The moon hung high, its light filtering through the dense canopy of the Eryndor forest. The air was cool, carrying the earthy scent of pine and the faint trace of old blood from the day's hunt. Shadows moved silently among the trees, blending with the darkness as the great wolves of the forest prowled nearby.

Ezra moved with the grace of a predator, his sharp golden eyes cutting through the night. The intricate tribal markings on his tanned skin seemed to glow faintly in the moonlight. His messy black hair framed his face as he led a small group of elite warriors deeper into the woods. Beside him, Fenris, a massive silver-furred wolf, padded silently, eyes glowing with a fierce intelligence.

The men behind Ezra were shadows themselves, their movements almost silent. Each bore the sacred tattoos of Fenrir’s Claw, signifying their bond with the Great Wolves. Ezra suddenly raised a hand, signaling them to halt. The forest fell into a tense silence.

Fenris’s ears twitched, catching a scent on the wind. Ezra narrowed his eyes, listening intently. “Something’s out there,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. He glanced at his second-in-command, Jarek. “What do you make of it?”

Jarek sniffed the air, his amber eyes narrowing. “Human. Outsiders, I think.”

Ezra’s expression hardened. “Spread out,” he ordered. “Flank them. If they’ve come this far, they’re either very brave or very foolish.”

The warriors nodded, their faces set with grim determination. With a soft command, Ezra sent Fenris and the other wolves ahead, their forms vanishing into the night. The men followed, slipping into the shadows as they prepared to confront the intruders. Ezra remained still for a moment longer, hand resting on the hilt of his Wolf Blade, before he too moved forward, leading his men into the darkness.