The victory at the Stone Table was a seismic shift that could not be contained. Within weeks, the "United Ridge" had become a beacon for the broken and the strange.
The "Great Gathering" was not a formal summit; it was a pilgrimage. They came from the scorched Southern flats and the deep Western forests—wolves who had felt the "Violet Pulse" during the eclipse. Some arrived in pairs, already bonded and glowing with a newfound clarity. Others arrived alone, desperate and feverish, seeking the "other half" they could now feel screaming in the distance.
The Ridge was no longer a fortress; it was a sanctuary.
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### The Gathering Storm
"We have sixteen pairs now," Lorenzo said, looking over the ledgers in the Great Hall. The room was crowded with maps and tactical markers. "And nearly fi
