POV: Alpha Jackson Reynolds
The roar of industrial engines and the primal bellows of shifting wolves created a symphony of progress that echoed through the Blackwood range. We were six miles past the Diamond Moon’s northern perimeter, standing at the edge of a sheer granite face that had blocked the way toward the Whispering Pines for nearly a century. Deep within those ancient woods lay the ruins of the Royal Kingdom—the heart of the North that had been ripped out ninety years ago. But before we could even think about laying a single stone for a palace or reclaiming the throne, we had to conquer the mountain.
I stood on a rocky outcrop, my boots covered in the grey silt of pulverized stone. The air was thick with the scent of diesel, turned earth, and the sharp, clean smell of pine need
