The air grew colder.
It was not the chill of dawn or shadow — it was the kind of cold that seeped into marrow, that made breath burn in the chest, that turned blood to stone. Wolves on the wall gasped, their eyes wide, their spears shaking. Even the Reavers stilled, their masks tilting as if they, too, felt the shift.
Elinora’s wolf whispered, sharp. He is done with soldiers. He calls the dead now.
The Grave Alpha stood at the breach, his blade lowered, his mask burning bright. His voice carried across the silence, deep and raw.
“You think you bend the ruin? You think you master it? You have seen only memory. I will show you truth.”
He drove his blade into the earth.
The ground split wide.
From the fissure, shadows spilled, writhing upward like smoke made solid. Chains clattered, li
