The northern fringe announced itself long before Aria saw it.
The land vibrated.
Not violently. Uneasily. Like a voice held too long behind clenched teeth. The air carried the metallic tang of old grudges and fresh fear, and beneath it all, the unmistakable scent of wolves on the brink.
Damien felt it too. She could tell by the way his posture shifted, shoulders squaring as his gaze swept the horizon.
"This place has been bleeding for a while," he said.
Aria nodded. "No one listened."
They descended near a valley cut through with jagged rock formations and sparse forest. Three territories converged here, their borders overlapping in messy, disputed lines that had never truly been resolved.
Perfect conditions for collapse.
As they stepped onto the ground, the threads flared violently. Lines snapped and twisted, tugging at her from multiple directions, each pack pulling for validation, for authority, for relief.
She staggered slightly.
