The air was thick with tension as Ravenclaw's warriors thundered across the plains. Dawn painted the horizon in streaks of crimson, and every heartbeat seemed to echo the coming war. Evelyn rode at the front, her cloak snapping in the wind, eyes locked on the distant outline of Ashvale Ridge — the eastern border village now under Fji's shadow.
Smoke curled faintly into the sky. The smell of burning fur and blood lingered in the wind, faint but unmistakable. It was not the first time she had smelled war, yet something about this felt different. This was not just an attack. This was a message.
Damien's absence weighed heavily on her chest. He had insisted she lead without him, and though she obeyed, the memory of his weakened form haunted her. Every breath she took was sharpened by the fear that he might not live to see her return.
