Voices of the Past
The council chamber had always felt colder than the rest of the den—its stone walls bearing the weight of centuries, of decisions made in blood and iron. Torches flickered along the walls, casting long shadows over the gathering of elders seated at the crescent-shaped table carved from the ancient moonstone tree.
Caleb stood with his arms folded behind his back, posture tall but non-threatening. Rowan sat at the head of the room, silent, unreadable. Eli was tense at his side, lips pressed into a line.
Opposite them sat five of the oldest wolves in the Hollow Moon Pack—once warriors, now stewards of tradition. Elder Marrek, the oldest, sat in the center, his grizzled face carved with age and stubbornness. To his left was Elder Sona, her expression sharp with skepticism
