In the weeks that followed the night that Silas Spire burned. Word spread like wildfire through the territories, first as rumor, then as confirmed truth. The towering fortress of dark stone and iron, once a symbol of terror where hybrids prowled and screams echoed under moonless skies, had been reduced to smoldering rubble. No survivors emerged from the ashes. No hybrids swarmed the ruins. Only silence, and the acrid scent of charred alchemy lingering on the wind.
Packs rejoiced, cautiously at first, then with growing fervor. Borders long sealed cracked open: tentative alliances reformed, trade routes whispered back to life, new alphas rose in territories left leaderless by Silas's shadow. Markets sprang up in neutral clearings, hunters returned to old grounds, pups played without the con
