The rogue's dying words haunted her like echoes in an empty hall.
The prophecy... it's her.
Reign paced the blood-stained clearing, her claws flexing unconsciously as frost trailed behind her restless movements like silver smoke. The bodies of the fallen rogues lay frozen where they had died, their final expressions locked in terror and recognition. But it was the words of the scarred leader that clawed at her mind, demanding answers she didn't possess.
The direwolf sat motionless a few paces away, its ancient silver eyes fixed on her with unblinking intensity. Through their mystical bond, she could feel its awareness—vast and patient, holding secrets older than the mountains themselves.
"You know something," she said, her voice carrying the sharp edge of frustration. "Don't you? About
