Long before Serena Anderson had walked the halls of the Blood Shadow Pack, and long before Clinton Stratford carried the weight of leadership and destiny, there was another story—one of love, sacrifice, and loss.
Alpha Dramondred Stratford and his Luna, Valkira Stratford, were not just powerful; they were legendary. Across all werewolf clans, their love and strength were spoken of with awe. Valkira was more than a mate—she was a partner in every sense, fighting by his side, commanding respect, and sharing in the triumphs and burdens of the pack. Together, they were unstoppable.
But on a night draped in shadows, tragedy struck. Dramondred had gone to a secret meeting with figures whose power and motives were unknown. What transpired would haunt Valkira forever.
By the time she arrived, the scene was unspeakable. Her Alpha, her love, was dead—poisoned with an unusually high concentration of wolfsbane, the deadly herb known to weaken even the strongest of werewolves. His skin bore carvings, precise and deliberate, like artwork of agony. These marks were inflicted with the Obsidian Fang, a rare weapon forged from volcanic obsidian and enchanted with ancient dark magic. The Fang could pierce the toughest werewolf skin, leaving marks that not only inflicted excruciating pain but imbued the victim's death with lingering energy, feeding lingering curses or binding residual spirits for malevolent purposes.
The sight of Dramondred, lifeless and mutilated, seared into Valkira's mind. Her grief, her rage, and her helplessness were so profound that a fragment of her pain crystallized into her, a dormant but sentient projection of her sorrow, strength, and vengeance. The Luna retained her warrior's prowess, but cold and unyielding, she had endured loss. While Valkira survived in the physical world, her mind carried the gory, haunting images and the unfulfilled vow: to find the killers of her beloved Alpha, no matter the cost.
For decades, Valkira's life became a delicate balance of mourning and determination, her warmth reserved for those closest to her while her public persona hardened. The painful memories became her tool, her weapon, and her enduring presence whenever darkness threatened. She constantly had nightmares that reminded her of how gruesomely her Apha was murdered.
For years she struggled with the excutiating pain of loosing her mate and the other part of her soul, felt like an illusion... A dream she wished to wake up from but the sad reality hit her more and more as the days went by.
The first days after his passing were blur of instinct and sorrow. She wakes in the night expecting his warmth beside her, only to find the emptiness colder than winter's breath. His scent still lingers in the den, soft and haunting, mingled with memories that cut deeper than claws. Every sound — the rustle of leaves, the cry of a raven, the distant howl of another pack — became a cruel reminder that the world still moves while hers had stopped.
Her wolf within grew restless. It searched for him in dreams, howling into the void for an answer that will never come. Sometimes she ran beneath the twin moons, wild and unshackled, letting the wind tear through her fur and the pain out of her chest. Other times, she couldnt move feeling numb from all the pain.