A pale moon hung overhead, silver and unblinking as it cast ghostly light upon the ancient clearing. Wolves from every corner of the realm converged here, some wearing the sigils of allied packs, others marked by the raw defiance of the rogue faction. Thick tension pulsed through the air, as though the night itself held its breath, awaiting the shape of conflict to come.
At the clearing’s center, a circle of stony outcroppings rose from the earth, forming a natural forum. Torches burned low, flickering against the gloom, their flames revealing wary faces. In their midst stood Aria Stormborn-Blackthorne, cloak trailing over damp grass. All eyes fixated on her, those of her allies, and those of her new, dangerous contacts.
Ronan and Layla had yet to arrive, but Aria sensed their approach.
