The smell of blood lingered in the air.
Draven.
He sat with one leg over the other, his fingers tapping the armrest thoughtfully as he gazed into the roaring fire, mask covering his face.
"They're preparing for the tournament," said the warrior who had just entered. He dropped to one knee. "Pack after pack is gathering. They're calling it the Tournament of Unity."
Draven let out a low, mirthless laugh. "Unity. What a beautiful illusion."
Draven rose slowly, the firelight catching the edges of his armor, steel blackened with age, crafted with ancient runes. His presence was commanding, the kind that made warriors tremble and enemies falter.
"Let them believe they're safe," Draven murmured. "Let them believe their little games matter."
A female rogue, her eyes sharp and her presence s
