- Icarus POV -
The sound of distant roars bled through the stone walls, a constant reminder that this land belonged to creatures born for war. From the tall, narrow window of the Thal'Zar war room, Icarus di Valtaron watched the Lycans move below like a living tide. Some were still in their humanoid form, weapons of mana shimmering around their arms; others had embraced their beast shapes entirely—towering figures of fur, muscle, and claw, tearing at training dummies with feral precision. Moonlight traced the edges of their movements, turning their shadows into long, restless silhouettes.
Icarus stood motionless, maroon coat brushing softly against the stone as the wind slipped inside. His lilac eyes reflected the battlefield-in-preparation with a calmness that did not belong in a place like this. To him, chaos and discipline looked the same—merely patterns waiting to be read.
