The Unstable KingThe silver started its work exactly thirty minutes into the morning briefing.

I sat at the head of the command table, a massive, rough-hewn slab of oak surrounded by my highest-ranking generals. The room was hot, filled with the close, heavy scent of strained Lycan energy and sweat. Outside, the war camp was a constant, low roar of activity. Here, I needed focus.

But the pain began—not the sharp, burning shock of a full flare, but a slow, sickening crawl, like frozen fire ...