The first light of dawn crept over the valley, painting the Bloodstone territory in soft amber and gold. Morning mist clung to the pine needles, thick with the scent of rain and fertile soil. The kind of morning that once promised peace.
But peace, the wolves had learned, could be as fragile as breath.
The pack had grown accustomed to the sound of safety — pups laughing in the training field, axes biting into wood, voices lifting in greeting. Yet beneath the ordinary rhythm of life, something else had begun to stir. An unease that no one could name.
It began with the wolves.
The first howls came before sunrise — sharp, startled cries from sentries stationed near the western border. The mindlink snapped alive across every head, a dozen thoughts overlapping like static. Movement. Scent o
