Chapter 42. The First War

The air above the Ashen Plains—a vast, desolate stretch of forgotten prairie that lay between the Old Mill border and the heavily fortified Central territories—did not smell of winter pine or wet earth. It smelled of silver and iron. It smelled of oncoming, inevitable slaughter.

High Alpha Kalen’s Ironclaw Legion, the Council’s main military force, was the spear tip of the old world. Five hundred strong, they were armored, disciplined, and utterly ruthless. They expected to meet a fragmented, terrified band of Omegas and defectors.

What they met was a wall of black fire.

Neriah stood on a slight rise, her figure small and sharp against the gathering twilight. Behind her, her army—the Ashen Reign—was an unprecedented formation. Three hundred strong, they were a ragged mix of former slaves, scarred Betas, and the fiercely loyal Bloodmoon defectors, led by the grim-faced Kael and the newly radicalized Jorvik.

Neriah had positioned them not for defense, but for i