The morning sun over the neutral border fortress did not bring light; it felt like a cold, pale glare casting over a graveyard. Inside the grand obsidian amphitheater of the Supernatural High Council, the suffocating atmosphere of political posturing had completely vanished. It was replaced by a terror so thick it felt physical. The three Grand Elders sat on their elevated stone tiers, their silver hoods pushed back for the first time in centuries, revealing pale, wrinkled faces twisted in absolute shock. Surrounding them, the Alphas of the allied territories sat in paralyzed silence, their hands trembling against the slate ledgers.
Overnight, the entire Dark River Pack had ceased to exist.
Two hundred elite warriors, the entire commanding vanguard, and Alpha Vance himself had been erase
