*Julian*

The forest is alive with movement as we fight in a tight, disciplined formation, the way we’ve trained for years. My wolves move and strike in perfect rhythm, three of us holding the front, two pushing from the flanks as Nightborn dive through the trees above us. Their leathery wings beat the air in sharp, jarring bursts, sending dead leaves spiraling across the muddy ground near the Gleabhain River.

We’ve been fighting for hours, but they never tire. They come in a frenzy, swooping low with their talons bared, their red eyes glowing through the shadows. Every time one dives toward us from the front, another sweeps from behind,...