The morning air over the Blood Moon fortress was devoid of its usual chatter. A heavy, suffocating silence blanketed the central arena. The fighting pit was a massive sunken circle of hard-packed earth, surrounded by towering stone bleachers that were now packed shoulder-to-shoulder with thousands of anxious werewolves. On the eastern side stood the rugged, battle-scarred warriors of the Iron Ridge. On the western side stood the disciplined, elite shadows of the Blood Moon.
Elara stood on the high Alpha’s balcony overlooking the pit, the cold wind whipping her silver hair around her face. She wore no ceremonial dresses today, only practical dark leather, her hands gripping the stone railing tightly. The golden light of the Sun-Stone pulsed steadily against her collarbone, a quiet reminder
