The air grew heavy as the faces of more than a dozen werewolves from the eight tribes shifted abruptly, a wave of panic washing over them. Their earlier bravado dissolved into uneasy whispers, punctuated by one word that hung in the air like a curse:
“Unite?”
Agon, the young chief of the Adik tribe, snorted in disdain. His piercing eyes swept over the gathered werewolves, brimming with mockery.
“Unite?” he repeated, his voice dripping with scorn. “With what? The pitiful strength of your eight tribes?”
The room fell silent as Agon began pacing, his presence casting a long shadow over the assembly.
“You don’t even have a single sixth-level strongman among you,” he sneered, his tone cutting. “What do you think you can use to resist us? Hopes? Prayers? Empty alliances?”
The werewolf officials stiffened, exchanging anxious glances. Agon paused, turning to face them fully, his gaze cold and sharp as a blade.