The lower holding rooms smelled of stone, iron, and old blood. Lyra felt it the moment they dragged her through the gates. The Black Fang compound rose from the forest like a fortress, carved directly into the mountain rock. Torches burned along the walls, their flames steady and unforgiving, casting shadows that twisted across the ground as wolves watched her pass. No one spoke. That silence was worse than insults. The chains bit into her wrists as she was hauled down a narrow corridor, stone steps slick with frost. Her shoulders burned, muscles screaming from exhaustion, but she refused to stumble. If she fell, they would drag her. If she begged, they would remember. She would give them nothing. The holding room door creaked open, heavy iron scraping against stone. The space beyond was small and cold, barely lit by a single torch mounted high on the wall. Shackles hung from iron rings embedded in the stone. Dane Korr shoved her forward. “Welcome to Black Fang hospi
Last Updated : 2026-02-22 Read more