The afternoon sun hung low over the treetops, bathing the village in a mellow gold.
The wind whispered through the leaves, warm and unhurried—yet beneath that calm, the air itself seemed to hum with anticipation.
Kael stood on a rise overlooking the fields, the faintest smile curling his lips. His coat swayed lazily in the breeze as he looked toward the cluster of figures working not far from the edge of the village—the reformed criminals.
They, too, could feel it. The promise. The slow pulse of something stirring beneath their skin.
"Ronan," Kael called out, his voice cutting clean through the rustling wind.
The wolfman straightened from where he'd been tightening a wooden brace, his golden eyes narrowing slightly before he nodded. "It's time, isn't it?"
Kael gave a faint nod. "Gather everyone."
Within minutes, word spread.
