The air of Hollow Fang was thick with an unshakable tension, like the sky itself was holding its breath. The fortress loomed in jagged silhouettes, its spires piercing the storm-gray horizon. From the high battlements, Aria could see the armies assembling below—wolves in countless numbers, their fur bristling with anticipation, their eyes glowing with determination.
And yet, her heart was not steady.
She stood between the triplets, the Flameborn crown faintly pulsing against her temple as if alive. Its energy coursed through her veins, mingling with her own power until her skin felt fevered. Dorian's hand brushed hers, grounding her. Marcus's watchful gaze swept the fortress walls, while Tobias's wolf stirred beneath his skin, restless, eager for the coming storm.
"This is the moment," Tobias murmured, his voice low but carrying the weight of certainty. "Everything we've done, everything we've lost… it comes to this."
Aria swallowed hard, her throat dry. "If we fail—"
