Lorelei

The sky was still dark when the first horn sounded.

I stood on the ramparts, my hands gripping the cold stone, my eyes fixed on the horizon. The air was thick with the scent of pine and damp earth, but beneath it, I caught something else—a faint, metallic tang that made my wolf stir uneasily. It was the smell of blood, old and distant, like a wound that had never fully healed. The wind carried the sounds of the enemy encampment, the low murmur of voices, the clink of armor, the ...