CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The forest did not welcome strangers.
Mist clung low to the ground, curling like living fingers around twisted roots and ancient stones. Moonlight filtered through towering blackwood trees, fractured into shards of silver that painted the clearing in an eerie glow. At the center of it all stood a tent—vast, unnatural, and wrong.
It was not made of cloth.
Its surface rippled like liquid shadow, stitched together with glowing runes that pulsed faintly, as if breathing. Totems carved from bone and obsidian circled it, each engraved with sigils older than the Moon Clan itself. The air around the tent hummed—magic so dense it made the wolves' instincts scream.
This was no shelter.
It was a throne disguised as fabric.
Luna stepped inside.
