Morning trumpets shattered the kennel’s uneasy hush. Captain Thorn unlocked Cell Nine with a clatter. “Rise, moon-maid. Alpha Rurik calls court.”
Ophelia pushed to her feet, straw clinging to her braid. “Court?” she rasped, voice raw from night chill.
“Trial of merit.” Thorn clipped a lighter chain to her collar. “Perform well and you’ll sleep indoors. Fail and… well, the cliff trap is quick.”
A spark of defiance flickered in her eyes. “Lead on.”
---
#### The Yard of Blades
Ironclaw warriors ringed the dirt arena, breath frosting the dawn. Rurik lounged atop a stone dais, helm abandoned for a wolf-pelt mantle. Beside him stood a slender woman in healer’s gray—Sage Ysra, Ophelia later learned—holding a tray of glass vials.
Rurik lifted a hand; silence fell. “Moonfang maid, step forward.”
Ophelia did, chain trailing.