I remembered the ancient tales—the traditions of the First Alpha King and his successors, the offerings given to guard our strength, and the curse afflicting every Crescent Bloodline member. Every mark, every scar, is a chapter in our history, my father had always cautioned me. Though those words had become a distant echo until now, when the tattoo on my arm surged with an intensity that almost seemed agonizing revelation. It is both a gift and a weight.
Most people thought the conflict was done. Against traitors among our own ranks, against the Dark Wolves, and even against the forces trying to eradicate the Crescent heritage, we had battled valiantly. Still, the triumph we claimed seemed hollow haunted by the awareness that every success carried the mark of loss and that every sacrifice paid in blood. Even as I let my flock in a hard-earned serenity, whispers in the dark of unfinished business, unresolved truths clinging to the night like mist.
