Mist clung to the Broken Fang Ridge at first light, tendrils of fog curling between shattered battlements. Lina Mornveil stood atop the east wing parapet, cloak drawn tight against the chill. Below her, the once-prisoner refugees—men and women roused by last night's miracle—gathered in ragged ranks behind Ronan Direfang, whose broad shoulders loomed like a sentinel of stone.
“Bram!" Lina called, scanning the crowds for the gaunt cub-turned-herald. A figure emerged from the mist beyond the kennels: Bram, gaunt but determined, led a dozen survivors, their eyes wide with both fear and hope.
Lina descended the winding stairs, Ronan at her side. The refugees parted as she approached, whispers rising in a single swell: “Silver Howl Queen!" “Queen Lina!" “Moonblood Sovereign!"
She offered a cu
