The air in the mountains that morning was cold enough to bite. Mist clung to the slopes as Braxton, Lucien, Damon, and Lukas trekked down the dirt road that cut through the ridge, their cloaks heavy with dew. The path was rough, the silence between them rougher.
They’d been walking for hours, following faint traces of settlements… small packs that had gone quiet after Jaxon took control.
These were the forgotten ones: wolves with no royal bloodlines, no fancy titles, just families trying to survive in a world that measured worth by strength and power.
Braxton stopped when he spotted smoke curling from a village below. “That must be it,” he said.
Lucien scanned the horizon, his eyes narrowing. “The Hollow Den pack,” he muttered. “They used to supply food to the royal court before Jaxon
