Tous les chapitres de : Chapitre 121 - Chapitre 130

The tension in the pack was a living thing, thickening with every passing hour.Where once there had been easy camaraderie among Veyra's mates—shared glances, quiet smiles, touches of silent reassurance—now there was only a wary distance. Words came slower. Touches were hesitant. Each man watched the others out of the corner of his eye, as if searching for cracks beneath the surface.Veyra felt it most from Lioren.He sat apart from the others by the fire, head bowed, shoulders slumped forward in a way that didn't match the warrior she knew. His hands, once so sure and steady, now trembled slightly as he stirred the embers. He rarely spoke unless directly addressed, and even then, his voice was strained, brittle, as if every word cost him something.At first, Veyra thought it was just exhaustion. They were all running on fumes. The battles they'd fought, the losses they'd suffered—they weighed heavily on them all.But it wasn't just weariness in Lioren. It was something darker. Someth

The Nightveil stronghold stirred slowly under the weight of the rising sun.Stone corridors, once cold and silent, now echoed with the muted sounds of life—warriors readying for the days to come, healers tending to those wounded not by battle, but by darker wounds of the soul.Veyra stood on the balcony outside the room she had been given, the wind pulling at the loose strands of her hair. From here, she could see the sprawl of Zarek's territory—the watchtowers, the great hall, the training fields.It was a kingdom hardened by necessity, built not just to endure, but to survive whatever storm might come.And now, it would be the heart of a war unlike any they had known.Behind her, soft footsteps approached.She didn't have to turn to know it was Jon. His presence was as familiar to her as breathing."They're gathering," he said quietly, standing beside her at the railing."Zarek's summoned his generals. Packs loyal to Nightveil have sent their scouts. News of Nyros is spreading."Vey

The wind tasted wrong.It howled across the lands in shrill, discordant waves, carrying with it the scent of blood, fear, and something far older—something wrong.From the highest peaks to the deepest valleys, the ground trembled with the pulse of a broken world.The Veil—the sacred barrier between the living and the dead, between the realms of the mortal and the cursed—was unraveling.Nyros had begun his final assault.Nightveil's towers swayed under the unnatural pressure. The stars dimmed. The moon itself wept behind a shroud of black clouds.And all across the land, wolves fell into madness.Reports flooded in—wolves turning feral, their minds lost to the dark magic bleeding into their blood.Packs that once stood united fractured in hours.Friends tore each other apart with claw and tooth.In the war chambers of Nightveil, Veyra stood frozen before a map littered with black stones, each marking another town, another village, another life slipping away.The door slammed open.Jon

The council chamber inside Nightveil's fortress had once been a place of diplomacy a place where disputes between packs were resolved with reason rather than bloodshed.Now, it felt more like a battlefield.Dozens of pack leaders, emissaries, and war-chiefs crowded into the stone hall. Their faces were taut with fear, their eyes darting, their postures wary and coiled.The walls, usually illuminated by the soft, cold glow of the Moon Tree's magic, now flickered with the harsh red light of torches.It painted the stone in shades of blood.Thus the meeting came to be known as the Bloodlit Council.Veyra stood near the back, silent for now, her presence cloaked, watching, listening.Jon, Zarek, Rune, and Lioren flanked her, forming an unspoken line of defense around her slender form.Across the hall, arguments roared."We must flee!" one alpha bellowed, slamming his fist into the table, sending a map scattering."The veil is collapsing! Nyros's corruption spreads faster than we can stop

The Gate of Fire loomed before them, an ancient stronghold carved into the cliffs that once protected kingdoms now long dust.Massive spires jutted skyward, belching smoke and flame as if the earth itself rebelled against their approach.The path leading to it was narrow, treacherous, and slick with blood already spilled in battles past.But beyond that gate lay the last road to Nyros—and Veyra's destiny.Jon stood at the front of their gathered forces, his armor battered, his face carved from stone.His sword was drawn, his wolf just beneath his skin, ready to tear the world apart if it meant victory.He turned, his gaze sweeping over the army assembled behind him: warriors from every surviving pack, bound together not by old loyalties, but by the desperate, burning will to survive.At his side, Veyra tightened her grip around the mystical sword.It hummed against her palm, alive, yearning for the battle ahead.Zarek stood beside her, silent and steady.Lioren and Rune flanked them,