The shelters were no longer simply living spaces constructed roughly of wood. They were entire works of art. Talented claws had carved elegant designs into the walls, depicting scenes of crashing waves, towering mountains, and encrusted night skies. As Flisety slowed to peer at a particular house decorated with a pattern of stars and stripes, she realised that the unique symbols she’d seen on the Aest and Ander shelters were absent. These houses had numbers, just as every one of Borelton’s shelters had.

The whole ring was, as Kalia had claimed, incredibly sparkly. Most of the carved patterns were adorned with shards of gems or washed with dyes, and even the cobbled paths seemed to glitter a faint silver.

Tearing her eyes from the sight, Flisety glanced over at her two companions. She realised they both wore very different expressions. While Kalia gazed at everything around her with increasing wonder, her eyes reflecting the bright atmosphere, Mak seemed more subdued. His shoulders were hunched, and his eyes darted about warily, as if he were waiting for someone to jump out and chase them away.

Following his gaze, Flisety realised that they were attracting a few glances. The attention was subtle, but once she’d noticed it was hard to forget. There was a slight accusation cast their way; a tiny, uncertain suggestion that they stood out amongst all this glamour.

Her paws grew cold. All of a sudden, she was acutely aware of the specs of dirt mixed in with her pink fur, and the scrawny appearance of her hind legs.

She looked again at Kalia, still too caught up in her awe to notice. Flisety’s heart clenched. The Adita Ring was such a contrast to everything she, or even Mak, was used to. What had these wolves done to deserve such beauty that elevated them above everyone else?

“Look!” Kalia exclaimed suddenly from beside her, cutting through the thought. Following her pointed claw, Flisety locked her gaze on the largest shelter she had ever seen.

Gold trails laced the delicately carved walls, spreading into bursts of bronze-tinted flame. Almost the entire house was smothered in vibrant dyes, with only the roof free of amber and orange. Chinks of diamond were wedged above the door to form a bold, shining 1. There might have even been real gold melded into the wood, though Flisety couldn’t be sure.

All of the paths seemed to converge at the house, making its stance feel even more commanding. From its left, a group of chattering wolves fell quiet as they gave it a reverent glance. They skirted around it, ducking under its shadow.

“Who lives there?” Flisety asked, a whisper emerging subconsciously.

“That,” Mak said, leaning over to answer in the same hushed tone, “is the kallof en adita. The Tower Of Gold. Most wolves in the other rings just refer to it as the Tower. It’s home to Garel, Lunerda’s lead official, and his partner.” He shot a meaningful glance at Kalia. “And his only son, Rowtag.”

The hardness in his tone was unmistakable. Even Kalia stared down at her paws, averting her eyes from the towering building.

A faint bitterness, growing stronger as Flisety took a few tentative steps towards the Tower, hummed in the back of her mind. Stinging desire lit in her claws, a flicker of longing to charge over and claw that shining paint to tatters.

The leader of such a powerful town shouldn’t be this way. He should be respected, approachable, someone who represented all. Instead, he claimed all the dazzling extravagance for himself and his chosen few, leaving the rest of Lunerda to bow before him. Wolves like Kalia and Mak were forever shoved to the edges of his rings of power.

Deep inside Flisety’s chest, a voice screamed the unfairness of it all.

As her gaze brushed the flaming designs once more, she caught sight of an orange shape emerging from the Tower’s doorway. Two more Flamewylves followed the first, their heads held high as they strutted past the high walls.

They walked as if they owned the very streets, and that might well have been true.

From behind Flisety, Mak drew in a sharp breath. “We should go,” he said.

Hearing the tremble in his tone, Flisety stepped back to obey, but she couldn’t draw her eyes from the wolf in the centre of the orange trio. He could be no older than Kalia, perhaps even younger. But the way his amber eyes glowed set him above any other. This was a wolf that had grown up knowing nothing but power and authority.

His gaze swept the town it commanded, before landing directly on Flisety.