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Chapter One-Hundred Twenty-Three: Marcellus, the Nomadic Seer, Predicts Peril
A gust of cool night air brushed into the room, bringing with it a figure shrouded in a dark hood. The newcomer stepped into the warm glow of the overhead lights, lowering the hood to reveal a familiar face marred with scars and eyes that had seen centuries.
It was Marcellus, the ancient, nomadic oracle type of werewolf, a pariah among our kind known for his wisdom and his voluntary exile. His arrival was as much a surprise as it could be a boon—or a bane.
"Marcellus," I greeted cautiously. "What brings you here?"
He met my gaze with a steady one of his own. "I heard the whispers of the wind, the murmurs of the earth —they speak of a balance disturbed, a peril that threatens to unravel the seams between realms," Marcellus said, his deep voice resonating with an urgency that seemed to echo the rustling leaves outside. "I come to aid, though my path is mine alone."
"You know of our dilemma?" Sapphire inquired, her guarded stance easing slightly.
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