The dawn broke over a fortress that had never known defeat, illuminating the smoking, jagged ruins of the eastern wall. The heavy scent of ozone and rotting pine still clung to the freezing morning air. The elite shadows were already at work, hauling massive slabs of stone to temporarily barricade the breach, but everyone knew it was a hollow gesture. The illusion of absolute safety within the Blood Moon territory had been completely shattered.
Inside the Great Hall, the atmosphere around the obsidian war table was suffocatingly tense. The neutral Alphas looked exhausted, their previous panic replaced by a grim, heavy realization. Valen of the Iron Ridge sat with his arms crossed, his flinty eyes locked on the map. Corvan of the Silver Paw leaned heavily against his chair, his jaw tight
