"Power without control is a storm that consumes both hand and heart.", Fragmented verse from the Codex of Ascendants
The mist was no longer just weather. It was a creature, breathing, watching, curling its cold fingers through every branch, every stone, every breath the survivors dared take. Each exhale vanished into its choking embrace. The clearing felt smaller with every passing heartbeat, as if the forest itself conspired to close the noose.
The wolves lingered at the edges of vision, their eyes glowing faintly through the pale curtain of fog. Dozens of them, circling in silence, their bodies low to the earth, paws whispering over damp leaves. And above them, cutting through the shifting white like a blade of shadow, prowled the Alpha.
