The moon hung low and swollen above Nightfall, its pale light washing the battlefield in ghostly silver.
Smoke curled through the ruined trees. The scent of blood and ash lay thick in the air, heavy enough to choke. Bodies wolf and human littered the ground, unmoving. The war cries had faded into distant echoes, leaving behind only the crackle of dying fires and the soft groans of the wounded.
At the heart of the destruction stood the ancient stone circle.
It had been hidden beneath the roots of a dead forest for centuries, protected by spells older than the packs, older than the Order itself. Now it lay exposed, its carved runes glowing faintly, pulsing in rhythm with the moon overhead.
Seraphine stepped toward it.
Her clothes were soaked through with blood some hers, most not. Cuts
