Elder Amund made his way to the center of the ballroom. His presence commanded attention without effort, I noted the way they looked at him, with almost the same reverence as they did Ragnar.
The cunning and warmth in his aged eyes was replaced by ceremonial gravity as he raised his hands, calling for silence. The music faded, conversations died down, and all eyes turned to the distinguished elder whose silver hair gleamed under the lighting.
"My dear pack members," his deep voice resonated through the hall. "Tonight marks the beginning of our sacred week of ceremonies." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the gathered crowd like he could see through the intentions and thoughts of everyone in sight. "For centuries, our pack has celebrated this time of renewal and connection. It is when
