara watched him for a moment, a flash of annoyance crossing her face when he didn't answer. She paused, then visibly shook off the irritation. Deciding not to press the issue, she slumped back down where she was, the grumpy expression returning, her arms tightening protectively around the baby she held.

Wilbert kept vigil in the oppressive darkness of the room where both Mina and Catherine lay recovering in their beds. His night vision offered only indistinct shapes, but he focused intently on Catherine. A knot of confusion and anxiety tightened in his chest regarding her state. If her condition worsened, he feared she might not survive much longer.

"Uhh..." A soft groan broke the silence.

"Mina?" Wilbert shifted his gaze to the other bed, where Mina lay.

As soon as he heard her voice again, he moved swiftly to her side. "Are you alright? Glad you're awake, dear," he said, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and manufactured enthusiasm.

"Uhh, is that you?" Mina's voice was weak, barely above a whisper.

Wilbert leaned closer, glancing at her chest, a familiar worry prompting him to check if the large scar there had finally sealed.

"What... why is it dark?" Mina mumbled softly, her eyes fluttering open as she struggled to regain consciousness.

"The power's out," Wilbert informed her, keeping his voice even. "We don't know the cause, but His Royal Highness is on the way to find out."

"Huh? The power's out?!" Mina's voice jumped with soft panic, quickly regaining its normal strength. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying to move her head and look around.

"Yeah, but please, calm down," Wilbert said, attempting to soothe her, though the effort felt strained.

"Since when? And wait, where's Catherine...?" Mina's words trailed off as she glanced over her shoulder. She noticed the dark silhouette in the next bed. Though she couldn't see clearly, the faint, familiar scent confirmed who it was.

Mina stared in silence for a long moment, trying to make sense of what she perceived.

"She's dead," she finally whispered, the tone cold and laced with surprise.

"Oh no..." she muttered again, softer this time, the surprise in her voice now palpable dread.

"She's just unconscious, don't worry," Wilbert quickly assured her. "It's only temporary. The spell has been done on her."

"Spell? What spell?" Mina turned back to him, her eyes wide despite the darkness.

Wilbert opened his mouth to explain, but the words died on his tongue. The door to their room was suddenly shoved open with a loud bang.

"Hey! Whoever is in there, get out now!" A royal guard's voice announced, hasty and urgent, as he strode into the room for a moment before turning and leaving just as quickly, leaving the door wide open. "It's dangerous to stay any longer!"

"Wilbert, what the hell is going on?" Mina demanded, her anxiety spiking.

"It's nothing to worry about, my dear..." Wilbert's attempt to calm her failed utterly.

"No, Wilbert!" Mina insisted, her voice firm now. "I have to go outside." She swung her legs over the side of the bed, beginning to stand.

"Mina..." Wilbert started, stepping forward to stop her.

Before he could reach her, a colossal explosion ripped through the air outside. The shockwave made the entire room tremble violently, and the sudden, earth-shattering roar instantly silenced all other noise from beyond the open door.

Wilbert and Mina exchanged looks in the sudden, ringing silence. The same expression of unadulterated horror was mirrored on both their faces. For a terrifying moment, they simply froze, stunned into immobility by the sheer force of it.

Lucas had been running just outside the garden walls, nearing the edge of the palace grounds, when a sudden, sharp explosion ripped through the air behind him. He stopped dead in his tracks, the abrupt halt sending him sprawling flat onto the grass. All the words died in his throat as his eyes snapped towards the palace. At first, the explosion seemed minor, just a puff of smoke, but it billowed outward, growing larger and larger with alarming speed. Ignoring the instinct to flee, Lucas scrambled to his feet, ready to turn back towards the chaos.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

An unfamiliar voice sliced through the tense silence, freezing Lucas in place. He spun around, eyes narrowed, instantly on alert to identify the speaker.

His gaze landed on a stranger—a woman. Tall and slender, with medium tan skin that seemed to absorb the fading light. Her eyes, a striking grey almond shape, met his with an unnerving grin that did nothing to put him at ease. A shaggy wolf-cut of silver hair framed her face, giving her a wild, untamed look. She wore the uniform of a royal guard, though it was heavily splattered with blood. Her hands were clasped behind her back, a casual posture that felt anything but. Lucas held her gaze, a piercing glare that assessed everything about her. He found nothing friendly in her bearing.

"And why is that?" Lucas managed, injecting a touch of playful bravado he didn't entirely feel.

The woman chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. She dipped her head slightly before slowly lifting her eyes back to him. Then, she brought her hands forward. In one hand, she held the severed head of a Wolfguard. Its eyes were wide with a dreadful, lifeless expression, pale and stark against the still-dripping blood. She displayed it to him with that same chilling smirk.

"Because I'm going to kill you."

For a gut-wrenching moment, horror seized Lucas. But instinct was faster. His expression hardened as his body moved with blinding speed. He transformed, the shift into his wolf form instantaneous, a blur of fur and muscle. With a guttural growl of animalistic rage, he lunged at the woman like a predator starving for its kill. The force of the impact sent her reeling backward, staggering several steps before she stumbled and released her gruesome trophy.

Lucas pulled back, putting a little distance between them as he waited. Patience wasn't his strong suit in this moment, but he knew better than to rush blindly into a fight. He needed to assess his opponent.

The woman slowly regained her footing, pushing herself upright. Then, she charged. As she ran, she raised her hand, and with a flash of silver light, a sword materialized in her grip—a slightly long, elegant blade. She brought it up, positioning herself to strike. Lucas braced, ready to meet her charge.

When she closed the distance, she attacked first, a swift, arcing cut. Lucas dodged smoothly, flowing away from the blade. She pivoted instantly, rushing him again, her sword flashing. Again, Lucas evaded. She pressed her assault, swinging her blade in a rapid, relentless motion, trying to carve into his space. Lucas dodged, backing away, narrowly avoiding each strike.

Suddenly, she changed tactics. She retreated a few steps, lowering her sword. Lucas watched warily as she began to mutter something under her breath, words too quiet for him to decipher from his distance. Her gaze remained fixed on him, pierceing and cold.

The moment her muttering stopped, Lucas felt it—a powerful, invisible force grabbing at his foot, dragging him down as if the ground itself sought to swallow him. He roared, digging his claws into the earth, fighting desperately against the unseen grip.

The woman paused, watching his struggle for a moment.

"Before anything else," she said, her voice now flat and cold, "do you have any last words?"

Lucas paid her no mind, entirely focused on tearing his foot free from the ground's hold.

"When I saw you, I knew you weren't like the others," she continued, observing him. "You're his brother."

At the word 'brother,' Lucas stopped struggling for an instant. He lifted his head, his gaze snapping to hers, the fear replaced by a mix of annoyance and sharp surprise.

"Who the shit-stink are you?" he demanded.

The woman simply stared blankly for a heartbeat. Then, without offering any answer, she lunged forward, sword raised, positioning herself for the final strike.

In the middle of the street, beneath the startled gaze of passersby, Sergei and Barbara shifted into their wolf forms. Barbara's transformation revealed a sleek coat of light grey fur, set off by startling blue eyes. The sudden appearance of two large wolves amidst the asphalt prompted immediate chaos. Some onlookers, already unnerved by a growing commotion from the direction of the palace, simply ran faster. Others stopped to gawk and whisper, while a few shrieked and fled in outright panic.

"What on earth is going on?" Barbara's voice, clear and sharp even in her wolf form, was barely a muttered question as she ran, keeping pace with Sergei.

You'll head on first, Sergei's voice echoed directly in her mind, a telepathic suggestion cutting through the noise. I'll go back to my place.

What? Barbara argued, turning her head to look at him mid-stride. I should come with you.

No, I insist, please. Sergei's mental voice held a rare note of urgency. Someone needs you at the palace more than me.

Your suggestion is completely out of line, Barbara countered, frowning in his direction. They might need you too, so don't argue it any longer. We're going together.

Sergei seemed to deflate slightly, a flicker of defeat passing through his eyes before he looked away, offering no further telepathic argument.

They arrived at the edge of the palace grounds shortly after, the flickering glow of flames visible even from a distance. Both wolves stopped dead, staring in horror at the sight of fire engulfing parts of the once-grand structure.

"What is this...?" Sergei mumbled, the shock evident in his low growl.

Barbara remained silent, stunned by the unexpected devastation before them. Then, without a second thought, she surged forward, bolting directly towards the palace gates.

"Barbara!" Sergei called out, his voice a sharp bark.

Follow me!  Barbara ordered telepathically as she ran.

Sergei hesitated. As Barbara sped towards the gates, calling for him, he paused. A different, more pressing thought took hold, outweighing the immediate urge to follow her into the inferno. He took a step as if to obey but then stopped, his gaze sweeping over the burning structure before settling on the path away from it. Rethinking his initial inclination to rush towards the chaos, he made his decision. With a decisive turn, he broke from Barbara's path and sprinted in the opposite direction, heading back towards his own place.

Unaware that Sergei wasn't following, Barbara reached the palace gates, bursting through them. She found a scene of frantic disarray—royal wolfguards and palace workers rushing out, a tide of shouting and panicked movement. A worker spotted Barbara surging through the entrance.

"Barb, don't go inside!" the worker yelled over the din. "It's too dangerous!"

Is everyone out? Barbara demanded, her voice urgent.

"I have no idea!" the worker shouted back, eyes wide with fear. "But don't go inside; you'll only risk yourself!" With that, they turned and joined the flow of people streaming out through the gates.

Barbara watched them go for a moment, her gaze then sweeping back to the burning palace. Her expression shifted, concern deepening into a look of grim determination.

Who did this? she thought, the question echoing silently in the smoky air.