Fenrik Ashvain was standing before his own pack when he publicly rejected the woman carrying his children.

The courtyard fell into an eerie, suffocating hush as Revna stepped out into the open snow.

Even the clashing swords paused for a heartbeat. The blinding, ethereal glow radiating from her figure illuminated the blood-stained snow in shades of amber and gold. She didn't look like a fugitive or an outcast; she looked like an avenging deity descended from the old northern myths.

Lord Vane Kale reined in his horse, his eyes widening in a mixture of greed and sudden, primal terror.

"So... the golden bitch finally shows her face," Vane sneered, trying to mask his fear behind a mask of aristocratic arrogance. He raised his hand, signaling the inquisitors. "Surround her! Use the chains! Do not let her cast a spell!"

Four inquisitors rushed forward, swinging the crackling anti-magic chains in wide, lethal arcs, aiming to bind Revna’s limbs and suppress the golden light.

Before the chains could even touch her, a massive silver blur intercepted them.

Fenrik, in his wolf form, slammed sideways into the inquisitors, sending them flying through the air with bone-crushing force. He landed on his paws in front of Revna, baring his bloody fangs at Lord Vane, letting out a low, warning growl that shook the icy air.

"You want her?" Fenrik’s voice echoed unnaturally in the minds of everyone in the courtyard—a true Alpha's psychic projection. "You go through me first."

"Brave words, little dog," Vane snarled, drawing a broadsword etched with dark runes. "You think your little pack can stand against the entire northern coalition? The Kales own this land now!"

"You own nothing," a cool, resonant voice answered from above.

Vane looked up.

Standing on the battlements, blocking the escape route, was Commander Vance alongside a dozen Ashvain archers—and behind them, the massive golden guardian lowered its head, locking its piercing, luminous eyes directly onto Lord Vane.

At the exact same moment, Revna stepped out from behind Fenrik. Her hands glowed with blinding intensity. She didn't attack with anger; she moved with the calm, unstoppable force of an avalanche.

She thrust her hands forward.

A wave of pure, golden kinetic energy swept across the courtyard. It didn't kill; it disarmed. Every sword, spear, and chain held by the Kale mercenaries flew out of their hands, clattering harmlessly against the far stone walls. The anti-magic chains shattered into a million glittering fragments of useless iron.

Lord Vane’s horse reared in sheer panic, throwing the Kale lord hard into the bloody snow.