The first true night of Council retaliation arrived like a storm without warning.
Aria awoke to the low hum of tension that had never truly left the Citadel. Her wolf stirred immediately, sensing the ripples of power moving against them—waves of aggression, of malice, of controlled chaos. Magic was being pulled, twisted, and funneled toward the borders. This was no mere probing—it was an all-out demonstration of strength.
Damien was already awake, standing by the window with the faint glow of residual power outlining his form. His jaw was tight, his posture alert. "They've begun," he said quietly, almost reverently.
Aria's chest tightened. "They'll hit the weakest first?"
"Not weak," he corrected, voice low. "They'll hit the most symbolic. You."
She swallowed, wolf coiling beneath her skin, restless and sharp. "Then we'll be ready."
He came to her side, silent, but the warmth radiating from him grounded her. "We'll face them together."
