Chapter 103 The Unwritten Flame

• Peace is often mistaken for stillness. But in Moonclaw, peace was a pulse — steady, curious, brimming with the energy of a world unchained. Wolves no longer whispered about thrones or curses. They forged names on their own terms. New packs formed without alphas. Flameborn seers taught children to shape fire like language. For the first time in centuries, no one bowed. And yet… Something stirred at the edge of the known world.
• Not war. Not rebellion. An invitation.
• It came at dawn. A hummingstone, cold and smooth, delivered by a rider no one recognized. The sentries didn’t smell wolf on her. Nor vampire. Nor fae. She wore grey leather, her skin marked by what looked like spiral runes — not carved, not inked, but grown. She said nothing. Just placed the stone at the gates of Moonclaw Citadel. And vanished into mist.