The Silverfang stronghold woke slowly.
The morning sun spilled through the open balcony of the war tent, stretching golden fingers across the cold stone floor. Smoke from last night's fires still clung to the air, blending with the faint aroma of stew, pine, and healing herbs. Outside, the celebration had finally hushed, leaving only quiet footsteps and the gentle rustle of leaves.
Inside the war tent, Alpha Throne sat alone.
His armor was gone. He wore a simple linen tunic, its sleeves rolled up, his forearms scarred but relaxed. His dark hair was damp from a wash, his expression worn yet peaceful. He stared at a small table where maps used to lie. Now, there were only empty goblets and one wilted blossom someone had tucked into a cup.
The tent flap rustled.
Rael stepped in first, holding two mugs of tea that steamed in the chill air. He looked marginally better than last night, less brooding, more… human. He set one mug in front of his father and plopped down opposite him.
