The grand hall of the Werewolf Queen's castle was engulfed in organized chaos. Piles of scrolls and reports cluttered the long oak table, city maps stretched between sealed documents and hastily written notes. At the center of it all, seated on a throne of sculpted bones, Siren maintained an impassive expression, her golden eyes scanning every detail with a calculating gaze.
The war had left deep scars on her land, but now was not the time for mourning. It was time to rebuild.
"Patrol report." Her voice echoed through the corridor, firm as tempered steel.
One of the generals, a gray-furred werewolf with scars across his face, stepped forward. "Your Majesty, the last groups of undead have been eliminated south of the city. However, we are still finding scattered remains, and traces of necromancy persist in some areas."