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The moon climbed the sky like a slow, watching eye—round, full, and cold. Its light spilled over the capital's sharp towers and broad stone walls, turning everything silver and quiet. The usual hum of footsteps, laughter, and market songs had vanished. Tonight, the city held its breath.

Deep beneath all that silence, under the Central Pack's grand halls, the rebels stirred inside the Vein.

The air was damp, thick with the scent of old stone and rusted iron. Walls dripped with moisture, and faint torches lit the hidden paths carved into the bones of the city. Magic, old and restless, hummed in the dark.