The war room felt suffocating despite its size.
Candles flickered along the stone walls, casting dancing shadows that seemed almost alive in the aftermath of what they'd witnessed. Every wolf who'd survived the battlefield stood in tense silence, waiting for answers that might explain the impossible.
Kael stood at the head of the ancient oak table, his silver eyes reflecting centuries of knowledge that suddenly felt relevant again. Lucien remained beside him, arms crossed, his expression carved from granite.
"The First Blood," Kael began, his voice carrying the weight of history itself, "is not a myth. It never was."
The room remained deathly silent.
"Millennia ago, before the packs formed, before territories were drawn, there existed a bloodline that predated what we understand as we
