The Wolf's Den
The path to the Den was steep, a jagged scar of ice and granite that wound up into the clouds, unforgiving to anyone who didn't know the rhythm of the mountain. Usually, a Wolf climbed it with pride, their breath steady, their legs driving them upward toward home.
Today, Noah climbed it on his hands and knees.
He was exhausted. Not just physically—though the journey from the lowlands without sleep had burned his muscles to ash and left his lungs raw from the thin air—but spiritually. He felt hollowed out, scraped clean of everything that made him him. He was the "funny one," the eater of pies, the eternal optimist who saw a silver lining in a storm cloud. But the boy who crawled through the snow toward the main gate had left his smile in a greasy diner booth three days ago, buried under the weight of a secret he couldn't carry.
The sentries at the gate saw him emerge from the mist. They didn't challenge him. They didn't raise their spears. They saw the way he moved, dragging his feet, his head hanging low, his coat torn and stained with travel. They saw a Wolf who had lost his pack.
"Open the gate!" a guard shouted, his voice cracking against the wind. "It's Noah! He's alone! Where is the rest of them?"
Noah stumbled into the main courtyard. It was bustling with a surreal, manic energy. The "Alliance" was in full swing. Eagles were perched on the battlements practicing archery with Wolves; Snakes were trading secrets and whetstones with Owls in the shadows. It was a scene of unprecedented hope, a gathering sixteen years in the making.
Above them, a massive, hand-painted banner flapped in the wind: WELCOME HOME EVERGREEN.
When they saw Noah, the training stopped.
Silence rippled outward from the gate like a shockwave. The laughter died in throats. The weapons were lowered. The banner suddenly looked like a mockery.
Noah walked to the center of the courtyard, his legs finally giving out. He collapsed onto the cold stones, staring at the banner with dead eyes.
"Water!" someone shouted.
"Get a medic! He's freezing!"
"No," Noah croaked, pushing away a waterskin offered by a worried Eagle. He looked up at the towering stone structure of the Master's Keep, the heart of the Den. "Get... Master Durai."
The War Room
Durai was standing over the map table, his massive finger tracing a supply route through the valley. He was discussing logistics with Malachi, the Snake leader.
"If we move the grain through the Snake tunnels, we avoid the snowdrifts," Durai rumbled. "But your tunnels are narrow. Can they handle the carts?"
"My tunnels can handle anything, provided the toll is paid," Malachi smirked.
The heavy oak doors slammed open, the sound echoing like a cannon shot.
It wasn't a guard. It was Liam. He had returned from his scouting mission in the Iron Peaks only an hour ago, still smelling of smoke and pine. He looked pale, his usual stoicism fractured.
"Master," Liam said, his breath hitching. "Noah is back."
Durai looked up, relief washing over his hard features, softening the lines around his eyes. "And the others? Sebastian? Emma? The boy?"
Liam didn't answer. He just stepped aside, his head bowed.
Noah walked in. He looked small in the massive doorway, a child in a room of warlords. He was shivering violently, his clothes torn from the climb, his hands bloody from the rocks.
Durai's relief vanished instantly, replaced by a cold knot of dread in his gut. He knew that look. He had seen it on soldiers returning from a massacre where they were the only survivor.
"Noah," Durai said, his voice low and steady, grounding the room. "Report."
Noah walked to the table. He didn't look at the Masters. He looked at the map. He looked at the little wooden figure representing Eiden, placed optimistically near the academy.
"We met Sir Robert," Noah whispered, his voice trembling. "In the town. He... he told us."
"Told you what?" Durai asked, moving around the table.
"The school... it was a trap. A cage. Akuma Cronus... he locked them down. He put them on a ship."
"A ship?" Malachi asked, raising an eyebrow, his smirk gone. "Why move the asset to water?"
"The Leviathan," Noah said, the name tasting like poison. "Eiden... Eiden went with them. He smuggled himself on board. To save the girl. To save Emily."
Durai gripped the edge of the table, his knuckles turning white. "Where is he now, Noah?"
Noah finally looked Durai in the eye. Tears cut clean tracks through the grime on his face.
"He's gone, Master."
The room went dead still. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to stop crackling, the air sucked out of the chamber.
"Gone?" Durai repeated. The word was foreign to him. A language he refused to speak.
"There was a fight," Noah choked out, his voice breaking into a sob. "On the deck. In the storm. A hurricane. He fought them all. He saved the girl. He saved them all from the ambush. But... he didn't make it."
"Who?" Durai demanded, his voice rising. "Who killed him? The Syndicate? The Bears?"
"We don't know," Noah whispered, looking at the floor, unable to hold Durai's gaze. "We weren't there. The report... it said there were gunshots. Then... he fell. He fell into the ocean. The coast guard searched for two days. Helicopters. Boats. There's... there's nothing. No body. Just the sea."
Durai stood frozen. A statue of granite. A monument to grief.
"Dead?" he whispered.
"Robert said... survival cannot be possible. Not in that water. Not with those wounds."
For ten seconds, nobody moved. The silence was heavier than the mountain itself.
Then, Master Durai exhaled.
It wasn't a sigh. It was a sound like a glacier cracking, a deep, internal rupture.
He placed his hand on the heavy oak map table.
CRACK.
The solid wood, three inches thick, split down the middle under his grip, splinters flying across the room.
"He survived the Bears," Durai said, his voice rising, vibrating the stones in the walls, shaking the dust from the banners. "He survived the assassins in the dark. He survived the cold of the peaks. He was... he was like my son!"
Durai grabbed the heavy stone chair behind him. It weighed three hundred pounds. He lifted it like it was paper and hurled it.
It flew across the room and smashed into the far wall, shattering into gravel and dust.
"EIDEN!" Durai roared.
It was a sound of pure, primal rage. It wasn't human. It was the howl of a wounded alpha. It echoed through the Keep, out into the courtyard, and rolled down the mountain like thunder. The Wolves in the yard flinched, covering their ears. The Eagles took to the sky in fear.
Durai turned to the window, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. "The Syndicate," he hissed, his mind locking onto the only enemy he knew. "It must be them. Rook. He finally made his move."
He looked south, toward the city that had taken his boy.
"They think they have won," Durai snarled, his voice dropping to a terrifying, lethal whisper. "They think they can take a Wolf from me and sit on their throne of gold. They think because I stayed on this mountain, I am weak."
He turned back to the room. His eyes were burning with a cold, blue fire.
"Liam!"
"Sir!" Liam stepped forward, his own eyes wet but hard as flint, ready to kill.
"Sound the horn," Durai commanded. "The War Horn. The one we haven't used in sixteen years. The one that wakes the dead."
"Master?" Malachi asked, stepping back, fear finally showing on his face. "You mean to..."
"I mean to burn it down," Durai hissed. "I mean to burn the school, the town, the docks, and everything they own until there is nothing left but ash and regret."
Durai walked to the weapons rack. He ignored the swords. He ignored the spears.
He pulled down his own weapon—a pair of massive, rusted gauntlets that looked like wolf claws, stained with the blood of a war long forgotten. He hadn't worn them since the Great War.
"They wanted an army?" Durai said, strapping the gauntlets on, the leather creaking. "They wanted to awaken the Den?"
He looked at Noah, then at Liam.
"Gather the Pack. Every man. Every woman. Every student who can hold a blade. The training is over."
He looked at Kael and Malachi.
"The truce is over. We are not hiding anymore. We are not waiting for Evergreen to save us."
Durai clenched his fist, the metal claws grinding together with a spark.
"We march on there. We find the snake who ordered this. And we do not stop until they are all dead at my feet."