The White Dragon - the Battle of the Bleeding Moon - part one. (Patreon)

Eddard Stark, Estonian Forest – Europe

While Eddard was genuinely relieved to know that Jon was alive, that didn’t take away from how overwhelmed he felt to see him.

Her boy, with his melancholy face, his disquieting frown, and his bad mood, had completely disappeared.

And this… Targaryen prince had appeared.

Jon Snow was gone, and Aemon Targaryen had taken his place.

For better and for worse, Lord Eddard thought.

“Look at that!” Arthur said, the pleasure in his voice more than evident at seeing Aemon’s dragon open its enormous wings and rise into the darkness of the night, illuminated only by the moon in the sky.

The Valyrian maidens began to shout things in a language that Eddard did not understand, while they all rode huge winged steeds the size of fucking carriages. They rode in pairs, a rider and an archer, and like Aemon, they took flight, to Eddard’s disbelief.

Lord Stark looked at his friend Howland, who, unlike Arthur and him, did not look around with suspicion, but with a huge smile and familiarity.

As if…

“You’ve seen this before,” Eddard said, looking at Howland’s face.

His friend looked at him and simply replied:

“Seen? No, I have not had the pleasure. But the elders told us stories, whispers of time lost among trees, water, and rock, about the Princes of Winter of the past, about the Great Tree of Worlds, and about magic...”

Howland’s words were spoken with a tone of reverence that made Ned shudder.

“Tree of the Worlds? What the hell are you talking about, Howland?” Ned said with a frown. “I don’t understand any of the words you just said, and that frustrates me greatly.”

He wanted answers, and he wanted them now.

“There are secrets, Eddard. Secrets as old as the world itself, that will change your vision of reality. For centuries, external forces have tried to erase the truth, to limit our vision, to make us forget the past. But the forest does not forget. We crannogmen remember our origin, our history, our gifts,” Howland said, as he walked toward the edge of the forest, following the regiment of Stark-armored soldiers, who were evidently preparing for battle.

“What secrets are you talking about, Lord Reed? I’m happy that my king is alive, and my heart roars at the sight of a full-fledged Targaryen prince, but… how did he get here? What happened? What are you not telling us?” Arthur said with a frown as he took a step toward the small lord.

Howland ignored Arthur, concentrating on the group of soldiers in silver armor and white robes preparing to fight, who, unlike the Valyrian maidens, had no apparent beasts.

They were numerous, at least five hundred of them, men and women with strong physiques and wild looks, similar to the Northerners of Westeros.

They were led by a man with a scarred face. His hair was brown with visible gray, his face was clean-shaven, and his brown eyes exuded a single feeling:

Determination.

“Brothers, sisters, for years everyone in the wizarding world looked down on us, treated us like plagues and beasts, without dignity and without a future, mere vermin,” the man snapped, releasing years of frustration and resentment contained in his voice.

His words were having a considerable effect on everyone present. Men and women began talking among themselves; the feeling was shared, apparently.

“Jon Stark showed us the light! Jon Stark extended his hand to us! And Jon Stark freed us from our curse!” the man shouted, causing the same reaction among the rest of the soldiers.

“Long live the Wolf Lord!”

“Long live the Prince of Winter!”

“Long live House Stark!!”

The shouts were powerful and inspiring. Ned had not seen such loyalty, even among his own soldiers. It was something that bordered on devotion, to be honest.

“Apparently, Aemon’s forces have a clear division. The maidens seem more loyal to the House of the Dragon, while these men and women seem devoted to the Wolves,” Arthur said with a frown, not knowing how to take that revelation.

Eddard was about to comment on the situation when the obvious commander of the soldiers continued:

“House Stark has my absolute loyalty. And now, Jon Stark is giving us the best gift of our lives: to end the cause of our suffering, that damned beast that has caused so much pain and misery in the world,” the man snapped, with so much hatred and contempt that Eddard could not help but shudder slightly.

“Let the enemies of our pack perish in agony, despair, and fire!” the man shouted, making the rest roar with him, prepared for the massacre.

Ready for the hunt.

Eddard watched as the mysterious commander put on his helmet, giving him an even more impressive appearance and, to the utter surprise of Arthur, Howland, and Eddard, began to change.

His human features began to disappear, replaced by wild and animalistic traits. Brown hair began to grow all over his body, at the same time that his eyes turned yellow, like those of a…

“Damn…” Arthur whispered, completely dumbfounded by what he had just seen.

“A skin-walker.” Eddard said, remembering the old northern legends.

Little by little, the five hundred men and women present began to do the same, changing the powerful army of men into an immense pack of war wolves.

But they weren’t ordinary wolves.

They were huge, about the size of small horses, and somehow their armor had adapted to their new bodies, giving them a powerful and terrifying appearance.

The commander and apparent leader howled toward the moon, an act that the whole pack replicated, before rushing into the forest, evidently ready for battle.

Gradually, the rest of the pack followed, running at high speed and getting lost in the dark night.

“Come, we don’t have much time left, and I want to see our king again,” Howland said, as he ran into the woods, following the pack into the fight.

Eddard could hardly wait to see his son in action.

Fenrir Greyback, Minutes Before – Estonian Forest

“This is unacceptable. Four packs disappeared completely. Weak ones, yes, but we don’t have a single clue as to where they are,” Fenrir snapped, as he looked around. The rest of the clans looked at each other with obvious suspicion, while his benefactor hid in the shadows beneath his black hood.

“There are rumors, Greyback, that they were recruited by Jon Stark. Lupin was seen for months wandering among the clans. Those who received him mysteriously disappeared some time later, but we do not know the nature of the act. He never approached us,” said Hama, another ferocious werewolf with her own pack.

Normally, they would be rivals for territory and resources, but the times they were living in were strange, to say the least—dangerous, even.

The Dark Lord’s former followers were constantly being attacked, while dark creatures were being hunted.

For a moment, Fenrir thought that his former master had returned, but the presence of his benefactor made it clear that this notion was not true. Quite the opposite.

Someone was trying to weaken the Dark Lord before his return, and apparently, he was succeeding.

“The giants are gone. Karkus seemed reluctant to our efforts, so I tried to contact a rival in the tribe, Golgomath. However, when we arrived at the meeting point, Golgomath and all his followers were dead, their bodies totally charred—something worrying, considering the magical nature of their skin. Something is happening here, Greyback, and I don’t like it. Do you know anything?” asked the leader of another pack, as the murmurs in the place began to grow stronger, the tension more than evident.

None of them would admit it, but they were all terrified. Things were changing, and the security they had felt a few months ago had completely vanished.

At that moment, the hooded man stepped forward, taking advantage of the chaos to give his speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is the ideal time for you to analyze my master’s proposal again. Freedom of hunting and his backing against whoever is behind you. If you follow the Dark Lord, then—”

Wings. Fate had other plans, apparently.

Fenrir felt a wave of magic pass through his body, foreign and powerful, with hostile intent toward him, his entire pack, and everyone present.

He looked up quickly, watching as the members of the gathering felt the same way. Even the hooded man sent by the Dark Lord seemed to waver for some reason, the oppressive magic more than evident.

“What the hell was that?” Hama shouted, as she took her wand and walked out of the tent where the meeting took place, Fenrir behind her.

When they came out, they observed something that froze the blood of the ferocious werewolf.

From the vicinity of the forest, pillars of magic emerged, creating a kind of magical dome, which slowly closed over their heads.

Greyback did not know the function of this magic, but he did not have to be a fucking genius to deduce that it was not good for him or his pack.

And apparently, the rest of the clans thought the same.

“Get ready to fight! We—” However, Hama’s words were interrupted by something particular.

Something powerful, wild, and terrifying.

A roar that, just by hearing it, made Greyback’s Inner Wolf cower.

And descending from the night sky, he saw it…

A dragon.

With white scales and black membranes that made it look like a fucking shadow in the moonlight, its presence fell upon them like a divine sentence. And stupidly, they all stared at it without reacting.

A mistake they would soon regret.

The beast was growing larger and larger, as its features became clearer. However, that wasn’t the most disturbing thing.

The creature had a rider on its back.

“Shit,” whispered his benefactor, as he began to back away, an act that broke everyone’s trance.

“COVER UP!!” Hama shouted as she took out her wand and pointed it at the beast.

Too late.

The jaws opened, and the beast’s throat unleashed an inferno upon the camp.

A voracious breath of white fire, hot enough to melt metal, lashed the place, drawing agony, screams, and death from all the wolves present. The enemy had made the first attack.

And it had been devastating.

Screams of agony, supplications, and curses flowed like water. White flames consumed everything in their path. Tents were burned, provisions destroyed, and his brothers, his dogs, burned like vile vermin.

“What the fuck was that?!” Hama snapped, showing her fangs, evidently furious at what she was seeing. Dozens, even hundreds of her people had been killed in just the first attack.

“Let’s fucking go, let’s go!” shouted another leader, while taking his mate, who had half of her body totally burned and was screaming in total agony, and tried to escape using apparition.

Only to reappear in the same place, squealing in pain as he clutched his chest at the same time that his mate died slowly, dying on the forest floor like a mere beast.

“It’s a trap,” Hama whispered, looking toward Balton and then toward the camp, as the beast attacked again, decimating another section.

But there was a curious pattern in the attacks.

It did not burn the densest areas, where the greatest concentration of wolves was found.

The strikes came at a right angle in the furthest part of the camp, the one that gave access to the sea, leaving the forests unharmed for some reason.

It didn’t make sense.

“Knock down that fucking beast! Three fertile females to whoever brings me its head!!” Hama roared out of her mind, while her entire clan raised their wands and pointed them at the imposing creature rushing toward them.

Curses began to fly, dozens of them hurled at the beast, but this did not stop it—only enraged it.

And worse, it angered whoever controlled it.

The creature swooped toward the ground, folding its wings and accelerating faster than spells, landing in the center of the camp with a thunderous crash, shaking the earth and disorienting all the wolves present.

“Damn,” whispered his benefactor, his voice trembling. Fenrir understood perfectly.

The beast was enormous, over fifteen meters tall, with enough muscle to tear a giant apart. It was furious, and all its attention was on them.

Their dinner tonight.

For a brief moment, the night was completely silent. Not a single breath could be heard. The entire camp was frozen before such a majestic and terrifying creature.

And then, one word.

A whisper that shattered the ideology that werewolves were apex predators.

“Dracarys.”

Not a scream. Not a curse.

A simple word.

An order.

And all hell broke loose.

The beast opened its jaws and released scorching fire throughout the camp, burning dozens in seconds. At the same time, fucking winged horses appeared, with female archers shooting down their brothers, hunting and humiliating them.

Treating them like prey.

Fenrir was furious, but he was not stupid. This had been an ambush. The goal was simple: exterminate them all.

And he would not die today.

“TO THE FOREST! LET’S GO TO THE FUCKING FOREST!” he shouted, as he began to run, casting spells at the winged maidens, who moved too fast through the night for the curses to hit.

Fenrir ran at full speed, trying to escape the trap and leave the massacre behind. However, just as he was about to reach the forest, something massive attacked him from the darkness.

Powerful jaws clamped onto his shoulder and hurled him like a sack of potatoes against a nearby tree.

“Were you going somewhere?” asked a familiar voice, filled with cruel amusement, the same voice that in the past, filled him with fun and pleasure to torture

Interestingly, that feeling of dominance was gone.

Now, he felt only one thing.

Fear.

From the shadows, Lupin emerged, clad in armor. His eyes glowed yellow, the beast inside him powerful and controlled, his wand shining with killing intent, focused on Fenrir with a single emotion:

Pure hatred.

Behind him, hundreds of white-armored wolves emerged from the night—skilled hunters who attacked with lethal precision. Necks were torn, and the stench of blood and death filled the forest.

Now Fenrir understood what had happened to the vanished clans.

“What the hell is going on?! How the fuck did you find us?!” Fenrir snapped, standing up in rage, suppressing a chill as he saw the dragon in the distance continuing to burn werewolves without mercy.

“We have unfinished business. My lord has requested your skin, and I will personally deliver it to him,” Lupin said, drawing his wand and mercilessly casting the first spell.

The Battle of the Bleeding Moon had begun.