At dawn on the Blackthorn ridges, daylight crept forward like a stealthy serpent. The mist settling on the shoulders of the mountains seemed to whisper of approaching disaster. Old Agness was preparing for the sacred moment she had dreamed of since childhood: the union ritual of the Rose bloodline and the Alpha of the Wolf clan was finally taking place.
Inside the mountain house, a few dim candles flickered, casting shadows of ancient times on the walls. Agness had opened the lid of the chest; she was taking out the ancient Rose spell books, ancient parchments, and sealed scrolls one by one. This rare moment described in legends had been told like a great dream by every member of her guardian lineage for centuries. But now it had become her duty to bless this moment, and she was proud of
