Adventurers’ Guild of Zarath part 3 + Shadows Beneath the Moon part 1

The Relic Beneath the Hall
The corridor opened into a vault directly under the Guild Hall foundations — an ancient chamber of black stone, ringed by half-melted runes. In its center hovered a relic — or what was left of it — a sphere of twisted silver and glass, pulsing with the same ash-light we’d seen in the mine, the road, the forest.

“This is where it began,” Lira whispered. “The ash’s source.”
Kael stepped closer, frowning. “No. Not just source — prison. Someone sealed a demon here long ago.”

Before anyone could react, the relic pulsed. The air screamed.

It cracked open like glass under pressure, spilling molten shadow into the air. The shape that emerged was neither smoke nor flesh — a massive, horned figure formed of ember and bone, its eyes twin coals of malice.
“You burned my chains…” it said, its voice echoing through our skulls. “Then burn with me.”

The Final Battle
Voss rallied immediately. “Form circle! Focus fire on its limbs!”

Kael’s blade flared silver as he charged. The demon struck, claws gouging deep trenches in the floor. Lira’s arrows found its eyes, bursting in sparks of blue. Awen chanted counterseals, her voice barely audible over the roaring.

I moved with instinct — flanking, striking at the gaps where the ash cracked, each blow searing my skin. The creature howled, its body reforming again and again from the black dust.

“We can’t kill it while the relic’s active!” Awen shouted. “It’s tethered!”
“Then we break the tether,” I said. “Corven! Channeling focus — now!”

Corven raised his staff, channeling white light into the runic ring. The relic vibrated, humming with unbearable pitch. Kael roared, shifting — for a brief moment, his human form flickered, replaced by something lupine, silver eyes blazing.

The demon faltered. That was our opening.

Voss struck the final blow — his sword plunging into the relic’s heart. The chamber exploded with light and smoke. The sound was not a scream but a sigh — a release of centuries.

When the dust cleared, only the cracked remains of the relic remained, glowing faintly before turning to cold ash.

Aftermath
We sealed the vault with the Church’s sigils before dawn. Priests burned incense in every corridor; the air still tasted of metal and smoke.

Valenhold’s streets were scarred, some districts collapsed, but the city stood. No tower fell. No apocalyptic storm swallowed the sky.

Just exhausted people, ash-streaked walls, and the heavy silence that follows survival.

Debrief and Recognition
Kerrin found us the next evening in the Guild courtyard. Her usual steel composure was gone; she looked… proud.

“Valenhold stands because of you,” she said quietly. “The Guild, the Church, even the governor’s office agree — we owe you our city.”

She handed me a new badge: Platinum Rank. The metal shimmered faintly, etched with the guild’s sigil.

“You’re not just a field agent anymore,” Kerrin said. “You’re a leader. Valeria needs one.”
Voss gave a tired grin. “Don’t let it get to your head. Paperwork doubles.”
Lira raised her cup from where she sat by the steps. “To Platinum. And to not dying underground.”
Kael joined her toast, eyes gleaming in the torchlight. “You fought well, commander. When the time comes… there’s something you should know about me and Lira.”

He paused, looking toward the moon rising above the rooftops. “But that can wait. Tonight, we celebrate the living.”

The Echoes Remain
Days later, as reconstruction began, I walked the lower halls again. The walls were quiet — no hum, no whispers. Only dust.

And yet, when I passed the sealed vault door, the faintest trace of warmth still lingered beneath my hand.

Ash. Always ash. But for now, Valenhold endured — scarred, watchful, unbroken.

And so did we.

Shadows Beneath the Moon (Werewolves Arc)
Howl in the Timberline
The northern wind always smells of iron. Cold, sharp, and uninviting — like the borderlands themselves. When the guild posted the timber convoy escort contract, most veterans passed it up. Too far north, too much risk, not enough pay. So, it fell to us — a fresh squad barely three months into working together — to pick it up.

I didn’t mind. I wanted to see the Timberline. The locals called it “the wolf’s crown,” a jagged forest where pines grew so tall they looked like black spires against the clouds.

Departure
Valenhold’s morning light came slow, filtering through the mist over the Frostgate District. The guild hall buzzed behind us — laughter, clatter of armor, the smell of roasted rye and oil.

Kael was already checking his axes by the wagon, sleeves rolled to his elbows. “Last chance to back out,” he said with a grin. “They say even the trees up north bite.”
“Then I’ll make sure to bite back,” I told him.

Lira tightened her cloak beside me, gaze fixed north. She rarely spoke before departure — always silent until the road settled into rhythm. I once thought her shy. Later I learned she just listened more than she talked.

We were joined by three others:
Merren, the guild’s quartermaster apprentice, on his first field mission — all nerves and ink stains.
Old Harv, a driver who’d seen more winters than most demons.
And the merchant foreman, a loud man who swore every minute the Empire delayed his lumber quota.

Five wagons. Twenty crates of various goods. And a forest with a reputation.

The Road North
The cobblestones gave way to dirt by midday, then to gravel, then to snow-dusted mud. The sun dipped early this time of year, leaving the sky the color of tarnished steel.

Kael hummed a marching tune; the kind soldiers use to keep warm. Merren tried to join in and failed halfway. “You’ll learn,” Kael laughed. “First rule of the road: sing louder than your fear.”

Lira shot him a look. “Second rule — don’t scare the wildlife before we reach it.”

The banter kept the chill at bay until we saw the first wreck. A wagon overturned beside the trail, half-buried in frost. The horses were gone — no corpses, no traces of human blood, just claw marks in the timber and torn harnesses.

Old Harv crossed himself. “Wolves?”

Lira knelt, brushing snow away. The tracks were deep — too deep. “Not wolves,” she murmured. “Too heavy. And… these aren’t bites. They’re slashes.”

Kael crouched beside her, running a finger over the grooves. “Big claws. Upright stance.”

I frowned. “A bear?”

“Not in this cold,” Lira said. She met Kael’s eyes for a second — something unspoken passed between them — then she rose. “Let’s move. Before the scent brings whatever did this back.”

The Timberline
We reached the Timberline at dusk. The forest stood in eerie silence, no birdsong, no wind, only the creak of frozen branches. Even the horses grew restless.

The convoy halted near an old watchtower ruin. We decided to camp — small fire, low light. Lira volunteered for first watch. Kael took second. I was third.

Night came with a whisper of snow. I dozed between dreams until a low growl woke me. Not close — but near enough.

Lira stood at the edge of the firelight, bow drawn, eyes gleaming faintly amber in the dark. “Something’s circling us,” she whispered.

The growl came again — followed by a scream.

The merchant foreman bolted upright, shouting about payment and demons. Kael shoved him back into the wagon. “Stay down!”

Shapes moved between the trees — not beasts, but tall, broad silhouettes, their eyes catching the firelight.

I drew my blade. “Positions!”

Then the first one stepped out — a wolf-headed figure, armor made from scavenged steel and leather. It snarled, not at us, but past us — toward the woods behind.

A flash of red light followed. Demons. Small ones — carrion-things that crawled from cracks between roots. They shrieked and lunged.

The wolf-warrior roared — and charged them.

Battle in the Pines
What followed was chaos — cold, breath, and steel.

Kael fought like thunder, twin axes flashing. Lira loosed arrows so fast I heard them whistle in rhythm. I held the line by the fire, keeping the smaller demons from the wagons.

The wolf-warriors tore through the creatures with savage precision. They weren’t attacking us. They were defending the road.

When it ended, the snow was black with ichor. The wolf-warrior chieftain — if that’s what he was — stood panting, staring at us. Then, without a word, he turned and vanished into the forest with his kin.

For a moment, no one spoke. Only the crackle of the dying fire.

Old Harv finally said, “Well, I’ll be damned. Wolves savin’ merchants. Never thought I’d live to see it.”

Return to Valenhold
We brought the wagons back intact — minus a few crates and half my cloak.

At the guild hall, Guildmaster Thalen listened in silence as I reported. He didn’t like mysteries. Especially ones that involved monsters showing mercy.
“Wolf-men,” he muttered, leaning on his desk. “Could be shapeshifters. Could be northern mercenaries. Either way — you’ll keep this quiet. I don’t want panic.”

I nodded. Lira stayed quiet beside me, hands folded, expression unreadable. Kael leaned against the wall, avoiding her gaze.

As we left, I asked her quietly, “You knew, didn’t you? That they weren’t our enemies.”
Her reply was soft. “You learn to tell the difference… between a beast that kills for hunger and one that fights for home.”

And then, almost as if to herself: “Sometimes the world forgets we can be both.”

Moonlit Accord
The summons came at dawn. Guildmaster Thalen wasn’t a man who spoke early unless something urgent—or dangerous—was at hand. His message was simple: “Report to the upper office. Bring your squad.”

By the time I reached the guild hall, frost was still clinging to the windowpanes. Kael leaned on the railing, arms crossed, while Lira stood beside him in silence. Both looked like they hadn’t slept much.

Inside, Thalen’s office smelled of parchment and old steel. Maps covered the walls, and one—marked with a dozen red pins—showed the Frostpine Highlands.

“The northern patrols found signs of movement,” Thalen said. “The wolf-men you encountered. Their leader sent word. He wants to talk.”
I blinked. “Talk?”

Thalen nodded grimly. “Claims they fight against the same corruption you reported. The Silverfang Pack, they call themselves. Their chieftain—Aedric. Old name, old clan.” He fixed me with that tired stare of his. “You’re going north again. Not as hunters—envoys.”

Kael shifted uncomfortably. “You’re sending us to negotiate with monsters?”

Thalen’s eyes narrowed. “If monsters bleed demons, I’ll talk to them over tea. But I want ears I trust on that mountain. Yours.”

The Journey to Frostpine
We left before noon with a small escort: two guild knights and a scribe. The road wound higher than before, through forests glazed with rime. The trees leaned close, like eavesdroppers.

Kael kept to the front, unusually quiet. Lira rode beside me, gloved hands steady on the reins.

After an hour of silence, I asked, “You believe this will work?”
Lira didn’t look at me. “If Aedric sent a message, he means it. Wolves don’t waste breath on lies.”
That phrasing struck me as odd. “You sound like you’ve met him.”
Her eyes flicked toward me—brief, unreadable. “No. But I’ve heard of him.”

The Silverfang Encampment
The camp was not what I expected. No savage dens, no trophies of prey—just an ordered ring of tents around a frozen firepit, guarded by armored sentinels whose wolf-like eyes followed every step.

The air smelled of pine resin and iron.

Aedric Silverfang emerged from a central tent as we dismounted. Age had carved him into stone—broad shoulders, hair like winter frost, and eyes the color of cold ash. His armor was plain but well-kept, his bearing almost regal.

“So,” he said, voice deep as a growl, “the Empire sends blades with manners. That’s new.”

Guild Knight Merrow bristled, but I stepped forward and bowed slightly. “We come under truce, on behalf of the Valenhold Adventurers’ Guild. To prevent further conflict.”

Aedric’s gaze lingered on me, then on Kael and Lira. “Conflict,” he repeated. “If I wished for that, your patrols would already be bones in the snow.”

Kael muttered, “Friendly start.”

I shot him a warning look. “Then why the message, Chieftain?”

He gestured toward the east, where black mist curled above the treeline. “Because something crawls in our woods. My kin fall to madness. Their eyes burn red, their flesh twists. The demons infect the blood itself.”

Lira tensed. “You mean—corruption that spreads through lycanthropy?”

Aedric nodded slowly. “The curse is old, child. But this poison… this is new.”

He turned to me. “We hunt the feral ones to keep your villages safe. And for that mercy, your Empire calls us beasts.”

His words stung more than I wanted to admit. “Then maybe it’s time that changed.”