The days following the Obsidian Treaty slipped into a quiet, watchful rhythm. The parasympathetic crash that had leveled Killian slowly faded, replaced by the steady, unshakeable vitality of an Alpha at peace. But while the King rested, the mountain went to work.From the high balcony of the Palace, I watched the slow, relentless terraforming of the neutral zone. The glowing river had cut a deep channel through the mud of the refugee camp, and everywhere the water touched, the earth remembered its ancient biology. The brittle, grey scrub brush of the border was completely gone. In its place, a dense canopy of silver-veined foliage had erupted. The vines crawled up the steel legs of the human guard towers, wrapping around the concrete barricades and weaving through the chain-link fences.The humans had built River Gate to be a sterile, organized medical facility. The mountain was turning it into a wild, bioluminescent jungle."They are calling it the Silver Blight," Dr. Aris Thorne’s v
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