The tension in the room was palpable. Every figure, whether werewolf or vampire, stood still in the grand meeting hall as if time itself had frozen. The thick air buzzed with unease, but all eyes were on Alaric. His presence was commanding, and there was an undeniable force radiating from him—a power far more ancient and dangerous than anything the assembled families had ever encountered.
Alaric stood tall at the center, his eyes piercing through the room. There was a growing pressure in the air, as if a storm were about to descend. A faint shimmer surrounded him, a dark aura building up as his emotions, long buried and controlled, began to seep out uncontrollably.
Gilbert, ever observant and loyal, noticed the shift first. He took a step forward, his brow furrowed in concern. "Master...," he whispered, barely audible, though it was clear to anyone paying attention that he was trying to warn Alaric before something went terribly wrong.
