The council chamber had been carved long before Damien Blackwood was born.
Long before his father had worn the crown. Long before Aria Hale had ever been whispered about in prophecy or bloodline records. The stone walls curved inward like the ribs of some ancient beast, etched with sigils meant to suppress magic and expose truth. Power hummed faintly in the air, old and watchful.
Aria felt it the moment she stepped inside.
Her wolf lifted her head.
Not in fear.
In recognition.
Every eye in the chamber turned toward her.
There were twelve council members seated in a half circle, each representing one of the elder packs, bloodlines that had survived wars, purges, and betrayals. Their expressions ranged from curiosity to thinly veiled hostility. Some radiated tightly controlled dominance. Others… unease.
