The wind changed.
It carried the scent of iron, wet stone, and wolves.
Hundreds of wolves.
Aurelia stood still at the center of the valley while the approaching armies moved like dark rivers down the mountainside. Dust rolled behind them, banners snapping violently in the cold wind.
Three packs.
Three different symbols.
Lucien narrowed his eyes as he studied them.
"The left banner… that's the Frostfang Pack."
Rhydan nodded slowly. "Northern hunters. Brutal fighters. They don't kneel to anyone."
Cassian pointed to the pack moving along the right ridge.
"And that one is the Black Hollow Pack. Mercenaries, mostly. They fight for whoever promises blood."
Darius cracked his neck, clearly enjoying the tension.
"And the one in the middle?"
No one answered immediately.
Because the central army was different.
Larger.
Heavier.
