ECHOES OF THE RIFT
The forest was quiet, though the silence was brittle, as though it held its breath after the chaos of battle. Wolves moved cautiously among the trees, muscles still tense, senses alert, ears flicking at the faintest sounds. Even the wind seemed hesitant to stir, whispering lightly through the branches, carrying with it the faint scent of shadow and ash.
Lykos stood at the center of the clearing, silver eyes scanning every wolf, every shadow, every flicker of movement. His jaw was tight, claws still lightly scraping the earth, aura pulsing faintly with the afterglow of battle. The pack had endured, but the cost was evident in trembling limbs, fur matted with sweat and dust, and eyes wide with lingering fear.
Aria moved beside him, silver fire softly radiating from her
