The Iron Mountains were no longer a sanctuary; they were a platform at the end of the world. Elara stood at the very edge of the Black Notch, where the granite fell away into the absolute, blinding silence of the White Void. Behind her, the Silver Moon Pack stood in a formation of pure, predatory power. They were no longer the battered refugees who had crawled into the mountains; touched by Elara’s awakening, their fur shimmered with a rhythmic, violet "Alpha" pulse. Even the pups stood with the steel-eyed resolve of ancient guardians, their very presence casting shadows that refused to be deleted.
"The Board thinks they can wait for the 'Format' to finish," Elara said, her voice echoing not in the air, but in the foundation of the Pack’s souls. "They think they can sit behind their desks
