[Third Person].
One full month passed after the official announcement that Draven Oatrun would be crowned the next Werewolf King—King of Stormveil.
The news spread quickly through the packs. Among the people, there was excitement, pride, and anticipation. Draven had proven himself in strength, leadership, and battle. His ascension felt inevitable.
But the people were not the final authority. The Council of Elders was. But they were divided, and far from pleased.
The council chamber was steeped in age and authority. Stone pillars carved with ancient sigils stood like silent witnesses, and the long table bore the weight of generations of rule. The Elders sat in a rigid semicircle, their expressions guarded, sharp, and far from welcoming.
Draven stood alone before them.
The discussion began civilly—formal acknowledgements of his achievements, restrained approval of his claim to the throne. Then, inevitably, the conversation shifted.
