The Wolf's Den - The Medic Bay
The air in the medic bay was heavy, a suffocating blanket woven from the sharp, chemical tang of antiseptic and the earthy, pungent smell of crushed mountain herbs. It was quiet, a silence that felt fragile, broken only by the steady, rhythmic beep... beep... beep of a heart monitor that sounded like a countdown.
Eiden lay in a narrow iron bed, his chest wrapped in layers of thick, white bandages that were already spotting with fresh blood. His right hand—the hand that had held the burning shotgun—was encased in a cooling gel and treated with a thick green salve provided by the Snake Clan healers. He was asleep, but it wasn't the peaceful sleep of the healed. It was a battlefield. His eyes darted rapidly under his lids, his breathing hitching in his throat. He was fighting ghosts in his dreams, reliving the fall into the freezing ocean over and over again.
Sharley, Charlotte's mother and the Den's head medic, wiped his feverish forehead with a cloth soaked in snowmelt. Her face was lined with exhaustion, gray hairs escaping her usually tight bun. She looked older than the last time Eiden had seen her, as if the war had aged her a decade in a week.
"He's fighting to come back," she whispered to herself, wringing out the cloth with trembling hands. "Stubborn boy. Death knocked, and he slammed the door in its face."
Down the hall, in a different, larger room, the mood was somber, like a wake for the living.
Oliver lay in his bed, exactly as he had for weeks. Pale. Still. Comatose. A living ghost trapped in his own mind.
Sitting around him, keeping a vigil, were the Cubs.
Liam sat in the corner, rhythmically sharpening his heavy battle axe. Shhhk-shhhk. Shhhk-shhhk. The sound was hypnotic, a promise of violence. He stared at the blade, lost in thought.
Noah was sitting on the floor, eating a piece of dried fruit, but he wasn't enjoying it. He chewed mechanically, his eyes fixed on Oliver's pale face, looking for any sign of movement, any twitch.
Charlotte stood by the window, her arms crossed, looking out at the jagged peaks of the Iron Mountains where the Bear Clan fires still burned in the distance, staining the night sky orange.
"They're calling for him," Charlotte said, her voice breaking the heavy silence.
"Who?" Liam asked, not looking up from his blade.
"The Bears," Charlotte turned, her expression grim. "Grit and Jinx sent a runner an hour ago. The clan is in chaos. Vorian is dead. Gorm is dead. The hierarchy is shattered. They say the clan has no leader."
She paused, letting the weight of the next words settle.
"They want the Stray."
Noah choked on his fruit, coughing violently. "They want Eiden? To be the Bear King? He's a Wolf! He's our Wolf!"
"He killed their King," Charlotte said, walking back to the group. "By their ancient laws, he owns the throne. They saw him fight. They saw him bleed for them. They say they won't follow anyone else. They won't follow Durai. Only the Stray. If he refuses... they will scatter into bandit gangs. Or worse, they'll unite against us out of spite."
Liam stopped sharpening his axe. The silence returned, heavier than before. "He won't do it. He hates leading. He just wants to protect people, not rule them."
"He might not have a choice," Charlotte sighed, rubbing her temples. "We need the Bears for the war. We need their numbers, their tunnels, their steel. If Eiden is the price of that alliance..."
"Then I'll pay it."
The voice was a rasp, like stones grinding together.
They all spun around.
Eiden was standing there. He was leaning heavily against the doorframe, wearing a loose, open medical robe that showed the map of bandages on his chest. He looked pale, thin, and scarred. He looked like a ghost who had clawed his way out of the grave.
But his eyes... his green eyes were clear. The fog of the "Stray," the amnesia of the river, was gone.
"Eiden!" Noah shouted, scrambling to his feet and rushing to him, but stopping short of a hug, afraid to break the fragile boy standing before him.
"You're awake," Liam said, standing up slowly, dropping his whetstone. He smiled, a rare, genuine thing that cracked his stoic face. "Welcome back to the land of the living, brother."
Eiden pushed off the doorframe, limping into the room. Every step was a visible effort. He walked straight to Oliver's bed. He placed his bandaged hand gently on his friend's cold arm.
"I'm sorry it took so long," Eiden whispered to the sleeping boy, his voice thick with guilt. "I got... lost."
He stood there for a moment, drawing strength from the silence of his friend. Then he turned to the others. His expression hardened; the pain locked away behind a mask of resolve.
"Take me to Durai," he commanded.
The War Room
The Council of Masters was in session. The air in the room was thick with tension and the smell of stale tea. Durai, Kael, Malachi, and Jiro sat around the broken map table, arguing in hushed tones about supply lines and defensive perimeters.
The heavy oak doors groaned open.
The room went silent instantly. Every head turned.
Eiden walked in, flanked by Liam and Charlotte. He walked slowly, but he walked upright.
Durai stood up. The Stone Wolf looked at his student, his son who had returned from the dead not once, but twice. He didn't say a word. He ignored the other Masters. He walked around the table, his heavy boots thudding on the stone, and pulled Eiden into a crushing, desperate embrace.
"I thought the sea took you," Durai whispered into Eiden's hair, his voice trembling. "I thought I had lost you to the dark."
"It tried," Eiden said, hugging him back, wincing as his ribs protested. "But I had a promise to keep."
Durai stepped back, holding Eiden by the shoulders, searching his face for cracks. "Your memory? The trauma..."
"It's back," Eiden said, his eyes darkening. "All of it. The school. The vault. The betrayal. I remember everything."
He looked at the Masters—the Eagle, the Snake, the Owl.
"It wasn't the Syndicate who shot me," Eiden announced, his voice echoing in the stone room, carrying a truth that silenced the wind outside. "It wasn't a stray bullet. It wasn't an accident. It was Emily."
A gasp went through the room. Malachi dropped his knife.
"The girl?" Malachi asked, a dark amusement coloring his tone. "Akuma's daughter? The little princess?"
"She shot me," Eiden said, touching the bandage over his heart. "She looked me in the eye and pulled the trigger. Akuma... he poisoned her. He told her a lie about Evergreen. He told her Evergreen killed her mother."
"Lies!" Kael shouted, slamming his fist on the table. "Evergreen was a guardian! She fought for life, not death!"
"I know," Eiden said calmly. "But Emily doesn't. She thinks she's avenging her family. She thinks she's the hero of her own story."
Durai's face darkened, a storm cloud passing over the sun. "Then she is an enemy. An enemy who knows our secrets. An enemy who tried to kill you. She must be removed."
"She is a victim," Eiden corrected, stepping between Durai's rage and the memory of the girl on the train. "Akuma is the enemy. He's using her as a shield. He's using her to fight his war because he's too cowardly to do it himself. He broke her so she would break me."
Eiden walked to the wall, looking at the map of the Iron Peaks.
"Charlotte tells me the Bears are waiting."
"They are," Durai said, his voice wary. "They want a King. They refuse to negotiate with anyone else. But you are a Wolf, Eiden. You belong here, in the Den."
Eiden placed his hand over the territory of the Bear Clan, covering the jagged peaks with his palm.
"Akuma has an army," Eiden said, his voice gaining strength. "He has money. He has the government. He has the police. We have... tribes. Scattered. Arguing. Looking at the past."
He turned to face Durai.
"If I stay just a Wolf... we lose. Akuma expects a Wolf. He knows how to hunt Wolves. He has prepared for sixteen years to kill a Wolf."
Durai questioned the most obvious thing, "How does he know so much about the wolves? Or how does he have so much information about you?"
"I don't know yet."
Eiden looked up, his green eyes burning with a new, heavy authority that filled the room.
"But he doesn't know how to hunt a King."
"You want the title?" Durai asked softly, realizing the magnitude of what the boy was proposing.
"I will take it," Eiden said. "I will be the King of the Iron Peaks. I will unite the Bears and the Wolves. I will forge them into a single weapon. And I will bring the full weight of the mountain down on Akuma's head."
Malachi whistled low, impressed. "A Wolf ruling the Bears. That has never happened in the history of the peaks. It is... unnatural."
"The world is changing," Eiden said. "We have to change with it."
He looked at Durai. "I'm going back to the school."
"As a King?" Jiro asked, tilting his head.
"No," Eiden said. "As a student. I will break his hold on Emily. I will free my Pack—Harry, Hazel, Margot. And when the time is right... when the trap is set..."
He clenched his fist, the bandages straining.
"Then, the Bear King will bring the war to him."
"If Emily gets in the way?" Malachi asked, his voice sharp. "If she tries to kill you again?"
Eiden looked down at the bullet scar on his chest. He touched it.
"Then," Eiden said, his voice cold as the grave, "I will take her down as well."
Durai looked at Eiden. He didn't see the scared boy from the graveyard anymore. He didn't see the student. He saw a leader. A peer. A warrior who had walked through death and come back stronger.
Durai bowed his head.
"Hail," Durai whispered. "Hail the King of the Iron Peaks."
The other Masters stood and bowed, a ripple of respect moving through the room.
Eiden didn't smile. He just nodded, accepting the burden.
"Prepare my bags," Eiden commanded. "I have a ghost story to tell."