The morning air was thick with tension, mist clinging to the earth like a breath held too long. Aria stood at the edge of the encampment, her gaze fixed on the horizon as the first rays of dawn pierced the darkness. Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, restless and alert. She knew what was coming.
War.
Kael approached, silent as always, though his presence settled something deep within her. He held a scroll in his hand, the seal broken and edges damp from dew.
"Report from the northern scouts," he said. "Ronan's forces are converging near the Ashen Hills. They're three days out, maybe less if they push through the highlands."
Aria took the scroll, her eyes scanning the familiar sigils. The alliance of rebel packs had held, but barely. Supplies were strained. Morale frayed like worn leather. And Ronan... he moved like a shadow with teeth.
"We hold the ridgeline," she said firmly. "If he wants blood, we give him fire."
