Night had swallowed the Iron Peaks. The sky was a void of ink-black clouds, blotting out the stars. The only light came from the inferno raging below.
The fires were not signal fires lit by rebels. They were pyres lit by the Bears.
Vorian had dragged Grit and Jinx back to the center of the village under the cover of darkness. He threw them into the mud in front of the Ration House, their forms illuminated by the flickering orange glow.
"Look!" Vorian roared, his voice booming over the crackle of flames. "Look at your heroes!"
He signaled his Iron-Breakers. They moved with torches, setting fire to the huts. The scrap metal and dry timber went up instantly against the night sky. The air filled with black, choking smoke and the screams of families losing everything.
Vorian grabbed Grit by his broken arm. He twisted. Grit screamed, tears of pure agony streaming down his face, mixing with the blood.
Jinx was on her knees beside him, sobbing, begging. "Please! Stop! We'll do anything! Please!"
On the ridge, hidden in the deep shadows, Tor pulled Eiden back. "We have to go, lad! He'll kill us all! We have to run into the dark!"
Eiden stared at the scene. The fire reflected in his empty eyes, making them glow like embers in the pitch black.
A woman, fleeing from a burning hut, tripped and fell in front of them. An Iron-Breaker raised his sword to strike her down.
Eiden didn't think. The leash snapped.
He moved. A shadow within a shadow.
He caught the soldier's arm mid-swing, broke the elbow, and drove the man's own sword into his chest.
Eiden stood over the woman, the firelight dancing on his scars. He looked at the center of the village.
He saw Grit crying in agony. He saw Jinx begging.
And something inside him—the Devil—woke up. Not with a roar, but with a silence that was louder than the fire.
He pushed Tor away gently. He didn't speak. He didn't look at anyone.
He walked out of the darkness and toward the fire.
On the southern ridge, the Wolf Army crested the hill. They were invisible until the lightning flashed.
"Fire!" Liam shouted, pointing into the valley. "The village is burning!"
Durai, wearing a heavy iron Wolf mask to hide his face, looked at the blaze illuminating the night. "That is not a signal," he growled. "That is a slaughter."
He drew his claymore, the steel glinting in the moonlight. "CHARGE!"
The Alliance poured down the mountain like a landslide of shadows. Wolves, Eagles, Snakes. They hit the Iron-Breakers from the flank.
It was chaos. Arrows rained down from the darkness. Wolves clashed with Bears in the flickering light.
Durai carved a path through the enemy, looking for the leaders.
He found Jinx, huddled over Grit's unconscious body.
"Where is Vorian?" Durai demanded, his voice booming from behind the mask.
Jinx looked up, eyes wide with terror, illuminated by a falling beam. She pointed to the High Temple—a massive structure of welded iron at the top of the village, glowing red from the heat inside.
"He... he went there," she stammered. "But... the Stray... he went after him."
"Stray?" Durai asked.
"Our champion," Jinx wept. "He... he's going to die."
The Temple of Iron
Inside the High Temple, it was just Eiden and Vorian.
The room was lit only by braziers of burning oil, casting long, dancing shadows against the walls lined with Wolf skulls.
Vorian stood by his throne, holding a massive, double-headed battle axe.
"You came," Vorian grinned, his teeth yellow in the firelight. "Good. I wanted to peel you myself."
Eiden didn't speak. He was covered in the blood of the Iron-Breakers he had slaughtered to get here. His eyes were black voids. He held two scavenged short swords.
He attacked.
It wasn't a fight. It was a natural disaster.
Vorian swung the axe, shattering a stone pillar. Eiden ran up the falling debris, launching himself into the air. He slashed Vorian's face, reopening the old scar.
Vorian roared, grabbing Eiden mid-air and slamming him into the iron throne. The metal dented.
Eiden didn't gasp. He didn't pause. He drove a sword into Vorian's shoulder.
"Die, you rat!" Vorian screamed, headbutting Eiden.
Eiden stumbled back, spitting blood. He dropped one sword.
He looked at Vorian. He felt no pain. He felt no fear. He only felt the need to end it.
He ducked under Vorian's next swing. He dropped the second sword.
He didn't need steel.
He jumped, wrapping his legs around Vorian's massive neck. He drove his thumbs into Vorian's eyes.
Vorian screamed, dropping the axe, clawing at Eiden.
Eiden spun his body weight, using the "River" momentum.
CRACK.
Vorian's neck snapped. The giant fell.
Eiden stood over him. He picked up one of the short swords.
He swung.
Outside, the battle was winding down. The fires were smoldering against the night sky. The Wolves had secured the village.
Durai, Liam, Charlotte, and Master Kael stood near the temple entrance, panting, their breath misting in the cold night air.
"Where is Vorian?" Charlotte asked, wiping soot from her face.
The heavy iron doors of the temple groaned open, metal shrieking against metal.
Smoke billowed out into the night, thick and oily.
A figure stepped through the smoke, backlit by the dying fires inside.
It was a boy. He was shirtless, his body a map of scars and fresh blood, his skin gleaming with sweat and gore.
In his left hand, he held Vorian's severed head by the hair.
He walked out, his steps heavy and deliberate, and tossed the head onto the steps. It rolled wetly to Durai's feet.
The Wolves froze. The air left the clearing.
"Is that...?" Liam whispered, his face losing all color, his axe lowering slightly.
"Eiden?" Charlotte breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.
Eiden looked at them. But he didn't see friends. He didn't see family. He didn't see the people who had knit him scarves or taught him to track.
His mind was broken, fractured into a thousand sharp pieces by the trauma of the fall, the amnesia, and the bloodlust of the Bear pit. In the flickering shadows, he saw only silhouettes. He saw armed warriors. He saw threats.
His eyes locked on the biggest threat: The armored giant in the Wolf mask standing at the center of the formation. The Alpha.
The Devil hissed, a sound like steam escaping a valve.
Eiden moved.
"Eiden, wait!" Liam shouted, stepping forward, his hands raised in a placating gesture. "It's us! It's Liam!"
Eiden didn't stop. He didn't even slow down. He ducked under Liam's reach with a fluidity that wasn't human. He grabbed Liam's outstretched arm, used the older boy's own momentum to spin him around, and kicked him squarely in the back, sending him crashing into Noah. They went down in a tangle of limbs.
He was a blur in the darkness, a phantom of violence.
Charlotte reached for her gun, instinct taking over. "Eiden, stop!"
He was already there. He slapped the gun from her hand with a force that numbed her arm to the shoulder. He shoved her aside gently—for him—but with enough force to send her sprawling into the snow.
Master Kael, the Eagle, raised his heavy wooden staff to block the path. "Boy, stand down!"
Eiden didn't break stride. He grabbed the staff mid-swing. He wrenched it from Kael's grip with a savage twist, spun the weapon in his hands, and swept Kael's legs out from under him. The Eagle Master hit the ground hard.
Eiden was unstoppable. He was fluid. He was the perfect weapon, honed by the very people he was now dismantling.
He sprinted straight for Durai.
Durai stood still. He didn't raise his weapon. He didn't flinch. He watched the boy come out of the night like a vengeful spirit. He saw the scars. He saw the blank, dead eyes.
Eiden leaped. He raised the sharp, broken end of the Eagle staff, aiming for the kill.
He landed on Durai, the impact driving the massive Master back a step. Eiden drove the staff toward the mask's eye slit.
It stopped one inch from the glass.
Eiden hovered there, suspended on top of the giant, his muscles trembling with the effort of restraint he didn't understand. His breath was a feral growl, hot against the cold iron of the mask. He was ready to kill. The target was right there.
But something held him back. A scent. A presence. A memory deep in the bone.
Slowly, very slowly, Durai reached up with his armored hands.
He unclasped the heavy iron Wolf mask.
It fell to the snow with a dull, heavy thud.
Durai looked at Eiden.
His face was scarred, old, and hard as stone, weathered by a thousand storms. But his eyes... his eyes were filled with tears, shining in the moonlight like diamonds. They were filled with the grief of a father and the promise he made in a graveyard twelve years ago.
"Eiden," Durai whispered, his voice cracking.
Eiden froze. The staff didn't move.
He looked into those eyes. The fog in his mind swirled, torn apart by the recognition.
The graveyard. The snow. The giant hand on his small, shaking shoulder. "You are not alone. I will be your shield." The killing intent evaporated like mist in the sun. The "Devil" went to sleep, retreating back into the dark corners of his mind. A wave of pure, overwhelming safety washed over him, a feeling he hadn't felt since the ocean took him. "Master?" Eiden whispered, his voice breaking, sounding like a lost child. He lowered the staff. It clattered to the ground, forgotten. Durai took a step forward. The sharp wood was inches from his face, but he didn't care. He closed the gap. He reached out and placed his massive, warm hand on Eiden's bloody shoulder. "I found you," Durai said, his voice thick with emotion. "I found you, son." Eiden's legs gave out. The strength that had killed a King vanished. He collapsed, falling forward. Durai caught him. The Stone Wolf fell to his knees in the snow, holding the broken boy against his chest, rocking him gently. Around them, the army stood in silence under the starry sky. The wind howled through the peaks, a mournful song. Liam wiped his eyes, helping Noah up. Charlotte looked away, her shoulders shaking. He was finally home.