The forest held its breath, the Northern Veil cloaked in a gray mist that swirled like a living entity, shadows stretching and twisting as though anticipating the next clash. Selara crouched low on the ridge, silver veins glimmering faintly beneath her skin, every sense stretched taut, every nerve alive with the pulse of Nightborne energy. The air was thick with anticipation, the scent of pine and smoke intermingling with the faint metallic tang of blood lingering from past battles. Each heartbeat echoed against her chest like a drumbeat, a rhythm of impending confrontation and the slow, electric pull of desire she could no longer ignore.
Draven emerged silently from the shadows, golden eyes scanning the horizon, muscles coiled with predatory precision. His presence was magnetic, filling the space before he even spoke, and Selara felt a familiar shiver of awareness as their energies aligned.
