Malakar's POV.
I now stand in the wreckage that had once been our sanctuary, the morning sun casting long shadows over a camp that no longer feels like home.
Charred wood. Blood-stained earth. The scent of smoke still clings to the air, mingling with the metallic smell of spilled blood. Every broken tent, every torn banner feels like a personal failure carved into the soil.
I can still hear the screams, the sounds that haunt the edges of my memory. Pups crying for their mothers, warriors roaring in agony, the crack of gunfire. The clash of claws against steel.
I wasn't here.
The truth is a weight that I can't shake. While I was off setting a trap, thinking ten steps ahead, the enemy had walked straight into my home and butchered my family. It doesn't matter that I meant to protect the
