The next twelve hours were not spent in celebration of our survival; they were spent in a feverish, agonizing debate that threatened to fracture the remnants of the pack before we ever set foot on a new world. The Great Hall of the Northern Spire, once a tomb for the Wraiths, was now a war room. We had established a secure, high-bandwidth comms link back to Kael in Aethelgard and the Lithic-Wolves in the Red Wasteland. The air in the Spire was thick with the static of the rebuilding grid and the desperate, overlapping voices of leaders half a world away.
The news of the "New North" had spread through the ranks like a psychic wildfire. It wasn't just information; it was a contagion of hope and deep-seated paranoia.
"We can't just walk away from the soil our ancestors bled into!" Kael’s
