The northern frontlines were a different world entirely.
Months of snow and ice. Barren landscapes stretching endless under grey skies. Military bases carved into the frozen ground, built for function not comfort. This was where Uriel's elite trained. This was where the best of the best were forged.
And this was where Varn had been taken.
---
The Confinement Room
Three men stood inside.
Kaelen was the leader. Twenty-eight. Wolf beastman, like Uriel, with dark grey fur at his ears and the same gold eyes. He leaned against the far wall, arms crossed, watching. He had not lifted a finger yet. He did not need to.
Zorin was twenty-six. Panther beastman. Tall, lean, with black fur and eyes that caught the light like a predator's. He held the whip, its tip dripping red. His face was empty, professional. He did not enjoy this. He simply did it.
