With Cedric's wolf pacing silently at his side, Lord Rhaegal made his way toward the heart of the chaos. What was once a quiet rebel encampment now lay in ruins, blood-slicked, and soaked in violence. The stench of death clung to the air, thick and metallic, as the dismembered remains of both vampires and werewolves littered the ground in grotesque display.
Midway through the wreckage, they stumbled upon Sam and a handful of guards. The men halted abruptly, their eyes snapping to the monstrous black wolf beside Rhaegal. Their hands instinctively went to their weapons, though none of them dared draw.
Sam stepped forward stiffly, his face pale with tension. "My lord," he said, giving a shallow bow. "Forgive the delay. We… We came as fast as we could."
The wolf snorted at him, low and guttural, but made no move to attack. He remained rooted beside Rhaegal, hulking and silent, his gleaming eyes trained on Sam with quiet menace.
