The morning after the battle at the archway dawned with a heavy sky. Clouds loomed low over the forest, their edges tinged with the faint silver glow of sunlight struggling to break through. The Blackwood pack had returned to their camp victorious, but the mood was far from celebratory.

Lyla sat near the edge of the clearing, her back resting against a tree. Her body ached from the magic she had wielded to destroy the runes, and her mind was still replaying the battle. Every clash, every ...