The sub-level of the bunker complex contained more than just the War Council room; it held the discreet, self-contained armory of the Shadow Guard—the Nightshade Pack’s most loyal and lethally efficient unit. They were the men and women who served the Alpha King, Kian, directly, having taken their oath not merely to the crown, but to the Alpha himself.
Kian stood before the seventeen members of the Guard, his silhouette framed by the low emergency lights. His face was a mask of cold granite, showing no hint of the despair or humiliation he was forced to wear for the world. He hadn't brought the video of Amelia. He didn't need to. They would see their Luna’s image soon enough on the public broadcast, but here, now, their allegiance was to his command alone.
"We have a mission," Kian began, his voice barely above a rasp, yet it carried the weight of thunder. "It is not a skirmish. It is not a war. It is a retrieval mission with zero margin for error. The target is non-negotiable. The existence of this mission must remain unknown, even to your direct superiors, until the moment of execution. You take orders from Gareth and Myra. Only from them."
His eyes swept over the faces of the warriors—veterans known for their silence, their speed, and their absolute loyalty. They were the Alpha's true, hidden teeth.
"Vane is preparing a massive public display of power," Kian continued, explaining the political necessity. "Tomorrow morning, I must play the role of the defeated King. I will give him exactly what he demands in public. That submission is our cloak. It will buy us the twenty-four hours of complacency we need to move in for the extraction."
He did not need to elaborate on why the mission was so dangerous, or who the target was. The quiet tension in the bunker, the presence of the White Witch Myra, and the unusual secrecy were confirmation enough.
A tall Morvane named Zev, the captain of the Shadow Guard, stepped forward, his posture rigid. “Alpha King,” he said, his voice deep and measured. “Our loyalty is absolute. Tell us the terms of engagement. We move when you give the order.”
Kian met Zev’s gaze, a flicker of appreciation passing between them. These warriors understood that true loyalty meant accepting a lethal task without question.
“The location is the Greyclaw Manor, deep in the mountains,” Kian revealed, pointing to the map Myra had prepared. “It is an abandoned structure, but more importantly, it sits on a dimensional seam—a dying nexus point. This means two things: first, we cannot use magic or scrying to locate them once we are in the field. Second, we will be fighting both Morvanes and Fae forces under Octavia Vane.”
A low, guttural growl circulated through the group. Fighting Fae—powerful, ancient Fae—was a rarity, and always a suicide mission. But their expressions did not falter.
Myra stepped into the light, her white robes contrasting sharply with the dark armor of the Guard. "The enemy has the advantage of defensive Fae magic and the surprise of terrain," she stated, taking command of the technical briefing. "We will neutralize their advantages with preparation. Our focus is not brute force; it is disruption and silence."
She directed their attention to the long tables, where specialized weaponry was laid out—tools designed to turn the tables on both species.
"First, the Morvanes," Myra said, picking up a dull, black metal dagger. "This is a cold-forged iron composite. It is the purest counter to Morvane healing factor. Every hit, even a graze, will slow them down. Use them for peripheral guards."
Next, she presented a set of throwing knives with handles wrapped in white linen. The blades were pure, unadulterated silver, polished to a dull sheen. "The Fae," she said grimly. "Silver is their poison. It is also slow, often leaving traces of magic behind. For the primary combatants—Marcus and Octavia—we must go further."
She moved to the most heavily guarded case, opening it to reveal rods and stakes of obsidian and crystallized mountain salt, each etched with arcane runes.
“This is where the magic comes in,” Myra explained. “I have prepared a series of specialized wards and coatings. The Fae-resistant gear is designed to create a localized field of magical confusion. These obsidian stakes, when properly driven, will sever the target’s connection to their source of power for several minutes—long enough for the extraction team to move.”
The weapons were coated with an ephemeral residue—a fine dust of powdered iron mixed with crushed moonstone, designed to cling to Fae skin and disrupt their ability to focus their spells. It was not enough to kill a powerful witch like Octavia Vane, but it would buy seconds. Seconds they desperately needed.
Gareth took over the logistics. “The strike team will be Zev and five others. You will be moving in three separate groups, using the oldest smuggling routes through the passes. You will appear to be a training detachment heading into the lower valleys. If you are challenged, your orders are to engage only as a last resort. Your goal is absolute silence until we are within fifty meters of the Manor grounds.”
Kian addressed the Shadow Guard again, his voice dropping to a raw, personal note. “I am asking you to risk everything for the Luna. The world will believe I have abdicated, that I am weak. You must be prepared to stand against anyone who believes that. But first, you must bring her home.”
The Shadow Guard began their preparations in complete, focused silence. They donned their night-black reinforced armor, which was now lined with thin, almost invisible sheets of the anti-Morvane iron composite. They carefully loaded their specialized gear—the iron and silver weaponry, the arcane-etched obsidian for Vane. The silence was heavy, but it was not the silence of fear; it was the sacred calm of absolute purpose. They moved like shadows, each warrior a perfect reflection of Kian’s controlled rage, their loyalty solidified in the understanding that they were not fighting for the crown, but for the life of the only Queen Kian had ever claimed. They were the Old Guard, and the King’s oath was their command.