The grand hall of the Thalric mansion was usually a place of discussion about tradition and diplomacy, but today the atmosphere was thick with a heavy and suffocating dread.
Alpha Rowan sat at the head of the long oak table, his face extremely cold as the elders argued over the implications of Marek’s arrival and the destruction of the western wing.
The images of dismembered bodies of the guards were still fresh in their minds, and it was a reminder of how easily their sanctuary had been breached.
Zoran sat to Rowan’s right, his hands hidden in his sleeves, his eyes closed as he attempted to center his energy.
But the peace he sought was not available and it has been like this ever since he returned from his aborted pilgrimage, his connection to the spiritual realm felt cut off, and
