The tension in the Blackwood camp was suffocating. Days had passed since the destruction of the Obsidian Fang, and though the pack had gained a momentary reprieve, it felt like the calm before a deadly storm. The forest, usually vibrant with energy and life, was subdued its whispers faint and hesitant, as though it too was recovering from the blow it had dealt.
Lyla sat near the edge of the clearing, staring out at the trees. The weight of the Fang’s destruction still pressed heavily on her, the memory of the energy she’d unleashed refusing to fade. The forest had exacted a price, and though she couldn’t yet fully understand it, she could feel the absence of whatever it had taken.
Eli approached, his movements quiet but purposeful. He carried a small satchel over his shoulder, his green
