Chapter 1: The Alpha Returns

Three thousand years after I became immortal, a wolf came crashing into the High Court of the Night.

It happened so fast—the grand marble steps echoed with the pounding of paws. The kind of ruckus you only hear when the world’s about to flip upside down. I hardly had time to look up from my sweeping before he was right there: wild, snarling, fur bristling like he’d just tumbled out of a thunderstorm.

But I dropped him to the ground with a single kick.

Everything went dead silent for a heartbeat. The wolf sprawled on the polished floor, blinking up at me like I’d just knocked the wind—and maybe his dreams—right out of him. My old boot left a dusty print on his side. For a second, I almost felt bad. Almost.

"You scruffy little wolf, stay in the backwoods where you belong. What are you doing pretending to be the Alpha of the Night?"

My words rang out, sharp and clear, echoing off the high, shadowy arches of the Court. For a split second, I caught a glimpse of a couple night maidens peeking from behind pillars, wide-eyed, like I’d just sprouted a second head. I braced myself—honestly, I half-expected the wolf to snarl back or try to bite my ankle. Still—

To my utter shock, the wolf grabbed my leg. Eyes brimming with tears.

He latched on like a lost pup, his claws digging into my worn work jeans. His voice shook, thick with heartbreak, or something damn close to it. The look in his eyes—God, it was like he was seeing a ghost come back to life.

"Alpha, have you forgotten who you are?"

"Alpha, you’re the Alpha!" He said it again, the word Alpha hanging in the air, like maybe repeating it would snap me back to myself. The desperation in his voice made my heart skip a beat. I looked down at him—this wolf who seemed to know me better than I knew myself.

I was the janitor of the High Court. Just the janitor. A nobody.

That was me. Just the janitor. A nobody. I’d spent centuries in the background, just another shadow in the halls, invisible except for the messes I cleaned up. The title of "Alpha" felt as distant as the stars I swept beneath every night.

My daily job was to carry that battered old broom—

Not exactly glamorous, but it was mine. The handle was splintered, the bristles worn down to nubs. Still, it fit my hand like nothing else ever had. I’d even named it Old Reliable, though no one ever cared to ask.

Sweeping from the Western Gate to the Moonlit Orchard, then from the Orchard to the Grand Assembly Hall. Every day, the same path. Western Gate. Moonlit Orchard. Grand Assembly Hall. Over and over.

It was a routine as familiar as breathing. The path never changed: past the whispering pines, over dew-slick stones, under lanterns that never burned out. Sometimes, if I was lucky, I’d catch the moon’s reflection in the orchard’s silver apples.

Day after day, year after year. In the blink of an eye, three thousand years had passed. Sometimes, I hardly noticed the time slipping by.

Sometimes I’d pause and watch the world change around me—new faces, new rules, the slow decay of things once grand. But me? I stayed the same, broom in hand. Just me and my broom, drifting through eternity like a ghost.

"Old Broom, the clouds over Maple Ridge have gathered dust again today."

A passing night maiden pinched her nose and shot me a look of disgust. Yeah, I got that a lot.

She wrinkled her nose like I was the source of all the world’s dirt, her voice dripping with that special kind of disdain only the young seem to master. Her perfume—jasmine and something sharper—lingered after she swept past.

I nodded, hunching my back as I made my way toward the western sea of clouds. Back to work, as always.

My steps were slow, deliberate, the ache in my knees a familiar companion. I could feel her eyes burning into my back, judging, dismissing. But I’d learned not to let it bother me. Let them talk. I had work to do.

For three thousand years, everyone called me "Old Broom." Old Broom. That’s all I was to them.

No one remembered my name. Even I had almost forgotten it.

Sometimes, on quiet nights, I’d try to summon it from the depths of my mind, but all that surfaced was a haze of dust and old regrets. Names are easy to lose when nobody calls you by one.

At the edge of the cloud sea, I swung my broom out of habit, not even thinking about it.

The clouds here were especially heavy, like they’d been soaked with rain.

They clung to the ground, thick and sluggish, swirling around my boots. Each sweep sent up little puffs that sparkled in the moonlight, vanishing before they could settle again. It was peaceful, in a lonely sort of way. Funny how even dust can look pretty in the right light.

Out of nowhere, a sharp pain shot through my right wrist.

I looked down.

Somehow, a faint silver mark had appeared there, as if something had pressed against my skin for a long time.

It glimmered in the moonlight reflecting off the clouds, a thin crescent that seemed to pulse with every beat of my heart. I turned my wrist over, trying to remember if I’d ever seen it before. It felt old—older than I could fathom.

"Weird..." I rubbed my wrist, and the pain vanished as quickly as it came.

I flexed my fingers, half-expecting the ache to return, but it didn’t. The mark faded, leaving only the memory of its sting. Just another oddity in a life full of them, I figured.

Then, out of nowhere, the entire High Court shook violently.

Shouts and the sounds of battle echoed from afar, and the night maidens scattered in panic.

The marble beneath my feet trembled, sending a chill up my spine. Somewhere down the hall, a vase crashed to the floor, shards skittering across the stone. I heard the sharp, frantic footsteps of the night maidens as they fled. Their silken robes fluttered like frightened birds. Panic spread fast.

"Oh no! A wolf is attacking the Western Gate!"

The panic in her voice was real—a shrill, piercing note that cut through the calm that usually blanketed the Court.

A silver light streaked across the sky, crashing through everything in its path. Wherever it went, night sentinels and guardians were sent flying.

The chaos was unreal. The silver blaze tore through stone and shadow alike, sending bodies tumbling like autumn leaves in a storm.

As the figure drew closer,

I saw a silver-gray wolf with blazing yellow eyes, wielding a heavy iron rod with authority.

He was taller than the others, muscles coiled tight beneath his fur, every inch of him radiating defiance. The iron rod he carried looked like it could shatter mountains. His eyes locked onto mine, burning with a heat that felt almost familiar. Something about him made my heart stutter.

"Hey! Where’s that old Night King? Tell him to come out and meet me, the Young Alpha!" the wolf bellowed, the roar making my eardrums ache.

His voice rolled through the halls, rattling the very walls. The guards were murmuring, unsure whether to fight or flee. The wolf’s challenge was raw, unfiltered—a call to battle that left no room for doubt.

I should have hidden like the other minor immortals, but for some reason, seeing that wolf stirred a strange sense of familiarity in my bones.

A memory tugged at the edge of my mind, something ancient and wild. My feet stayed rooted to the spot, even as logic screamed at me to run. The air around me crackled, like the air before a storm.

Even stranger, my right hand started trembling uncontrollably, and that silver mark began to burn.

The pain was sharp, electric—like grabbing a live wire. I clenched my fist, trying to will it away, but it only grew stronger the closer the wolf came.

The wolf spotted me and, with a leap, landed right in front of me, pointing his rod at my nose. "Old man, where’s the Night King?"

He was close enough now that I could see the flecks of silver in his fur, the battle scars crisscrossing his muzzle. His breath steamed in the cold air, his grip on the rod steady and sure. I met his gaze, and something inside me shifted. Something old and fierce. I couldn’t quite name it.

I know, I should’ve been scared, but looking at him, all I wanted to do was laugh.

This scene felt so familiar, like I’d seen it a thousand times in my dreams.

A strange warmth bubbled up in my chest, pushing aside the fear. The wolf’s presence was a challenge and a comfort all at once, like meeting an old rival after years apart.

"You scruffy little wolf," I heard myself say, my voice no longer old but carrying a long-lost defiance, "stay in the backwoods where you belong. What are you doing pretending to be the Alpha of the Night?"

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, each syllable ringing with authority I didn’t know I still possessed. For a moment, time seemed to freeze. Me, the wolf, and the echo of my own voice hanging in the air.

The wolf froze. So did I.

Those weren’t words I’d normally say, yet they slipped from my mouth so naturally.

Even more startling, when the wolf lunged again, my body moved on its own.

Didn’t even think about it. My body just... remembered. A sidestep, a raised leg, a perfect spinning kick.

It was muscle memory, pure and simple—my limbs moving with a speed and precision I hadn’t felt in centuries. The wolf went flying, his iron rod clattering across the marble, the sound ringing like a bell at midnight.

He landed hard, skidding across the floor and coming to rest in a heap. For a second, I wondered if I’d gone too far, but then he sat up, rubbing his head.

Eyes wide with awe.

"Alpha!" The wolf didn’t get up right away. Instead, he looked at me with tearful eyes. "You’ve forgotten who you are? Alpha, you’re the Alpha!"

His voice cracked, the words carrying a weight that pressed against my chest. The other immortals watched from a safe distance, their fear mingling with curiosity. I could feel the old power stirring inside me, restless and wild.

Suddenly, a sharp pain stabbed through my head, and a flood of fragmented images flashed before my eyes:

A silver, gleaming rod. A mountain forest blanketed with maple leaves. A battle shaking heaven and earth…

The memories came in flashes—too quick to grasp, but powerful enough to leave me gasping. My knees buckled, and I clung to the broom for support, sweat beading on my brow.

"Nonsense!" I pressed my temples. "I’m just a janitor…"

My voice sounded small, uncertain. I tried to hold onto the familiar, but it slipped through my fingers like water. The wolf’s gaze never wavered, his faith in me unshakable.

The wolf climbed to his feet, but instead of attacking, he pulled a maplewood token from his jacket.

"Silver Hollow, Moonlit Den—do you remember? This is the keepsake you gave me back then!"

He held it out with trembling paws, the token catching the light. The maplewood was smooth, worn by years of handling. It smelled faintly of smoke and old leaves, a scent that tugged at something deep inside me. Something old and precious. I felt my throat tighten.

On the token, a crooked letter was carved: "L."

Seeing that letter, my heart seized, and a voice rang in my ears.

From now on, your name is Lucas!

The name echoed, stirring something ancient and proud. I mouthed it silently, tasting the syllables as if for the first time.

"No… impossible…" I staggered back two steps, only to bump into something.

Turning around, I saw my broom—somehow, it was floating upright behind me, as if waiting for something.

The sight was unsettling and strangely comforting. The broom hovered, bristles twitching, as if eager to reveal its secrets. I felt a pull—a call I couldn’t ignore.

The wolf pointed, tail wagging, eyes shining with excitement.

"Look! Your Crescent Rod! It recognizes you!"

His tail thumped the floor, hope shining in his eyes. The other immortals watched, uncertain, as if sensing the balance of power shifting right in front of them.

Compelled by some force, I reached out and grabbed the broom handle.

In an instant—just like that—all the tattered bristles fell away, revealing a silver rod beneath.

It gleamed, cold and perfect, as the last of the bristles drifted to the floor. The weight in my hand was familiar—so familiar it made my heart ache. This was no broom. This was a weapon forged for legends.

What I thought were worn-down patches were actually layers of sealing sigils!

They shimmered and broke apart, dissolving into silver mist. The air hummed with energy, the taste of old magic sharp on my tongue. It made my skin prickle.

"Alpha, after that great war three thousand years ago, you disappeared."

The wolf crawled over and hugged my leg.

His grip was desperate, pleading. I could feel his claws digging through the fabric, his whole body trembling with relief and fear.

Searching for the Alpha he remembered.

"The High Court said you were trapped beneath Iron Ridge, but we searched everywhere and never found you."

"Turns out they wiped your memory and hid you here as a janitor!"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The pieces were starting to fit together, the edges sharp and unforgiving. I felt anger rising, hot and wild, mingling with confusion and grief.

The pain in my head grew worse, more fragments of memory flashing by:

Me fighting countless night sentinels and guardians;

Me standing above the clouds, looking down on the assembled immortals;

Me struck by a beam of silver light, falling into darkness…

Each image was a jolt—a shockwave through my soul. I saw blood. Betrayal. The cold, indifferent faces of those I once called allies. The taste of loss was bitter on my tongue.

From afar came the sound of marching feet—a large force of night sentinels was headed this way.

Their boots pounded the marble in unison, a grim reminder that the High Court never left loose ends. I heard the clatter of armor, the hiss of drawn blades, the low growl of orders barked in the dark. They were coming. Fast.

"No time to explain!" the wolf urged. "Alpha, you have to come with me! Now that they know your memory’s coming back, they’ll—"

His voice was urgent, panic sharpening every word. He tugged at my sleeve, eyes darting toward the approaching shadows. I could feel the old instincts kicking in—fight or flight. And this time, I wasn’t sure which to choose.

Before he could finish, a silver arrow whistled through the air, aimed straight at the wolf’s throat.

It came out of nowhere, slicing through the chaos with deadly precision. Time seemed to slow as I watched its flight—just a flash of silver—death on wings.

My mind didn’t even have time to react—my body moved first.

With a swing of the silver "broom," the arrow snapped in midair.

The rod hummed in my hands, the arrow shattering like glass. Splinters rained down, catching the light as they fell. The wolf stared at me, stunned.

As if he’d just witnessed a miracle.

"Impudent rogue wolf! How dare you try to deceive an immortal of the High Court!" the leading guardian shouted. "And you, Old Broom, drop your weapon at once!"

His voice boomed, righteous and cold, echoing through the shattered silence. The other sentinels fanned out behind him, weapons drawn, eyes fixed on me with a mix of fear and hatred. I could see the tension in their stances, the uncertainty in their eyes. They looked ready to kill—or run.

Weapon?

I looked down at the silver rod in my hand, and a spell surfaced in my mind. Magic prickled at my fingertips.

I murmured, "Rise, rise, rise…"

The words felt ancient, rolling off my tongue like thunder in the distance. The rod responded, vibrating with energy, the air crackling around me.

The rod responded, instantly stretching into a massive staff with silver hoops at both ends and a black iron center.

It grew in my grip, expanding until it was too heavy for any mortal to lift. The hoops glowed, the iron core pulsing with raw, untamed power. The sentinels took a step back, fear flickering in their eyes.

Five bold letters shone brightly on its surface:

Crescent Rod.

The name blazed like a beacon, the letters burning into my memory. I felt the weight of history settle on my shoulders, heavy and undeniable.

The guardians’ faces drained. "No! It’s Lucas’s…"

Their shock was palpable. I could see the realization dawn on their faces—the Alpha had returned, and nothing would ever be the same.

Memories surged like a tide.

They crashed over me, relentless and wild. I saw battles won and lost. Friends betrayed. Promises broken. The taste of victory and defeat mingled on my tongue. I couldn’t believe it.

I looked at my own hands.

The callused, wrinkled skin was rapidly becoming youthful and strong.

Silver light—warm and wild—flowed beneath my skin.

It raced along my veins, washing away centuries of dust and fatigue. My fingers straightened, my back unbent. I felt power returning, fierce and unstoppable.

"So that’s how it is…" I laughed, a genuine laugh for the first time in three thousand years. "Old Lucas remembers now."

The sound was raw, triumphant, echoing through the halls like a promise. The wolf grinned, tail wagging, and even the sentinels seemed to hesitate.

The Crescent Rod quivered joyfully in my grip. It was like greeting an old friend.

It pulsed with energy, sending sparks dancing across the floor. I swung it experimentally, feeling the old strength surge through my arms.

I looked at the stunned night sentinels and guardians, grinning wide.

"Three thousand years without stretching my muscles—looks like you’ll do for a warm-up!"

My words were a challenge, a dare. The sentinels exchanged nervous glances, uncertainty flickering in their eyes. The wolf at my side barked a laugh, emboldened by my newfound confidence.

The wolf at my side was practically bouncing.

He couldn’t contain himself, tail thumping against the floor, eyes shining with hope. It was contagious, that wild joy. For the first time in centuries, I felt alive.

"The Alpha is back! The Alpha of the Night is back!"

His voice rang out, carrying through the halls, stirring something deep in the hearts of all who heard it. The old legends were waking up, and the world would never be the same.

I swung my rod to meet the night sentinels. Three thousand years of pent-up frustration exploded in that moment.

The first blow sent a sentinel flying, armor shattering like cheap glass. I moved with a speed and grace I’d forgotten I possessed, every movement fueled by memory and rage.

With every swing, more memories returned.

Each strike brought another piece of my past rushing back—faces, names, places lost to time. The wolf fought by my side, a blur of silver and fury.

I remembered Silver Hollow, the journey through the wilds, and…

That final, secret battle.

The memory was sharp, vivid—a clash of titans beneath a blood-red sky. The roar of battle, the taste of ash, the certainty that everything was about to change.

As the fight raged, the sky suddenly filled with dark clouds, and a commanding voice thundered from the highest peak.

"Lucas!"

The name struck like lightning, freezing me in place. I looked up, the world spinning around me.

I looked up. The Night King’s avatar appeared among the clouds, eyes flashing coldly.

He was colossal, wreathed in storm and shadow, his gaze sharp as broken glass. The wind howled around him, carrying the weight of old grudges. I felt my heart pound.

"Old Night King!" I pointed the Crescent Rod at the sky. "It’s time to settle the score from three thousand years ago!"

The words were a declaration, a challenge hurled into the teeth of fate. The wolf at my side howled in agreement, the sound echoing off the mountains. It felt right. Like destiny.

The Night King sneered. "You think regaining your memory changes anything? If I could put you down back then, I can do it again now!"

His voice was a cold knife, slicing through the haze of memory. I felt my grip tighten on the rod, anger burning in my veins.

He raised his hand.

Countless silver chains shot from the void, racing to bind me.

They snaked through the air, fast and deadly, their touch promising pain and oblivion. I braced myself, ready to fight, every muscle tensed for battle. No turning back now.

I was about to swing my rod in defense when a blinding pain split my head, my vision going black—I nearly collapsed.

The world spun, the pain overwhelming. I dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. The Crescent Rod slipped from my grasp.

"Alpha! Your seal isn’t fully broken yet!"

The wolf shouted anxiously, "We have to retreat!"

His voice cut through the fog, desperate and pleading. He grabbed my arm, trying to haul me to my feet. I fought to stay conscious, to hold onto the memories slipping away again.

Gritting my teeth against the pain, I grabbed the wolf’s paw.

A moonlit cloud formed beneath our feet, carrying us as we broke through the heavenly nets—those magical barriers the Court used to trap their enemies—and sped toward the world below.

The cloud was soft, cool, and impossibly fast. It whisked us away from the chaos, the wind tearing at my hair, the taste of freedom sharp and sweet.

Behind us, the Night King’s furious roars and the shouts of night sentinels faded quickly, drowned out by the howling wind.

We were free. For now.

"Where are we going?" The wolf clung tightly to my sleeve.

His grip was fierce, his eyes wide with fear and hope. I looked down, scanning the world spread out beneath us, searching for something I couldn’t quite name.

Looking down at the vast land below, a certain place stood out, sharp as ever in my mind.

"Silver Hollow."

The name slipped from my lips, certain and unyielding. The wolf nodded, relief flooding his face. The cloud dipped lower, racing toward the place that haunted my dreams.

As we descended, my appearance changed rapidly—

White hair turned black, wrinkles faded, my hunched back straightened.

I felt youth flooding back, my body rebuilding itself with every breath. My reflection in the cloudlight was a stranger—strong, proud, unbroken. I hardly recognized myself.

But whenever I tried to recall more, the seal still blocked the crucial memories like an iron curtain.

It was maddening, the answers so close yet just out of reach. I clenched my fists, willing the fog to lift, but it held firm, stubborn as ever. Damn it.

"What exactly happened three thousand years ago?" I asked the wolf. "Why was my memory sealed and I hidden in the High Court?"

My voice was raw, desperate for answers. The wolf looked away, uncertainty flickering in his eyes. He hesitated, as if weighing what to say.

"Alpha, things are more complicated than you think."

He shuffled his paws, ears flat against his head. I could feel the secrets hanging between us.

"There was more to your rebellion against the Court than it seemed, and the journey through the wilds… wasn’t exactly what it appeared to be either."

His words were careful, measured, as if he was afraid the truth might break me. I felt my heart stutter, the old fears creeping back in.

My heart skipped a beat. "What do you mean?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. The wolf looked up at me, pain etched deep in his eyes.

"When we reach Silver Hollow and see the old pack, you’ll understand."

He offered a small, sad smile, hope and sorrow mingling in his gaze. I nodded, trusting him even as doubt gnawed at my insides.

A shadow of worry flickered in the wolf’s eyes.

"But you need to be ready. Some truths… are hard to bear."

His warning was gentle, but it landed like a stone in my gut. I braced myself, knowing that whatever waited in Silver Hollow would change everything.

The moonlit cloud pierced the mist.