The next day, the air shifted. Clouds gathered over jagged peaks, their shadows spilling across the black-stone walls of the Nox Clan's stronghold. Lightning crackled faintly in the distance, and the low rumble of thunder seemed to echo the very heartbeat of this land.
Nox. Famous for their Storm Affinity, for their tactical brilliance on the battlefield, and for their ruthless discipline that broke even the proudest spirits into obedience.
And now, Ceyla stood before their gates.
Her boots crunched against the gravel path. The banners of the clan hung above her, marked with the sigil of the storm: a split circle struck through by jagged lightning. The weight of a thousand memories pressed against her chest.
"(I don't want that to happen again… I won't let it happen again.)"
