The Alpha's Prickly Porcupine
Before I can protest, before I can even voice the mounting terror in my chest, the mist ripples.
They don't come in a rush; they emerge with the eerie, calculated, and terrifying silence of ghosts. From the shadows of the twisted pines, figures solidify into existence, shrouded in plate armor reinforced with blackened, runic steel. They move with an unnatural, practiced synchronicity, their blades drawn and glowing with a faint, malevolent silver light that pulses in time with their steady, rhythmic footsteps. My eyes widen, the realization hitting me like a physical blow as I recognize the sigil etched into their breastplates, a crest I have seen only in the high halls of the royal court du