In a hidden pack shrouded by thick, clawing bushes and cold fog, werewolves lived as if chained to the olden days.
Mud huts, dirt roads, the scent of wood smoke and wet fur in the air. They were stuck in time while the rest of the werewolf world moved forward, trading in sleek cities and moonlit power.
Here, in a small smoky room, the Beta—a wiry, grey-haired man with a limp—burst into the Alpha’s chambers, panting like a beaten dog.
“The Khronwolf pack,” he gasped, spitting on the floor as if the name tasted foul, “they’re on their way!”
The Alpha, Echo, sat hunched in his old wooden chair, bones creaking, eyes hollow under the weight of decades of war and blood. His cracked lips parted in a humorless chuckle.
“f**k, I just want death,” he muttered, the words trembling from somewher
