Outside Anana’s chamber, the fortress brimmed with life. The air was thick with celebration, yet beneath it ran a current of unspoken tension. Banners swayed in the wind, drums pounded in steady rhythm, and the warriors of the Crimson Blood Pack gathered in rows at the ceremony ground. Their voices mingled in a low hum, anticipation coiling in their chests.
On the elevated throne, Lucien sat like a carved figure of power. His back straight, his shoulders broad, his eyes glacial. The dark cloak that draped over him stirred in the wind, carrying with it a silent promise of dominance.
Behind the wall that separated his throne from the gathering, Anana stood. Her hands trembled despite her calm breaths. This was the second time all warriors had gathered because of her… the first had been whe
