Kael's POV
The hall was suffocating.
Not from heat — but from the weight of expectation. The air itself felt thick, humming with old magic and unspoken judgment.
Morning light streamed through the arched windows, cutting through the haze of incense that curled around the elders' robes. The scent of iron lingered — a reminder that oaths in Blackwood were always sealed in blood.
At the far end of the chamber stood the Alpha's throne — empty, gleaming faintly beneath the banners of House Lupus. The seat of our father, once a symbol of unity and power, now stood abandoned.
Ronan stood before that empty throne, draped in the crimson cloak of the heir apparent. His posture was flawless, his expression measured — but his eyes burned with quiet triumph.
The elders lined both sides of the marble hall, forming a corridor of scrutiny. Silver embroidery glinted on their dark robes as torchlight wavered between them. They said nothing, but their silence spoke volumes.
