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  The Elder Hall was cloaked in solemnity that morning.

  Thick beams of dark wood towered above the circle of robed elders, each seated behind a curved crescent table adorned with the sigils of the Mystic Wolves. The air was heavy with incense—spiced with sandalwood, judgment, and tradition.

  San Lang stood in the center of the chamber, draped in ceremonial black, eyes lowered with just the right touch of sorrow. His voice was composed, but there was a flicker of eagerness beneath it.

  "Honorable Elders," he began, bowing low, "it is with deep grief I inform you—my brother San Qi has passed in the night."

  Gasps echoed.

  Elder Wu, the oldest among them, narrowed his eyes.

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  "Passed?"

  "His illness… overtook him," San Lang said, a hand pressed to his chest. "Before we discuss succession, I believe he should be officially summoned to confirm his status." His tone remained formal, but he was already savoring the moment.

  The elders murmured, nodding.

  But before the summons could be cast, a low, commanding voice rang through the chamber—

  "No need to summon the living."

  Thud.

  A shock ran through the hall as all heads turned toward the grand ceiling.

  And then—

  San Qi descended from above.

  He landed with the grace of a shadow, his boots striking the centerstone of the floor with a sharp, echoing sound. His cloak flared behind him—woven in the deep crimson and silver threads reserved only for an Alpha. Over his chest, the sigil of dual wolves was emblazoned—one eye silver, the other golden.

  Gasps and stunned silence filled the room.

  His face was unrecognizable in its strength—no longer gaunt, no longer frail. His bandages were gone, revealing eyes that burned with otherworldly power. One elder staggered to their feet.

  "He… he's glowing…"

  San Lang's expression twisted, caught between shock and rage.

  San Qi's gaze cut through him like a blade.

  "You expected a corpse. Instead, you summoned the heir."

  He turned slowly, meeting the eyes of each elder.

  "I may have been sick. I may have been silent. But I was never gone. And now—" he took a step forward, the floor seeming to hum beneath his feet—

  "—I will speak. Not as the broken firstborn. But as your Alpha."

  The room trembled, not from magic, but from certainty.

  And San Lang, for the first time, felt something icy crawl down his spine.

  Fear.