The ship's metal corridors stretched endlessly, their polished walls reflecting the faint blue glow of spirit-lamps. The hum of engines echoed deep in the belly of the vessel, steady and powerful, like the heartbeat of some slumbering beast. Aamir walked slowly, his boots tapping lightly against the steel floor, eyes roaming with curiosity.
This ship was far bigger inside than it looked from the outside. A labyrinth of rooms, training halls, resting quarters, and chambers for young werewolves to live, learn, and train. He had been in plenty of places—fortresses, guild halls, even dragon nests—but something about this ship's interior felt different. Almost like it was alive.
He turned down a corridor and pushed open a wide metal door.
Inside, laughter and shouting filled the air. Several werewolf children were gathered, playing—or rather, fighting. Their claws were out, their teeth bared, though not with murderous intent. It was a game, yet rough enough to leave bruises.
