He dropped his hand.
“Tonight,” Shen whispered, his voice carrying no further than his lieutenants, “we do not conquer. We remind.” shen's wolf army
They took the outer barbican in four minutes. No alarms. No screams long enough to matter. He dropped his hand
Inside the city, a child watching from a window would later tell her mother she saw “ghosts with teeth.” That was the legend Shen wanted. Not a general. Not an army. A nightmare with a pack structure. No alarms
Shen’s lips curled into something that was not quite a smile. “That men can be unmade. But a wolf pack? It only grows stronger when you cut it.”
The drums did not beat for Shen’s Wolf Army. There was no brass fanfare, no silk banners snapping in the wind. Instead, there was only the soft, terrible whisper of hundreds of paws on frozen earth, and the low, guttural rhythm of men breathing as one.
And somewhere in the dark, General Shen walked beside his silver alpha, not as a master, but as a brother. The wolf leaned into his leg. Shen smiled, his teeth very white in the moonlight.