The Delanivis had finally responded.
But not with just words.
In the crack of dawn, when the sky was still a bruised purple and the world held its breath between night and day, the white wolf army emerged from the border of their territory.
They moved in silence, a sea of pale fur and gleaming steel, wearing silver-plated armor over thick fur pelts and their own pure white coats. The sight was ghostly, otherworldly. An army of specters marching to war.
When the sun finally peeked over the horizon, painting the sky in gold and rose, their message spread through the land like wildfire.
"We, Delanivis, will not let such blatant accusations taint our name. Heretics are those who denied the true Saintess. Heretics are those who denied the Temple and the gods' words. May Saintess Ruby Vaiva foretell your fall."
Bold words. Defiant words. The words of a house that would rather burn than bend.
