*The Next Day*
The dungeon air had grown colder overnight, as though the stone itself had deepened its chill to bear witness to what was to come. Flickering torchlight danced across the walls, casting twisted shadows that slithered between the carvings of ancient wolves and long-forgotten runes.
The smell of damp earth and stale incense hung heavy, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and ritual oils.
Around the enchanted stone circle stood ten werewolf elders. Their long, dark cloaks swirled in the drafts that wound through the chamber’s narrow corridors—each fold a sign of their solemn purpose.
Their faces were unreadable: carved, ageless, and unwavering. At the center of the circle hovered two blood magicians robed in jet-black, half their faces masked.
One held an obsidian
