Third Person POV

The first sign came with the rivers.

Clear streams that once ran smooth through the valleys between the Hollowclaw and Broken Fang territories had turned still overnight. Not frozen. Not polluted.

Just… stopped.

The water hovered, perfectly flat, defying gravity. When a warrior tossed a stone in, it bounced like it had struck glass.

The second sign was worse.

A storm rolled through the Western Ridge. No rain. No wind. Just lightning—dozens of bolts, striking the same circle of trees over and over, leaving them untouched but scorched in spirals.

By the time the third sign appeared—wolves howling in their sleep with no memory of why, always...