Throughout the Stormborn stronghold, an uneasy hush had settled like a gathering storm. The clang of practice swords in the courtyard was subdued; hushed conversations filled the corridors instead of the usual bustle. An undercurrent of tension gripped every wolf, especially those who had lived through the Blood Moon War.
Layla and Ronan stood in the grand hall, exchanging troubled glances as they waited for the arrival of Elder Astrologer Elthea. Torches burned low along the walls, casting long shadows that flickered against tapestries depicting past triumphs. Yet tonight, those woven victories felt dangerously distant.
When Elthea entered, her robes whispered against the stone floor, embroidered with sigils of the moon phases. Age had bowed her back slightly, but her eyes gleamed with
