The howling wind of the Alberta mountains suddenly ceased, as if the very elements were holding their breath, turning into silent witnesses for the ancient horror that was about to unfold. Garm's final, triumphant words about his immortal son still vibrated in the freezing air, his arrogant smile frozen on his blood-stained lips.
He genuinely believed his legal loophole had saved him. He genuinely thought he had outsmarted the ancient, iron-fisted throne of the North.
He looked Varg directly in the eyes, his voice dripping with a sickening, final mockery.
"Go ahead, Alpha!" Garm spat, his voice echoing across the silent ranks. "Look at my boy! Look at your own laws! You are trapped in the words of your own ancestors, Varg! You cannot touch my neck without making your own throne illegitimate!"
Varg didn't utter a single word in response. His ink-black eyes didn't even flicker with a shadow of hesitation or fear. His silence was the silence of an absolute executioner.
