After The Trial

After the roars of the crowd had quieted and the trial ground had emptied, a heavy silence descended across the central square of the Twilight Pack. The earth still bore the scars of the combat, and the very air pulsed with remnants of ancestral magic. While the others dispersed to their corners of the compound, Alpha Torin was summoned into the council hall by the remaining elder wolves—those too old to fight, but wise enough to shape the future.

Inside the dimly lit hall lined with ancient symbols drawn on wooden beams that had seen more generations than any of them could count, Torin stood tall, but the strain behind his eyes was unmistakable. One of the elders, a grey-bearded man named Fenric, stepped forward and cleared his throat.

“You seem unstable, Alpha,” he said frankly. “That was no ordinary combat rage. We most commend your efforts but your energy was off balance. You stumbled in the run. You hesitated during the trance. And even your fury seemed to have been clouding your