The Grand Alpha Conclave opened at dawn.
No horns sounded.
No banners rose.
The land itself bore witness.
Mist clung low to the valley, curling between ancient stones that had stood long before packs carried names or borders. Massive pillars ringed the clearing, etched with runes older than memory, their faint silver glow pulsing beneath the newborn light of morning. This was not neutral ground.
This was truth-bound ground.
Here, deception unraveled. Power answered honestly, even when its bearer wished silence.
Aria felt it the moment her foot crossed the threshold.
The air shifted.
The land noticed her.
Her wolf stirred beneath her skin, not restless, not threatened, but aware. Listening. Measuring.
Watching.
Around the circle, Alphas took their places within ancestral marks carved into the earth. Some stood tall, radiating confidence sharpened by tradition. Others held tension tight in their shoulders, the unease of shifting tides pressing beneath calm faces.
