Night pressed down on Silver Crest territory, thick and unyielding under a heavy stretch of clouds.
Wind tore through the forest, rattling the trees while thunder crawled along the backs of the mountains. Torches lined the borders, their flames straining to stay alive as patrol wolves moved slowly, every sense stretched thin.
Something was off.
Every wolf in Silver Crest felt it.
Attacks kept coming, each one braver than the last. Tension built up in the pack until it felt like the air itself might snap.
And out there, somewhere past the borders—
Enemies waited.
Deep in the eastern woods, far from any patrols, a single figure slipped through the trees, carried by shadow and silence.
He was careful. Always watching.
The hooded wolf paused beside an old stone ruin, half-choked by vi
