Years Ago...
The bleak years of the Northern territories were heavily weighed down by the pitch-black ash blanketing the sky, the scent of damp earth, and the shadow of death lurking behind every single pine tree. The ruthless, predatory war between the werewolves and the dark sorcerers was at its bloodiest peak. Borders had turned into literal prisons, forcing every member of the pack to live trapped within the fortified yet suffocating walls of the manor.
The depths of the forest resembled a slaughterhouse due to the constant ambushes set by vampires and rogue sorcerers; stepping a single foot outside the boundary lines meant signing your own death warrant. Thus, everyone lived beneath the dark gloom of the pine trees, barely daring to breathe, fighting just to survive.
