Chapter 61: Whispers of a Plague
Orion leaned back in his chair, the creak of old wood cutting through the quiet of his office. The room was compact, its stone walls bare except for a faded tapestry of a wolf under a crescent moon, its threads fraying at the edges.
A sturdy oak desk dominated the space, cluttered with parchment, a quill dripping ink, and a worn dagger pinning a map of Nirvana's forests. A small window let in pale morning light, frost clinging to its frame, casting shadows across the uneven floor. A single candle flickered in a dented iron holder, its wax pooling unevenly, the air heavy with pine and faint traces of smoke.
Orion had managed to finish most of the paperwork that needed his attention so his office had been rearranged. Majority of them were trivial issues and he planned on hearing the pack members and their complaints and suggestions after the festival.
