The dining room of the Northern Territory's castle was a cavernous chamber of cold grandeur. The vaulted ceiling soared high overhead, hung with black iron chandeliers dripping with flickering candles. Shadows danced over the dark stone walls, catching on mounted wolf heads and ancient tapestries that told the blood-soaked history of the Lycans.
At the centre stretched a long, imposing table of polished obsidian wood, set to perfection. Porcelain dishes gleamed beneath the warm amber glow, each paired with delicate crystal wine glasses that caught the light like drops of frozen blood. Polished steel cutlery sharpened to an edge that could kill was arranged with military precision.
At the head sat Orion, his chair a throne carved from dark oak, etched with runes that whispered of his line
