The Iron Peaks - The Slag Cellar
Deep beneath the rusted sprawling scrapyard of the Bear Claw territory, there was a cellar. It had once been a mine shaft, long since dried up and hidden beneath a pile of discarded tank treads.
Tonight, it was the war room of the rebellion.
Thirty villagers were crammed into the small, damp space. The air was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies, fear, and a burning resentment that had been smoldering for sixteen years.
They were whispering, but the anger made their voices sharp.
"He took my son for the Iron-Breakers yesterday," a woman wept, clutching a shred of cloth. "He was only fourteen. Vorian said he was 'ripe'."
"He cut the water rations again," a man growled. "Said the upper fortress needs it for the forges. We're drinking mud while he bathes in fresh springs."
"We have to do something," Grit said. The big man was pacing, his black eye from Eiden's punch fading to yellow. "If we wait for winter, we starve. If we wait for Vorian's mercy, we die."
The heavy iron grate above them groaned. The room went silent. Weapons—sharpened pipes, shivs—were drawn. The grate lifted. Tor climbed down the ladder, his movements stiff with age. Behind him came the Stray. Eiden descended silently. He wore a scavenged leather coat that was too big for him, his burned hand wrapped in fresh rags. He moved to the corner of the room and sat on a crate. He didn't speak. He didn't look at anyone. He just stared at the flickering oil lamp, his eyes distant and empty. But his presence changed the room. He was the boy who had broken the Champion. He was the proof that Vorian's men could bleed.
"Tor," Grit said, nodding respectfully. "We were just saying... we can't live like this."
"I know," Tor said, leaning on his hammer. "That is why we are here."
"But how?" a young man asked, his voice shaking. "Look at us. We're scavengers. We have pipes and rocks. Vorian has plate armor and steel swords. He has the Iron-Breakers. We can't fight them."
"Not alone," Tor said.
"Then who?" the woman asked. "The spirits?"
"No," a voice came from the back. It was an old miner named Korg. "I heard rumors. From the traders on the lower pass."
Korg stepped into the light.
"They say the mountain is waking up. They say the Wolf's Den has opened its gates. They say the Eagles are flying again. And the Snakes... and the Owls."
A murmur ran through the crowd.
"The Alliance?" Grit asked. "That's a myth. The clans hate each other."
"Not anymore," Korg said. "They say they are gathering. An army. A real army."
Tor looked at Eiden, then back at the crowd.
"We should ask them," Tor said.
The silence that followed was heavy.
"Ask the Wolves?" a man spat. "They are our enemies! They look down on us from their high peaks while we eat dirt!"
"And Vorian kicks us into the dirt!" Tor countered, his voice rising. "The Wolves may be arrogant, but they are honorable. Vorian is a butcher. Who would you rather have at your back?"
"If Vorian finds out we talked to the Wolves," the weeping woman whispered, "he will kill us all. He will burn the village."
"He is killing us anyway!" Grit shouted, slamming his fist into his palm. "Slowly! Day by day! Do you want to die on your knees, or do you want to die fighting?"
He pointed at Eiden.
"This boy... this 'Stray'... he showed us that the Iron-Breakers can break. If we have the Wolves... if we have an army... we can win."
The crowd looked at each other. They looked at their scarred hands. They looked at the desperation in their neighbors' eyes.
"How do we do it?" someone asked.
"We send runners," Tor said. "Two men. Fast. Silent. They go to the Wolf's Den. They tell Master Durai that the Bear Claw people want freedom. That we will open the back gates of the fortress for them if they help us kill Vorian."
"I'll go," Grit said immediately.
"I will go with him," a young, wiry girl named Jinx piped up. "I know the goat paths. I can get us past the sentries."
Tor nodded. "Grit. Jinx. You leave tonight. Do not stop. Do not get caught."
Grit grinned. "We'll bring you an army, Tor."
"Then go!" Tor commanded.
The room erupted. It wasn't a loud cheer—they were too afraid of being heard—but it was a fierce, whispered roar of hope. Fists were raised. Tears were wiped away.
For the first time in sixteen years, the people of the Iron Peaks were not just surviving. They were plotting.
In the corner, Eiden watched the fire. A flicker of something crossed his face. A memory of a different fire? A different plan?
He didn't know. But for the first time, the fire didn't feel cold.
St. Swithin's Academy
Deep in the school's infrastructure, behind a false panel in the janitor's closet of the West Wing, there was a room that wasn't on any blueprint. It was a small, windowless coal chute that Eiden had discovered during his first week. He had marked it as a "Safe Zone."
Now, without him, his Pack filled it.
Harry sat on a bucket, hunched over a massive, jury-rigged radio set. It was a mess of exposed wires, glowing vacuum tubes, and dials scavenged from old military surplus. He wore a heavy set of headphones, his hand hovering over a tuning knob, listening through the static.
Margot stood by the door, listening for footsteps in the hall. Emma sat on a crate, her knitting needles silent.
And standing in the center, looking too tall for the cramped space in his tweed suit, was Master Sebastian.
"You are sure this place is secure?" Sebastian asked, his voice low.
"Eiden checked it," Hazel said from the corner. She was surrounded by stacks of physical paper—notes Eiden had left, blueprints she had stolen from the library archives, and heavy history books. "Thick walls. No ventilation shafts for sound to carry. It's a blind spot."
Sebastian looked at the students. They looked terrified, tired, and young. But they were looking at him for orders.
"Report," Sebastian said.
Hazel pushed her glasses up her nose. She laid a hand-drawn map on the crate. It was a sketch of the vault Eiden had described before he disappeared.
"The Vault," Hazel said. "Eiden said it was filled with gold. Not just bars. Coins. Artifacts. Billions of dollars."
"He called it a 'dragon's hoard'," Harry added, pulling one ear cup off.
Sebastian frowned. "Akuma is rich. But billions in physical gold? That is not business capital. That is a nation's reserve."
"Exactly," Hazel said. She pulled a heavy shipping ledger forward. "I've been cross-referencing shipping manifests from the local port authority with Eiden's description. The markings on the bars he saw... he described a specific stamp. The Royal Crest. Dated 1939 and 1940."
Sebastian went still. He looked at the date.
"1940," he whispered. "Operation Fish."
"Operation what?" Margot asked.
"It's a rumor," Sebastian said, his face darkening. "A ghost story among the intelligence community. When the war started, the British government realized that if the Nazis invaded, they would seize the country's wealth. So, they hatched a plan. Operation Fish. They are secretly loading the wealth of the UK—billions in gold bullion and securities—onto ships."
"To hide it?" Emma asked.
"To ship it to Canada," Sebastian explained. "Across the Atlantic. Under the nose of the U-boats. It is the largest movement of wealth in history. And it is supposed to be the highest secret of the war."
Hazel tapped the map.
"Public records show that three ships in the early convoy 'vanished' in a storm off the coast of Scotland. They were presumed lost at sea."
She looked up, her eyes cold and analytical.
"They didn't sink, Master Sebastian. They were intercepted."
"By Akuma," Sebastian breathed. "He stole the British reserves. He built this school... this fortress... on top of a cliff specifically to offload cargo from the sea unseen. He is robbing the Crown to build his own kingdom."
"But why?" Harry asked. "Why steal it? He's already rich. If he tries to spend that gold, the government will know."
"He's not spending it," Hazel said. She unrolled a nautical chart. "I tracked the Leviathan's movements before Eiden boarded it. It wasn't just a pleasure yacht. It made regular trips to the North Sea. To neutral waters."
She looked at Sebastian.
"Who would pay the most for British gold right now? Who needs resources to fund a war machine?"
The room went dead silent. The implication hung in the damp air like poison gas.
"The Nazis," Emma whispered, horrified.
"He's not just a thief," Hazel said, her voice shaking with rage. "He's selling the gold back to the Axis. Or buying safety. Or buying weapons. He's a war profiteer on a global scale."
Sebastian leaned against the wall, looking sick.
He looked at the children. The scope of the war had just expanded. They weren't just fighting a bad father. They were fighting a traitor to the Allied forces.
"This," Sebastian said, his voice hard, "changes everything. If Akuma is collaborating... then he is not just an enemy of the Den. He is an enemy of the world. We don't just need to find Eiden. We need to expose this vault."
"How?" Margot asked.
The Wolf's Den
The blizzard outside the Den was blinding, a wall of white that hid the world.
The sentries on the wall almost missed them. Two shapes, wrapped in rags, stumbling up the final switchback of the frozen path.
"Halt!" the guard roared over the wind.
The figures collapsed at the gate. One of them, a large man with a black eye, looked up.
"We need... the Master," Grit wheezed. "We bring word... from the Iron Peaks."
Ten minutes later, Grit and Jinx stood in the War Room. They were shivering, warming their hands over the fire, surrounded by the Alliance leaders. Durai, Jiro, Malachi, and Kael watched them with suspicion.
"You are Bears," Durai rumbled. "Your clan has declared war on us."
"Vorian declared war," Grit said, his teeth chattering. "Not us. We want freedom."
"And why should we give it to you?" Malachi asked, sharpening a dagger. "What do you offer?"
"We offer the gates," Jinx said, stepping forward. She was small but fierce. "We know the tunnels under the scrap yard. We know the air vents. We can get your army inside the fortress without Vorian seeing you until it's too late."
Grit nodded. "We are scavengers. We know every rust hole in that mountain. Vorian thinks he is safe in his tower. We can open the back door."
Durai looked at the map. He looked at the location of the Bear Fortress. It was a formidable stronghold. A siege would take months. But an infiltration...
"Vorian is a tyrant," Durai decided, his voice heavy. "He starves his people to feed his pride."
He looked at Grit.
"If the Bears are ready to stand against him, the Wolves will stand with them. Not for territory. But to remove a rot from the mountain."
He pointed to the map.
"Go back. Gather your people. Light the fires on the southern ridge when you are ready. When we see the fires... the Pack will come."
Grit and Jinx left the Den with hearts full of fire. They had done it. They had secured an army.
They navigated the treacherous goat paths back toward the Iron Peaks, moving fast to beat the sunset.
"Tor won't believe it," Grit grinned, the wind whipping his face. "The Wolf King actually listened."
"We're going to be free, Grit," Jinx laughed. "No more Vorian. No more hunger."
They rounded a sharp bend in the canyon, the entrance to their territory just ahead.
And they stopped.
Blocking the path, sitting on a large rock as if he had been waiting for hours, was a massive figure clad in welded tank armor.
Vorian.
He wasn't alone. A dozen Iron-Breakers stood behind him, weapons drawn.
"Going for a walk?" Vorian asked, his voice a low rumble that shook the snow from the cliffs.
Grit stepped in front of Jinx. "Vorian."
"I knew the rats were squeaking," Vorian said, standing up. He towered over them. "I knew you would run to the dogs."
He backhanded Grit with his chain-wrapped fist. Grit flew backward, hitting the canyon wall and sliding down, unconscious.
Jinx tried to run, but an Iron-Breaker grabbed her by the hair.
Vorian walked over to Grit. He leaned down.
"You think the Wolves can save you?" Vorian whispered. "Let them come. I'll hang their skins next to yours."
He looked at his men.
"Take them to the Village. The Stray needs motivation. Let him hear them scream."
The Wolf's Den - The Comms Tower
High above the War Room, Charlotte sat in the cold, steel-lined room of the communications tower.
She hadn't slept in two days. She was surrounded by radios, decoding machines, and maps. She was the only one still scanning the low-band frequencies, praying for a ghost to speak.
Static... hiss... static...
She rubbed her eyes. "Come on, Cubs," she whispered. "Give me something."
Suddenly, the receiver spiked.
A signal. Strong. Clear. It wasn't Morse code this time. It was a voice, distorted by distance and old vacuum tubes, but unmistakable.
"...Den... this is... Pack... do you copy?..."
Charlotte slammed her hand on the record button. She grabbed the mic.
"This is Den Actual! I copy! Harry? Is that you?"
"Charlotte!" Harry's voice came through, sounding terrified but determined. "We have... intel. High priority." "Anything on Eiden?" Charlotte demanded. "Is he with you?" "No, Charlotte."
Charlotte's heart broke, but her discipline held. "Report."
"It's Akuma," Harry said. "We found the shipping logs. The gold in the vault... it's Operation Fish. The British reserves."
"He stole it?"
"He's moving it," Harry corrected. "The Leviathan... it's making trips to the North Sea. Neutral waters. He's not just hoarding it."
There was a pause on the line, heavy with the weight of the world.
"Charlotte... Akuma is funding the Nazis."
Charlotte froze. The room seemed to tilt.
This wasn't just a clan war anymore. It wasn't just about a girl or a grudge.
"Are you sure?" she whispered.
"Confirmed," Hazel's voice cut in, sharp and analytical. "Shipping manifests match Axis supply lines. He is a collaborator. A traitor to the Crown."
Charlotte dropped the mic. She stared at the wall. Akuma Cronus was selling out the world to the enemy. She grabbed the transcription sheet. She didn't walk to the War Room. She ran. She burst through the doors, interrupting Durai and the others. "Master!" Charlotte shouted, breathless. "We have a signal from the school!" Durai looked up, hope flickering in his eyes. "The boy?" "No," Charlotte said, slamming the paper onto the map table, "Akuma."