Sebastian’s pov
I stood atop the battlements of my fortress, the cold wind whipping my obsidian cloak into rippling folds behind me. The sky was a bruised gray, heavy with the promise of storms and of blood. Below me, the vast encampment of my loyal shadow-wolves churned with activity: black-clad soldiers sparring with twisted blades, ritualists chanting quietly over ironbound tomes, and scouts patrolling the perimeter with watchful green eyes. All of it moved with the precision of a single organism bent toward a singular purpose: the fall of the Crimson Moon pack.
I turned away from the horizon and descended the narrow stone steps into the heart of my command hall. Torches burned in iron sconces along the walls, casting flickering shadows that danced like restless spirits. At its center
