The sky above the war valley burned the color of spilled wine.
Clouds churned beneath the swollen face of the Blood Moon, its crimson light pouring across the battlefield like a divine omen—or a curse.
Smoke coiled upward from shattered trees and scorched earth. The scent of iron and ash filled every breath.
War had fully awakened.
Elara stood at the center of it.
Her silver hair whipped wildly in the wind created by clashing powers, and the ancient marks of the Moonbound Queen burned along her arms like living constellations.
The ground trembled beneath her bare feet.
Because the wolves were coming.
Thousands of them.
From every direction.
Some shifted mid-run, bones cracking, fur melting back into skin as warriors grabbed blades and spears.
Others remained in their monstrous forms—towering wolves with glowing eyes and battle scars etched across their hides.
Every pack had answered the call.
But they had not come in unity.
They had come for judgment.
