The path to the amphitheater where the alpha ceremony will be held is on the western side of the forest where the packhouse proudly stands. Cold silver light filters through the branches above, where the full moon generously shines in the clear night sky. The air is cool, neither too bitingly cold nor too warm. Just perfect for the midnight run.
Torches line the trail at regular intervals, their flames flickering gently, casting shadows that dance like ancient ghosts along the trunks of the trees. The scent of pine and wildflowers clings to the breeze. The amphitheater emerges ahead, an open, stone-ringed space nestled in the arms of a natural hollow, timeless in its grandeur. Moss creeps along its edges, softening the ancient granite. Stone benches form a semicircle around the ceremonial
