The clash

KELLY THOMPSON'S POV

The night air hummed with tension as the scent of impending conflict mingled with the musk of the forest. I could feel every heartbeat of my pack, a rhythm pulsing in unison with my own. Huddled within the shadows, we were a tight coil of anticipation, waiting for the moment to strike.

"Eden," I whispered, my voice barely audible above the rustling leaves. "Now."

My son, young yet old beyond his years, stepped forward, his slender fingers closing around the scepter of convergence—its intricate carvings glowing faintly under the veil of night. Eden's eyes, two orbs of liquid sapphire, locked onto mine, and I saw the flicker of determination that mirrored my own resolve. He nodded once, a silent vow passing between us.