As the first rays of dawn broke through the heavy clouds, casting a muted glow over the mansion, Alaric stood on the balcony of his chamber, the crisp morning air invigorating his senses. Below him, the estate was awakening, the servants bustling about in a rhythm that was almost comforting. Each movement, each whispered conversation, was now infused with a new sense of purpose.
Alaric had a vision—a plan unfolding like the petals of a night-blooming flower. He turned his gaze back toward the horizon, recalling the remnants of the information gleaned from Duncan. The werewolf stronghold had been just a taste of what was to come; the real challenge lay ahead.
"Master," Gilbert's voice broke through his thoughts, drawing Alaric's attention back into the room. Gilbert stood at the doorway, his expression serious yet expectant. "We have received reports from the familiars."
