The horns had not stopped since dawn.
Their cry rolled over the hills like a storm warning of the end. Ravenclaw's walls trembled with the pounding of shields and the howl of thousands gathering for war. Smoke streaked the horizon where Fji's forces advanced, a dark river of bodies moving with brutal precision.
Inside the fortress, Evelyn stood in the council hall, her palms pressed against the cold stone table. Maps were scattered before her, ink smeared with ash and blood. The air carried the scent of iron, sweat, and burning oil. Outside, the pack prepared for their final stand.
"Five legions," Alaric said grimly, tracing a line across the map. "They're spreading from the eastern ridge. Fji's using George to lead the second flank."
Evelyn's throat tightened at the name. George — once a friend, now a monster wearing betrayal like armour. "And the scouts?"
