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The Greater Evil

A few hours earlier…

At the highest fortress of the Werewolf Committee, two people stood side by side as they watched the rising sun from the grand balcony of the uppermost part of the tower.

Twirling the goblet of wine in her hand, Shananel, who was clad in her Elder uniform, stood straight with her chin held high. The air of solemnity and nobility wafted from her, making people rever her presence. It was a telltale sign of the peak of vicissitudes she had grasped after many years of battles both in war and in politics.

Through her sharp pair of eyes, there was nothing but a trace of determination and ambition.

“Elder Shananel,” called the middle-aged man wearing a pure white cloak with feathered edges.

Shananel hummed in response as she took a sip from her goblet of wine, staining her pale lips with a crimson shade.

The man cleared his throat before he continued; the suffocating oppressive aura from Shananel was making it hard for him to continue. But he knew that to spare his life,
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