The air in the Shadow Valley felt heavier than usual, thick with tension and unspoken words. I walked beside Alpha Rydan, flanked by Krager and Zira, trying to make sense of what I had just been told. My hands clenched and unclenched at my sides, not with exhaustion but with anger. Anger that throbbed like a pulse in my veins, sharper than the fatigue of endless nights and battles, sharper than the ache of my body that refused to feel any relief.“The Northern region…” Rydan began, his voice calm but heavy with weight, “was attacked by the Crescent Fangs. Their forces were stronger than anticipated. The werewolves had no choice but to retreat. They sought refuge here, in the Shallow Valleys, until we could reorganize.”I stopped walking. The world seemed to tilt slightly, not in disbelief, but in sheer incredulity. I turned toward him, eyes narrowed, voice sharp and biting.“How? How does an entire region, our Northern region, fall to a small pack? A handful of enemies? Explain that
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