The air was thick with the scent of charred earth and sorrow. My heart ached as I stood amidst the remnants of war, the mournful howls of our wounded warriors echoing against the skeletal remains of once-majestic trees. It was in this graveyard of valor that Alpha Biansky's voice cut through the gloom, gruff and unwavering.

"Enough of this squabbling," he declared, his penetrating gaze locking onto mine. "Our packs bleed while we bicker over pride and apologies. We have but one true enemy – ...