The sun was low on the horizon, casting long shadows over the battlefield that had once been the Black Forest pack’s territory. The survivors moved slowly, their spirits broken, as they began the arduous process of tending to the wounded and honoring the dead.
Amidst this somber atmosphere, tension simmered between Azriel and Alex. Their auras clashed, the air thick with unspoken anger and unresolved emotions. Azriel stood tall, his protective stance clear, while Alex’s eyes were wild with a mix of regret and determination.
“You’re not worthy of Elora,” Alex spat, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
“And you are?” Azriel retorted, his eyes narrowing. The tension was palpable, like a storm about to break.
The argument escalated quickly, voices rising above the sounds of mourning
