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The grand hall of Alvalon Palace was drenched in a golden glow, the air thick with dominance and fear. The moment Alpha Horace strode in, every head bowed low, the heavy scent of reverence and tension flooding the atmosphere. His boots echoed like war drums as he approached the high dais and took his place — the Great Elder of the Lycanthropes.
"Welcome, Alpha Horace! We are honored by your presence!" the Alphas chorused in unison, their voices trembling with both awe and restraint.
Horace lifted a hand lazily, his voice deep and commanding, "You may all sit."
He leaned back on the throne, broad shoulders relaxed yet radiating raw authority. His dark, wolfish eyes scanned the vast hall — sharp, unreadable, and cold enough to freeze the bravest soul in their seat.
"I see Alphas Gargoyle Reckon, Valerie Pai, and Tasus Donzizi," he said slowly, his tone calm but edged like a blade. "But I believe one is missing."
The silence that followed was deafening.
