Iron Hollow was a place spoken of in whispers—half myth, half threat.
They reached it by dusk.
Craggy cliffs surrounded the outlaw haven, its gates made of salvaged bones and war banners. Rogues, healers, deserters, even former priestesses milled through the narrow paths—some in rags, others armored in pride. No one bowed. No one asked questions.
Here, loyalty was coin. And coin was survival.
Seph's eyes scanned the broken towers. “Feels like home."
Leo smirked. “That's the most disturbing thing you've said all day."
“You didn't grow up under temple ceilings."
“No. Just under lies."
A large wolf with a jagged scar across one eye stepped in front of them, arms crossed.
“No banners," he barked. “No priesthood filth. You want shelter, pay blood or truth."
Leo dismounted. “We're here
