The wind died in the clearing, as if the night itself held its breath.
Raven lay crumpled by the shattered altar, Dax and Kael looming over her with fear in their eyes.
In the doorway stood Elias, framed by the ruined timbers, his cloak billowing like a living shadow.
He smiled, slow and cold, as though greeting old friends.
Kael sprang forward, sword drawn.
“This ends tonight, Elias,” he snarled.
“Release Becky. Release my pack.”
Elias lifted a hand, and Kael froze mid‑stride.
“Your pack?” Elias echoed, voice soft as silk.
He pointed beyond the tent’s remains.
“Look.”
Torches burned in the distance, revealing rows of wolves shackled to iron posts—survivors of Silverfang’s final stand.
Raven sat up slowly, eyes widening as she recognized each battered face.
Lira.
Old Luna’s g
