The courtyard with chaos.
Arthur’s black wolf slammed into Selra, their bodies a tangle of fur, fangs, and fury. Dust rose in choking clouds as claws gouged stone, scattering shards across the altar steps. Wolves pressed against the courtyard walls, their howls a mix of fear and bloodlust, the sound like a storm trying to tear itself apart. The night air carried the tang of iron and smoke, every breath heavy with tension.
Michael’s breath hitched with every clash. Shackled to the altar, he strained against the iron biting his wrists, desperate, furious, helpless. The chains rattled as he pulled, his skin raw from struggling, his voice hoarse. “Fight him, Ivy! Don’t give in!” His cry tore across the courtyard, a human voice swallowed by the roar of combat, yet still striking at Ivy’s hear
