The forest trembled beneath the march of darkness.
Voryn's forces surged forward like a tide of shadows, the corrupted rogues of Hollow Fang snarling with unnatural strength. Their eyes glowed red in the gloom, and their bodies moved with twisted precision, no longer entirely wolf—nor entirely mortal. These weren't warriors. They were vessels.
And they were coming for Aria.
From the high ridge, Aria stood beside the triplets, her fingers curled tightly around the hilt of a dagger blessed by the Flameborn court. The mark on her wrist blazed with heat, matching the pulsing sigils that now shimmered faintly across Dorian, Tobias, and Marcus's skin.
"This is it," Dorian muttered. "They'll hit the treeline in seconds."
Tobias cracked his knuckles, a feral grin on his face. "I've been waiting for this."
Marcus, silent as ever, lowered himself into a defensive stance, golden eyes scanning every movement below.
