The ridge was a cathedral carved from ice and fire, a sacred space that seemed to exist outside of ordinary time.
Hundreds of wolves ringed the ancient standing stones that crowned the highest point of Blackthorn territory. Their breath rose in silver clouds that caught the fading light, creating an ethereal fog that hung in the frigid air. Torches blazed in a perfect circle around the ceremonial ground, their flames dancing against the bruised winter sky where purple and deep blue fought for dominance as day surrendered to night. The entire Blackthorn pack had come, every single member answering the Alpha's call. From the oldest elder who had seen nearly a century of winters to the youngest pup still learning to shift, they had gathered to witness what had never happened in living memory
