Some kings rule with strength.
Others rule with fear.
Malrik walks into war…
And war bows to him.
The battlefield stills in a way that makes no sense.
Claws pause mid-strike.
Breaths hitch.
Even the wounded stop moving.
Because something deeper than instinct is reacting.
Fear.
Not learned.
Not chosen.
Instinctive.
Malrik doesn’t raise his voice.
Doesn’t command his army.
He doesn’t need to.
Power coils around him like something alive—dark, suffocating, unnatural.
The ground beneath his feet seems to recoil with every step.
Aria stands at the ridge, her body going rigid.
Her silver wolf surges forward violently inside her.
Not in fear.
In challenge.
Her eyes flash silver as she locks onto him across the distance.
“He’s stronger…” she whispers.
Kael stiffens beside he
