The sky shattered.
Not metaphorically.
Actually shattered.
Above Black Hollow, the heavens cracked apart like glass struck by a hammer. Silver fractures spread across the darkness while impossible light spilled through the wounds in reality.
Every wolf in the territory looked upward.
Every hunter.
Every supernatural creature.
Every being touched by the old bloodlines.
The world felt it.
Something fundamental was changing.
Deep beneath Draven Ridge, the throne roared.
The sound shook mountains.
The silver light pouring through the abyss intensified until the cavern looked less like a prison and more like a sunrise trapped underground.
Azhrael hated it.
Midnight felt that instantly.
The thing beyond worlds recoiled from the light.
Not because it hurt.
Because it threatened.
