The night reeked of iron.

Nine vials already sloshed with the impossible colors of legend, phoenix gold, basilisk black, unicorn silver but only one remained. The tenth. Werewolf.

Lucius and Valerius tracked the scent through the ravaged valley, the air thick with the musk of beasts. When the howl came, it wasn’t a warning. It was a promise.

The werewolf appeared from the mist, massive, fur matted with battle scars. Its eyes glowed with feral cunning.

“Stand aside,” Valerius said, ...