LOGIN{Ava’s POV}The world went quiet before it broke.Not the peaceful kind of quiet— not the kind that came with rest or safety or sleep, but the kind that made the air feel tight in one’s lungs, like it was holding its breath.I felt it long before I saw anything.I stood at the edge of a high ridge overlooking the low forest valley below, my boots half-buried in loose stone and ash. Dawn hadn’t fully arrived yet as the sky was caught in that uncertain gray— neither night nor morning, where shapes blurred and shadows lingered longer than they should.The wind brushed against my skin, and every nerve in my body flared in response.Something was wrong.No— not wrong.Changing.I closed my eyes slowly, letting my senses stretch outward the way they did now without permission. I didn’t fight it this time. Fighting only made it worse.The land whispered back.Far away— too far for any normal wolf to hear, I felt movement. Not singular. Not random.Organized.Eastward, the earth pulsed with s
{Revna’s POV}War does not announce itself.It seeps.It settles into cracks. It teaches people to choose sides without realizing they’ve done so.By the thirteenth day, the Reigns no longer felt whole.Not broken— yet. Not screaming. Not aflame.Just… wrong.I stood on a rise overlooking the western lowlands as dawn smeared pale light across the fields. Below me, my forces moved with controlled efficiency— no wasted motion, no unnecessary noise. Our Camps were broken down within minutes, tracks erased and fires buried beneath earth and ash.My rebels were learning how to endure.Ketha joined me, her limp barely noticeable now. Per my advice, she had stopped favoring the knee weeks ago and pain adapts when it understands it will not be indulged.“Scouts report three more villages refusing Palace supply quotas,” she said quietly. “No violence. Just… compliance withdrawal.”I allowed myself a breath.Perfect.“Any mention of Gregon?” I asked.“Fear,” she said. “But distant. Like a storm
{Revna’s POV}War does not begin with drums.It begins with logistics.With numbers scratched into dirt. With routes memorized and erased. With food counted not by abundance, but by how long it can be denied. It begins when you decide who is meant to bleed first— and who is meant to watch.By the fifth night after the pact, Gregon believed we were moving together.That misconception was my first victory.I never allowed our forces to mingle. No shared camps. No shared scouts. No shared fires. Coordination does not require intimacy— only timing. I made certain our communications were indirect, filtered through messengers who did not know enough to betray me even if they tried.My rebels moved west and south in overlapping arcs, never lingering long enough to be pinned, never striking without purpose. Each village we passed through was weighed and categorized.Some were afraid.Some were angry.Some were simply tired.Those were the easiest.I did not arrive as a conqueror. I arrived a
{Revna’s POV}Alliances are easiest to maintain in the first few hours after they’re formed.Everyone is still pretending.I let Gregon believe the canyon meeting had ended cleanly— that our handshake had sealed something sacred, something binding. His Corrupters remained at a distance as my rebels withdrew, neither force crossing into the other’s shadow.That was intentional.Proximity breeds familiarity. Familiarity breeds mistakes.I do not make mistakes, not recently. By nightfall, we had already moved; not together. I led my rebels westward through broken trade routes and abandoned pack borders, following paths the Palace had stopped monitoring months ago. Gregon would be doing the same in the opposite direction, swelling his ranks with fear and rot.We were circling the same corpse.The Reigns.Around me, my rebels moved with sharpened silence. No unnecessary words. No wandering attention. They had learned quickly— faster than I expected, which pleased me. Fear had stripped awa
{Revna’s POV}~ Two Days Later ~ A canyon-like structure was a wound in the earth.Not a natural one— those heal with time. This one was the kind torn open by darkness and never allowed to close. Jagged rock walls clawed toward the sky, their surfaces blackened by ancient fire and something older than memory. Even the wind moved carefully here, slipping through the narrow pass like it didn’t want to be noticed.I chose this place deliberately— to meet him since it was his headquarters; his base Kingdom. Only a few knew this place or have ever been as its scourged grounds was a myth. Power always tilted the land beneath its feet.My rebels waited behind me, spread along the upper ridges where they could rain death downward if needed. They were silent— no shifting, no murmuring, no nervous fidgeting. The raid had cured them of unnecessary noise.Three days ago, they were wolves with grievances. Now they were soldiers who had tasted consequence.The Palace supply caravan still burned
{Revna’s POV}The caravan was late.That annoyed me.Late meant sloppy. Sloppy meant unpredictable. And unpredictable meant variables— things I disliked almost as much as sentiment.I crouched atop a limestone ridge overlooking the trade road, the night stretched thin and moonless above us. Below, torchlight crawled slowly through the valley like a wounded serpent— six wagons, reinforced axles, Palace insignia scraped clean but still recognizable beneath the grime. Smart. Cowards learned quickly these days.They were carrying grain, steel, medical supplies, and a small chest of coin meant to “restore confidence” in the western villages.Confidence could not be restored with bread; only blood can. And medical supplies could not heal emotional wounds— only retribution can.Behind me, my rebels waited in disciplined silence. Not rogues anymore. Not scavengers. They had learned to hold still. To listen. To obey without being told twice.I had taught them that.“Positions,” I whispered.T







