The wind carried a heavy stillness through the Blackwood camp, a prelude to something ominous. Though the light of the grove’s victory over the corrupted land lingered faintly in their minds, the pack knew it was temporary. Kane had retreated, but he hadn’t been defeated. The destruction of the ancient slab had only delayed his plans, not stopped them.
Lyla sat on a rock near the campfire, her fingers idly tracing patterns in the dirt. The exhaustion from the battle still clung to her, but the forest’s whispers were louder than ever. They urged her to prepare, their tone both desperate and insistent.
Eli approached, his footsteps soft but deliberate. “You’ve been quiet,” he said, sitting beside her.
“Quiet feels safer,” she replied, her voice low. “The forest is restless, Eli. It knows
