The air in Stormborn territory had grown thick with dread, the tension sharpened by whispers of the approaching Crimson Eclipse. Wolves from every corner of the realm arrived daily: some clutching battered banners, others armed to the fangs, each with a different idea of how to avert—or exploit—the oncoming catastrophe.
At the main gates, exhausted guards tried to manage the stream of arrivals. Some visitors brought pleas for unity, offering small tributes or tales of horror from their homelands. Others carried dark tidings: fires razing villages, abominations prowling roads at night, and mysterious runic symbols scrawled on walls in fresh blood. Rumors abounded that the exiled clan—perhaps even Aria—was weaving an unholy plan around the Crimson Eclipse.
Within the fortress walls, Ronan
