The sky over the Northern Veil burned with the first hints of dusk, the horizon streaked in crimson and gold, yet the colors did nothing to soften the tension that gripped the land. Every tree, every shadow, every whisper of wind seemed alive, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for the inevitable clash that would decide the fates of wolves, Nightborne, and the power that bound them. Selara moved through the clearing with the fluid grace of one attuned to both predator and magic, silver veins pulsating faintly beneath her skin, her senses honed to the slightest shifts in the air. Her Nightborne energy no longer flared only with instinct it resonated, deliberate, calculated, aware of every motion around her.
