The fortress still smoldered days after the battle. Smoke curled over the treeline, carrying with it the stench of charred wood and burned flesh. The Blackwater wolves had returned triumphant—Damon rescued, Lucien’s forces scattered—but the cost of Kael’s fury lingered in the ashes.
Kael paced through the war hall, his golden eyes like fire. Maps littered the long table, splattered with blood and dirt. He didn’t sit; he couldn’t. His body hummed with relentless energy, every muscle taut as if caged. His brother’s near-loss had stripped away his last restraints.
“We hit them again,” Kael growled, slamming his clawed hand against the table. The wood splintered under his strength. “Before Lucien can regroup. We raze every outpost, every village that bears his banner.”
The generals exchange
