Brynn
The stadium looked nothing like it had the day Frynn and I became kings. Back then, it had smelled of sweat, iron, and earth. Now, it smelled of roses. Of promise. Of joy.
Morning light poured through the open arches, spilling across rows of white seats that gleamed like pearls. Hundreds of workers moved through the vast circular arena, the same one that had once held our fiercest battles, now reborn as a place of celebration.
I stood at the highest balcony, arms folded, watching everything unfold below.
Banners bearing the crest of each of the eleven packs rippled in the wind, silver, gold, and crimson weaving together like ribbons of unity. The royal crest of Fiato, our wolf insignia framed by moonlight, hung proudly at the center. For once, there was no rivalry, no border tens
