The rain came before dawn, a heavy storm that turned the battlefield's ashes into dark rivers. The scent of smoke still clung to everything, the reminder of fire refusing to fade. Evelyn stood at the edge of the courtyard, watching the rain wash away traces of blood from her armour. Her reflection shimmered in the puddle at her feet—tired, scarred, and unrecognisable from the woman who had once trembled in the shadow of the council.
She had survived the night. But survival no longer felt like victory.
Behind her, the fortress buzzed with uneasy movement. Warriors cleaned weapons and patched wounds, healers moved from room to room carrying bowls of herbs. The entire pack was restless, every glance toward the horizon heavy with fear. Fji's name passed through whispers like a curse, never spoken loudly but never forgotten.
