The Hidden Hybrid’s Redemption
There were dozens of them, their faceless, silver-rimmed helms reflecting the golden furnace below, and in their gauntlets, they held long, silver-tipped lances designed to puncture the dense muscle of a prime wolf or drain the core of a hybrid queen from a distance.
In the center of the tier stood Kaelen himself, his broad chest encased in a heavy, matte-black cuirass that bore the deep scars of the northern campaigns, his hand resting on the pommel of a massive, double-handed greatsword.
"The Hybrid Queen survives the crucible," Kaelen’s voice boomed down into the chamber, cold, metallic, and entirely devoid of Vane's political theater. "And the Alpha has been remade. A remarkable display