Five Years Later
The training grounds of the Whispering Pines Palace were no longer a place of somber preparation; they had become the heartbeat of a thriving kingdom. The morning air was crisp, scented with the familiar perfume of mountain pine and the faint, sweet smell of ozone that always accompanied a Weaver’s training session.
I stood on the observation balcony, my purple eyes sweeping over the valley. Five years had transformed the North. The scars of the Shadow-Legion were gone, replaced by lush meadows and a sprawling marketplace where the Diamond Moon and Wildfire banners flew side-by-side in permanent unity. We were no longer just a collection of packs; we were the Great Northern Alliance.
"Focus, Lyzandra," I called out, my voice carrying across the yard.
Below, my six-year
