Lunar Legacies: The Eleven

3.

The rain drummed steadily against the stone walls of Theodore’s hidden sanctuary, a forgotten structure deep in the wilderness, far from any werewolves or humans. It was a place he'd discovered years ago, abandoned, overgrown, and lost to time—perfect for someone who wanted to stay out of sight. The soft glow of candles illuminated the ancient carvings on the walls as he moved silently through the hallways, his thoughts distant.

He had grown accustomed to this life—alone, removed from the chaos of the world, and free to pursue his goals without interference. Every corner of the hideout was meticulously crafted to ensure his safety: protective wards, cloaking devices, and the most important, his power detectors. He had planted them across various points of the globe to alert him to any supernatural fluctuations that could signal danger—or, more specifically, the return of the Darian.

As he moved past one of the many rooms lined with old books and relics, a soft, rhythmic beeping suddenly echoed through the space. Theodore froze, his eyes narrowing as he recognized the sound: one of the detectors had been triggered.

Quickly, he strode into the room housing his makeshift command center, where several screens displayed maps and readings from his detectors scattered across the world. His fingers worked swiftly as he zoomed in on the source. A surge of energy, unlike anything he'd seen in a while, pulsed from a remote area—a place uninhabited by werewolves or humans. This wasn't a routine anomaly. The power reading was off the charts, far too potent to be from any ordinary werewolf.

His heart raced. It wasn’t the ancient evil, but it was something. Someone.

For the first time in months, a deep sense of urgency gripped him. Whoever—or whatever—was behind this, it couldn’t be ignored. Grabbing his coat, Theodore stepped into the rain, the cold droplets a stark contrast to the fire building within him. He activated his power, the familiar hum of space bending around him as he prepared to teleport. His sanctuary would have to wait.

Tonight, he would face whatever was out there, miles away from the safety of his solitude.

Theodore emerged from the bend in space, stepping into a remote, desolate landscape, rain still pouring down in sheets. The air around him crackled with residual energy, confirming he was in the right place. His sharp eyes scanned the area—an ancient ruin buried in the hills, a place long forgotten by most. The power surge had originated from here.

Moving silently, he approached the crumbling structure, his senses heightened. He could hear the faint murmurs of voices inside, their words indistinguishable but filled with purpose. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end as he crept closer, avoiding the main entrance and choosing instead a side path shrouded in shadows. His time manipulation allowed him to slow his movements, ensuring he remained undetected.

As Theodore slipped inside the ruin, the dim glow of torches revealed a group of figures gathered in the center of a large chamber. They were dressed in dark, ceremonial robes—Darian’s followers, unmistakable in their ominous presence. His eyes narrowed in anger at the sight of them. Darian, the ancient evil that had destroyed his pack, and now his followers were here, attempting to resurrect their master.

In the center of the chamber, Theodore saw what they were after—a jagged fragment of stone, carved with intricate runes, hovering above an altar. It pulsed with dark energy. He recognized it immediately: a piece of the key to Darian’s tomb.

The realization hit him hard. If they gathered all the pieces of the key, they would be able to unlock Darian’s tomb and free him. This was far worse than a mere surge of power. They were close, too close, to succeeding.

The lead figure, a tall man with cold eyes and a voice that echoed with authority, raised his hands over the fragment, chanting in a language Theodore barely recognized. It was an ancient tongue, one used in the dark rituals of Darian’s followers. The energy in the room intensified as the man’s voice grew louder, commanding the fragment to fuse with other pieces they had already collected.

Theodore knew he had to act quickly. The time for hiding in the shadows was over.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward, allowing his presence to be known. The chamber fell silent as the followers turned, eyes widening in shock. The leader faltered, but only for a moment. “The last Holden,” he sneered. “I was wondering when you’d show yourself.”

Theodore didn’t respond. His focus was on the key fragment. He could feel the ancient evil’s presence seeping through it, and every fiber of his being burned with the need to stop them.

“You think you can stop us?” the leader continued, gesturing to the followers around him. “Darian will rise, and you’ll be nothing more than a forgotten relic.”

Without warning, Theodore raised his hand, the air around him shimmering as he bent time. The leader lunged forward, but Theodore had already moved, phasing through space to stand before the altar. The dark energy pushed back against him, but his mastery over his power allowed him to reach for the fragment.

Time slowed as he closed his fingers around it, the power surging into him. He gritted his teeth, fighting off the wave of malevolent energy that threatened to overwhelm him. The followers cried out, scrambling to stop him, but they were too late.

With a forceful pull, Theodore ripped the fragment from the altar, shattering the ritual. The chamber shook violently, and the power that had been gathering dissipated into the air. The leader screamed in rage, but Theodore’s cold gaze never left him.

“I won’t let you bring him back,” Theodore said quietly, his voice carrying a deadly promise. Without another word, he vanished into the night, taking the key fragment with him. The rain continued to fall, but the threat had been delayed—at least, for now.

Theodore reappeared in his hideout, the familiar shadows of the stone walls doing little to ease his mind. The cold rain still clung to his clothes, but he barely noticed. His thoughts were a storm far more turbulent than the weather outside.

He paced the hallways, his fingers tracing the runes etched into the walls—remnants of the old magic he had been studying for years, but even they seemed insignificant now. The fragment of the key pulsed with a dark energy, safely tucked away in one of the many wards he had crafted, but its presence unsettled him. Darian's magic was growing, spreading like a poison through the world. The followers were gathering more pieces, and time was running out.

The truth weighed heavily on him: Darian had to be stopped. This wasn’t just about revenge anymore. If Darian rose, he would plunge the world into chaos. But the bitter reality gnawed at Theodore—he couldn't do it alone. For all his power, for all the years he had spent honing his abilities, he was still just one.

And they were eleven for a reason.

The thought stirred an old frustration within him. He had spent so long avoiding them—avoiding the other young werewolves with powers, the ones who had trained together while he had stayed hidden. He didn’t trust them. How could he, after all the other packs had let his family die? He had sworn he would never rely on anyone else, never let anyone close enough to betray him again.

But this was bigger than his past. The others—Valerie, Alisha, Marshall, Erik, Lee, Skylar, Cory, Amanda, Marcus, and the one he didn’t know—each of them had their role in this, just as he did. They were bound by something greater, something ancient. The very same power that gave them their abilities tied them to the same fate.

His mind wrestled with the decision. He hated the thought of seeking them out, of putting himself in the position of relying on others again. But Darian’s followers were too many, and his magic too great. The only chance they had was together.

Theodore stopped pacing and stared at the flickering flame of a candle on the table. The faces of the other nine flashed through his mind, each one with their own struggles, their own powers. He had trained in isolation, but they had learned to work together. There was no denying that they had a connection, even if he refused to acknowledge it for so long.

He sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. He knew what he had to do, and he hated it.

Reaching for the device he used to monitor the world’s power surges, Theodore began scanning for the others. He would find them, one by one, and bring them together. Whether he wanted to or not, they were his only chance to stop Darian’s return. And in the back of his mind, he hoped they had grown strong enough to face what was coming.

For the first time in years, Theodore was stepping out of the shadows—toward the others, toward the battle he had long tried to avoid.