The chilling, ancient bay echoed through the stone cellar, vibrating through the wet flagstones and shaking dust from the arched ceiling.
Every guard in the corridor froze in place, their knuckles turning stark white as they clutched their heavy iron crossbows.
From the dark mouth of the aqueduct stepped a massive wolfhound of ancient bloodline—a giant war-beast standing four feet tall at the shoulder, its shaggy silver-gray coat matted with frozen moss. Its eyes glowed like twin drops of molten amber, burning with the lingering spiritual aura of the Northern royal bloodline. Clamped between the hound's massive jaws was an iron collar bearing the royal dire-wolf crest, and behind it strode Beta Vance.
Vance emerged from the icy fog like a vengeful demon of the dark tunnels. He wore his
