CHAPTER 6 : THE BROKEN CHAINS
KRANE
The darkness in the Fortress of Whispers didn’t just occupy space; it swallowed it. Unlike the leopards of the Blue Glacier, who burrowed into the cold light of their quartz, my pack, the Dark Moon, breathed in damp stone and decay.
I woke before the first pale glimmer of light could filter through the narrow slits we used for windows. The air in my chamber reeked of old blood, rancid sweat, and the metallic tang of poorly maintained steel. It was the scent of power. Here, we didn’t clutter our senses with snow lilies or eucalyptus. You smelled the beast, the real thing.
My vertebrae popped as I rose from my bed, which was covered in the pelts of rival wolves, trophies that were beginning to shed and smell of dust. My fortress was a labyrinth of raw
