Elara
The air in Lycandoria was heavy with the scent of iron and smoke. I stood on the council balcony, my hands gripping the cold stone rail, watching the horizon bleed orange. Fires burned in the distance our enemies had pushed their way into our borders in Lyconderia again.
Below, Dominic barked orders, his voice sharp and commanding, but frustration lined his face. He had been fighting for days, trying to push them back. Nothing worked. His soldiers returned bloodied and tired, their armor dented, their eyes hollow.
I could taste the bitterness in the air, a mix of ash and something darker fear. The pack felt it. Wolves paced in the courtyards, warriors checked weapons with trembling hands. The sound of clashing steel echoed faintly from far-off skirmishes.
Inside the council hall,
