The golden gate closed behind us with a sound like thunder.
We stood in the Hall of Ancestors.
I'd expected something like the Den. Something brutal and functional. A trial space designed to test and break wolves.
But this was different.
The Hall was a cathedral.
Vast. Impossibly vast. The ceiling rose so high I couldn't see where it ended. Just gold fading into darkness overhead. The walls stretched in all directions, curving slightly like we stood inside a massive dome. The space felt ancient, sacred, heavy with the weight of accumulated death.
And covering every surface, from floor to the vanishing ceiling, were portraits.
Thousands of them. Tens of thousands. Each one showing a different wolf. Some in human form. Some in wolf form. Some caught mid-shift between the two. The sheer number was overwhelming, dizzying.
All dead.
