The voice that echoed through the fog was deep and authoritative. The huntress froze mid-strike, her fist suspended in the air. Her red eyes glowed even more, narrowing and scanning through the midst. Lucian staggered on his feet, his chest heaving and his face stained with streaks of blood. The air felt thick with the tension of an impending storm, but the appearance of the voice had put an unexpected pause on the battle.
A figure emerged from the densed midst. The leader of the Council of werewolf—Eli. A man whose presence commands immediate respect walked slowly towards them. His eyes, pale as moonlight yet glimmering with ancient knowledge. His long cloak billowed behind him, the edges shinning with an ethereal light. It was clear that his power was not of the physical kind, but of something much older and mystical.
