The morning broke red.
The air was heavy, not with dew, but with fear. The once proud Bloodfang Pack stood in silence, every wolf bowing low to the figure that stepped from the shadows of the courtyard. Liora.
Her eyes no longer held the warmth they once did. They burned, molten gold rimmed in crimson, the mark of the Blood Alpha. The new ruler. The one the moon herself could not tame.
She didn't walk, she glided. The ground beneath her feet seemed to pulse with power, every breath she took rippling through the wolves gathered around. Her presence demanded silence. Even the wind obeyed.
The bodies of fallen guards lined the path leading to the throne stone. The old symbols of the pack, Kael's banners, the crest of Gonzalo's reign were gone, shredded and burned, replaced with a single sigil drawn in her own blood, a half moon split in two.
Liora stopped in front of the throne and looked over them, the broken remnants of those who once ruled her.
