The first blush of dawn crept over the northern peaks like a thief, painting the snow in pale pinks and golds that belied the violence to come. Blizzard Moon Pack lay shrouded in mist, its citadel a fortress of ice-veined stone now desecrated by occupation—rogue banners flapping raggedly from towers, vampire sentries lurking in shadows. The royal forces and allies—Crimson Moon’s fierce warriors, Shadow Pack’s stealthy scouts, Eclipse’s vengeful survivors—gathered in the treeline, breath fogging the air.
Jackson, in human form for stealth, scanned the perimeter through binoculars. “Tunnels open at first light. Enslaved warriors inside are primed—our shadow intel lit the fuse for rebellion.”
Lilith nodded beside him, Lirien humming with anticipation, her priestess aura a subtle gold glow.
