The ruins still smoked in the aftermath of the battle. Elizabeth stood among the broken stones, her sword dripping blood, her hands trembling slightly though her face showed no fear. Around her, the warriors of the united packs gathered some limping, some bloodied, all breathing heavy, victorious, but wary.
The Black Spire, the seat of the Forgotten God's final corruption, had fallen.
But something still stirred.
Elizabeth lifted her chin, eyes narrowing at the deep fissure that split the earth at the Spire’s base. From its jagged depths came a sound a low, pulsing throb like a heart beating underground.
“What is that?” Rowan asked, stepping up beside her, his hand brushing hers in silent solidarity.
“I don’t know,” she whispered. “But it’s not over yet.”
Without warning, a gust of f
