C27 The gathering of shadows

Far from Paxton’s candlelit halls, the night was a living thing. The air reeked of iron and smoke, the ground cracked and scarred by old magic.

Malrick stood at the heart of a desecrated clearing, his frame cloaked in black fur and shadow. Around him, Gravelmoon wolves knelt, their eyes no longer their own—clouded in tar, glowing faintly with the sigils he had branded into their skin