Chapter one hundred and ten

The chilling air of the Blood Moon Pack territory wrapped around Draven like a shroud. The scent of pine and damp earth, normally comforting, now carried the weight of his impending battle. He’d been away for so long, a prisoner of his own curse, but now the time had come.

The time to reclaim what was rightfully his. He raised his hand, halting the silent march of his army, the crimson banner of the Blood Moon Pack fluttering in the wind behind him. It was a symbol of power, of might, but now it was a symbol of his own shattered past.

“We” 'll camp here," he announced, his voice resonating with an undercurrent of steel. The soldiers, hardened and loyal, responded with a chorus of grunts and the rhythmic scraping of boots on the ground as they began to set up camp. Draven watched them, a flicker of pride passing through him. These were his warriors, his brothers, the ones who had followed him through fire and blood, the ones who believed in him despite the darkness that resided within