Maximus

The next day, we were attacked.

The first warning was the howl, low, sharp, and wrong. It wasn’t one of ours. It was the kind that split the morning open like a blade, carrying violence in every note.

By the time I reached the ridge, the horizon was already moving. Shadows poured from the treeline like spilled ink, dozens, no…hundreds, of them. The rogues. And behind them, flying the black and silver of the Iron fangs, was Xander himself.

“Sound the ...