Morning light poured across the training grounds, washing the field in shades of gold and warmth. The sharp clash of blades, the thud of boots against packed earth, and the low growls of wolves in sparring echoed through the open air. Shadowfang had been at peace for months, yet Darius refused to let his warriors grow soft. Peace, he knew, was only as strong as those who defended it.

From the edge of the field, Darius stood tall, arms folded across his chest. His tunic clung to his shoulders, ...