Morgana's nails dug into the edge of the ancient stone seat as she seethed, her body rigid with a fury she hadn't felt in centuries. The mountain air was thin and sharp, biting into her skin, yet her anger burned hotter, feeding off the chilling winds around her. Sitting next to her was Lady Celeste, equally enraged, though her expression was one of cold calculation rather than unchecked wrath.
"How?" Morgana hissed, her voice low and venomous, as she stared out at the mist-covered peaks stretching before them. "How could Aria be the White Wolf? I made sure—personally—that Celestia could never reincarnate. She swore on her life she'd never return."
Lady Celeste remained silent for a moment, her gaze fixed into the distance. Unlike Morgana, who was stewing in anger, Celeste's mind was already working, calculating every possibility, every conceivable threat and advantage. But despite her composed exterior, there was no mistaking the glint of danger in her eyes.
