Alton woke just before dawn on the third day since the cave ambush. He stretched his way out of bed and sat on the edge while he collected his thoughts. Alton spent the first day under the care of the healers, and he realized that his body was more injured than he initially realized. The healing potions were great for quick results and would get a soldier back on their feet, but they masked the more serious issues. His arm had been at risk of breaking again without treatment and rest. His back was a mess of scarring and had been bleeding internally. The second day he spent writing his official report and attempting to drink away the memories that were circling through his mind.

Today would be the funeral services for his team. Armies in the field held services once a week for soldiers that fell in the line of duty. This week’s service was for around forty people, Davih told him. Private Forsett never returned to camp and was presumed dead or captured. Fox team retrieved the bodies and finished scouting the caves the day before. The last count was eight Edorians and one hundred and nine mindless plus the Sapient. Alton just felt numb when Davih told him. He still couldn’t remember what happened after Carli died.

He wasn’t able to bring himself to visit the morgue. He would have to see her if he did. If he saw her, it would become real. After washing his face and shaving his four-day stubble, he opened the mana lock on his chest and pulled out his finest clothes. He dressed himself in his dress uniform. It got little use. His armor was still with the crafters being repaired. The damage was extensive. The mindless clawing at it had ruined large sections of it, the mana circuits were destroyed. He hung Fang at his side and checked himself in the mirror. Never a vain man, but he had to admit he was looking rough these days. Thirty-three years old and today he looked a few years over fifty.

When he left his tent, he found the strike quarters full. Each team standing at attention in the grassy area between the four designated team sites in full battle readiness. There were four strike teams attached to the third army; Wolf, Fox, Raven and Gazelle. The teams worked together closely, and the bond was that of brothers and sisters. Alton had been captain of Wolf team for the past five years and knew every one of these men and women. Tears wet his cheeks as emotions threatened to overwhelm him.

He knew this would happen this morning, had taken part in it himself before for others. No amount of foresight could still the emotions roiling in his heart. He nodded to the three other captains and took his place among them. Major Corbin gave the command for march and the four strike teams of the third army began to march towards the funeral site, chanting as they went. The march took them through the various specialty unit quarters, each lining the camp road. Once the formation cleared each section, a solid thump could be heard as pommels pounded shields and spears butted the ground.

“Through woods and darkened glades we stride,

Under our Mad God’s tempestuous guide.

In shadows deep, our paths wind forth,

With fervent hearts, our spirits soar.

Oh Mad God, our light on the darkest nights,

Grant us strength, lend us your sight.

In every step, your fury fuels,

As we trek and strike where danger pools.

Through the howling winds and thunders might,

We navigate the wilderness, dark as night.

Guide us, Oh Mad God, your beacon flares,

In this heart of chaos, we alone boldly dare.

Swift as the Wolves, our pack runs free,

Fast as the Gazelle, we never flee,

Bold as the Raven, never craven,

Crafty as the Fox, deadlier as the pox.

Our mission is clear for all to see,

Safety for our brothers, danger for our enemies.

Mad God, you fuel our nerve,

In your name and power, we humbly serve.

He watched the service in silence with Davih and the other captains. Officers of the various companies of the army listed off their dead and spoke of their deeds. When it was Major Corbin's turn to represent Wolf team, it pushed Alton to his limits to remain collected. He wanted to yell and rage, sob and pick a fight with anyone and anything. His emotions raged, a tumultuous storm brewing. Davih placing his hand on his shoulder and squeezing was a lifeline, Alton took it.

The service ended with a priest delivering his last remarks. The dominant religion of Agorra was based around Kael Sunwright, known as the Mad God. He hadn’t been an actual god, if the records were true. Just an individual that pushed the limits of power to their apex and died saving his home from Edorian invaders. He was venerated and idolized as a peak to climb rather than a deity requiring supplication. Priests of the Mad God were more scholar than holy father. Some splinter sects still existed from the time before the mountain worshiping different gods. Alton was never interested enough to learn much about them.

“Soldiers of Agorra. We gather here today to remember and honor those of us who have given the ultimate sacrifice in service to Agorra. In this time of war, they stood fast, driven by duty and commitment to a greater whole that transcends the mortal life. To their valor and dedication, we give our deepest respect and gratitude.” The aged priest started his speech, his voice melodic. Alton could almost feel mana whispering on the wind as he spoke.

“These soldiers, these men and women, our family, our friends, bravely ventured into this realm of chaos and uncertainty. They were not ordinary men and women, for they could not be and do what they did. Led by a calling that started one thousand years ago to face the unimaginable, confront the unpredictable, and stand against the very essence of madness itself!” He pounded his fist on the small podium before him. The very air around Alton felt alive. Something odd was happening. Alton looked around to see if anyone else was feeling it.

“In the face of adversity, they displayed a courage that goes beyond comprehension for most Agorrans, those of us lucky to never know war. As we reflect on their service and our own mortality, let us remember the indomitable spirit that lives within us! That fueled their journey and so shall fuel ours in pursuit of a greater cause!” A small rumble was building in Alton’s soul. He reached out to his mana core and found it alive with a purpose.

“Their sacrifice, borne out of a mission that may seem unfathomable to some, was driven by the desire to defend those who cannot defend themselves. When we were pushed out of the mountain by that eldritch horror, we found ourselves back in our ancestral valley, surrounded by enemies on all sides. The men and women of the Agorran armies stood as beacons of light, hope, and resilience. Guardians against an encroaching darkness promising annihilation, a threat to our very existence.” The feeling in Alton’s mind and body reached an apex at the priest’s words. He felt his core overloading, and he cycled desperately to vent the excess mana. Davih at his side watched slack jawed at the storm of mana emanating from his friend.

Alton lost control of his mana and it flowed like a raging river through his mind, body and soul. The priest continued his speech, but Alton heard none of it. Raw mana sparked as it ran up and down his skin. He felt a strange pull in his core; it was emptying. His skin felt like it was on fire and he was glowing blue as if he ingested a mana lantern. He stood and stumbled into an open space and ripped off his jacket and shirt to relieve the burning sensation and saw a glowing shape brighten on his chest.

The priest wasn’t speaking anymore. The entire crowd was staring in shock at what was occurring. Alton continued to scrape at his chest, trying to stop the burning. Davih was yelling at him. Someone splashed a canteen of water over his head, but it provided no relief. Runes were tracing themselves on his skin, forming a great wolf head. His mind was racing. He remembered now what happened in that cave. He remembered…everything.

———

Alton stood over Carli’s lifeless body, her beautiful blonde hair stained red, her bright blue eyes staring back at him. He bent to pick up her sword despite the chaos around him. His hand grasped the pommel as his heart broke. He surged through his arms and felt both swords drain of mana. He felt every drop of mana drain from the room around him. He roared his defiance against his foes and heard another roar answer it. It started low and thrummed across his soul. It built over the course of seconds where time seemed frozen and Alton’s mind was transported to another place.

—-

In the shadowed depths of a moonlit realm, where the ethereal met the tangible and snow never melted, a haunting howl echoed across space and time, piercing the stillness of the night. Its mournful resonance swept through ancient trees half buried in white, reverberated against craggy cliffs frozen solid and danced across frozen lakes that would never melt.

Air quivered for miles through the ether as the spectral cry unfolded, warping reality as it traveled. A symphony of agony played on instruments known to no mortal ear. It carried the weight of a thousand sorrows, a dirge woven with the threads of ancient times. The collective anguish of all those who have, and will pass through, the abyss. It mourned the end of all, the absolution.

As the howl crescendoed across a young continent, it summoned and charged the very spirits of the land, stirring powers that laid dormant for eons. Those who felt the call felt it in the marrow of their bones, the very bedrock of their souls. A lamentation for that which was lost but could be again despite the inexorable passage of time. The hope carried by every soul in the great war against sorrow itself.

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The Wolf of all that was and could be, the hunter of both sorrow and hope, cried out once more. His aspect had been summoned, and he was no longer alone, a kindred spirit borne of trauma and a desire to protect. A willingness to destroy, to defend, to break and mend. The Wolf howled again and felt the spirit howl back.

———

Time resumed and the power inside of Alton surged do an incredible degree. Runes of mana danced on his skin, not yet strong enough to remain. He swept away the mindless like a vengeful god, commanding them to die, and they did. The Sapient mustered a last defense that eroded pitifully before the might of the Wolf. Death surrounded him but fled before the might on display. Alton’s soul was forged in mana in a way no mortal had known since the last Sunwright walked this plane.

———

“I remember…everything.” He said to a stunned Davih but speaking mostly to himself.

As if waiting for those words, mana erupted from Alton. The runes flashed so brightly it forced heads to turn away. The howl that had been echoing in Alton’s mind reached through every obstacle that separated them, and Alton howled with it. He lost himself in that mana, a connection forged. A cocoon of mana encased Alton, and the cores of everyone in attendance strained and emptied. The manasphere rejoiced as it felt the return of one of the Aspects.

The howl was infectious. The priest knew his God had smiled on him. Davih felt his friend’s soul on the voices of the men and women of the Third Army. Thousands of soldiers of whom not a one didn’t carry sorrow and trauma leaned back and lent their voices to the pack. It was said that the howl could be heard all across the valleys of Agorra, from the highest peak to the lowest ravine. Rumor had it the Crown Prince of Edoria heard it and shook, despite the warmth flowing from his fireplace. History would look back on this day and smile, or tremble, as the Wolf was borne again.

----

Alton woke slowly, the last fetters of light still streaming in through the gaps in the canvas tent. Inside the tent, darkness enveloped him as he lay on his cot, with no recollection of his arrival. He turned and saw a dark shape sitting in his chair with their feet propped up on his desk. He recognized the sleeping form of Davih and laid back to stare at the ceiling of the tent and think. As he recalled the funeral, the burning sensation on his skin resurfaced in his mind. The Wolf. He ran his hand across his chest and felt scarring, so it wasn’t a dream, he thought.

He knew he had broken through to the fifth tier. What had once been a choice between the various aspects to name his new team after was now reality. The description for the Wolf aspect had been a combination of a protector of the weak and a hunter of the wicked. It had felt right when Alton picked it those years ago; he guessed the Wolf agreed. Davih’s foot slipped off the desk and he startled himself awake.

“You're awake!” Davih said when he realized Alton was watching him.

“I am. I feel…drained. What happened after…?” He trailed off and left the question open.

“Do you remember the sigil forming? The mana runes?” Davih asked him.

“I remember the priest speaking. My chest started burning, and then it spread to my entire body. I remember my core emptying. Everything from the cave is now so clear…before but nothing after.” Alton told him.

“You were encased in, well best way we can describe it is mana made solid for two full days. Every mana sensitive member of the camp felt their cores strain and empty around you. One of the scholars suspected you were breaking through to the fifth tier, but that there wasn’t enough mana to sustain you.” Davih explained. “We brought every mana storage device and mana user to you. You drained them all, no amount changed anything until late in the evening yesterday. I was sitting nearby speaking with the other captains and a long crack split the shell. Next thing we know, you tumbled out still in a deep sleep and here we are.”

“The scholars are dying to get in here and experiment. We have had to kick them out of the striker quarters repeatedly.” Davih laughed.

“I don’t feel any different yet, just tired.” Alton said, and his body agreed with a yawn.

“With the amount of mana you used, I wouldn’t be surprised if you were suffering from mana exhaustion. How is your core?” Davih asked.

Alton felt out to his core and winced at the sharp pain that responded. “Empty and raw.”

“You’ll need a few days of rest, I suspect. There are many people who want to see you. I have to warn you Alton…You were already famous among the soldiers, but now? People are lining up just to be near the tents.” Davih said with a frown. “I have Fox team providing operational security just to keep them from swarming us.”

Alton started to respond when Davih started again. “We should go to the command tent. Its been…stressful.”

——-

Alton stood and inspected his chest in the mirror Davih had procured. Right in the middle of his breast was a large tattoo of a wolf head, just like the ones from the books. It wasn’t a tattoo in ink but in mana. Even depleted, he could feel it. His body felt the same physically. Instinctively, he knew he was faster and stronger than before. He dressed in his normal uniform and strapped Fang to his side. He nodded to Davih, and they exited the tent to a scene Alton would never forget.

Thousands of people were visible in the area beyond the striker quarters. Major Corbin had formed a perimeter with one of the sentry units, keeping everyone fifty feet from his tent. There was a group of scholars arguing with a Fox sergeant. Several priests were trying to keep the common soldiers and camp followers calm. An audible buzz was in the air, with so many people speaking at once. Alton paused in the doorway to the tent and took in the chaos.

Corbin saw him and walked over. “Alton! How are you feeling?”

“I’m okay. I’m tired and hungry, mostly.” Alton replied with a cheeky smile.

“We should get to the command tent. Colonel wants to see you at once,” Corbin said.

Alton nodded and started walking when the buzz from the crowd intensified. A cacophony of voices sounded as the gathered realized Alton was awake. Alton turned in a slow circled and waved. The crowd got even louder. He saw mothers crying and holding their babies up just to be half a foot closer to him. He heard scattered chants and prayers. The hairs on his arm stood up as he took in the scene.

“They have been keeping vigil since the funeral. Even those not mana sensitive answered the call and allowed you to drain their meager cores. You are a beacon of hope now, Alton. Give them some.” Corbin whispered from his side.

Alton thought for a moment before stepping up on a supply chest. He gripped Fang and ripped it out of its sheath. With a soft glow, the tiny amount of mana he had available was infused. He stabbed it up straight up at heavens to a roar from the crowd that could be heard from miles. He pumped his arm three or four times and spun in a circle. These were his people, they were his friends, his brothers and sisters. He basked in the moment and vowed to do all in his power to defend them.

——

They reached the command tent a few long minutes later as they worked through the crowd. Alton repeated his act a few times, although without mana, as his core was bone dry. When he cleared the secured area and left the crowds behind, he still faced more cheering from the guards and sentries on duty. He smiled and nodded to them all. He felt out of place and uncomfortable, but this was for them, not him. Colonel Riske stepped out of the tent to see what the commotion was and the raw emotion the stern colonel displayed shook Alton.

“Alton…By the Mad God, you live!” Riske said.

“Alive and well, sir,” Alton replied with a salute.

“Come in, come in.” Riske returned his salute and beckoned them inside.

Alton settled in to one of the chairs offered. Davih, Corbin and Riske were all there alongside most of the command structure, thirty people that represented the entire Third Army. “I’ll skip my normal flair for the dramatic and skip to it, son. You did it. The first to break through to tier five since we left the mountain. Never did I think I would live to see the day. I am proud of you, Alton. I have fought and waged war for the past forty years to keep our people safe. I can rest easier now knowing we have you on our side,” Colonel Riske said with a touching gravity to his voice.

“Word has been sent back to the council. They congratulate you on the accomplishment and have already started in being busybodies. They wish for you to take some time with the scholars and help us learn all that we can. The fifth tier has stood as a dividing line for decades since Triathi left us. If we can learn and replicate your success, it may prove a turning point in the war. They wanted you to return to Agorath, but I won’t allow it. Not after…No. It is best you stay in the field with your friends to keep you company.” Riske nodded to Alton. “Tavi backs me on this, as long as you agree. I will send you to Kitsu to meet with some priests and scholars.”

Alton nodded. Riske asked him to recount the story again as best he could remember and he obliged. He found it easier to talk about as time passed; the pain dulling with every retelling. They shared a flask and spoke for a while. A sense of normalcy settled in that lifted Alton’s troubled spirit. Soon it was time for them to leave and let the commanders get back to their work. The war in Lucia Valley was in a lull, with skirmishers trading back and forth before the next pitched battle took place, but war never sleeps.

—————

“Oh, no you don’t. I held my peace for the first two nights and left you alone. Then you vanished in a cocoon of mana for two nights. Tonight, we mourn the dead and celebrate the living.” Captain Davih spoke from his side as he started walking back to his tent.

Alton started to resist and pull away from his friend when another hand landed on his opposite shoulder. He turned to see Major Corbin and the other captains, along with every remaining strike team member around him.

“Strikers. Captain Alton is grieving, and he wants to be alone because he feels like he is alone.” Davih shouted out. “Is Captain Alton alone?”

“NO SIR!” A resounding shout sounded off all around Alton.

Davih led into one of the mess halls where he found it was temporarily converted to resemble a cozy bar. Alton wasn’t sure how they had commandeered an entire mess tent during an active war, and the rational side of him said this was irresponsible. The emotional side of him was happy to be among his friends after the trials of the cave. Alton had been in combat before, more times than he could count, but this one had shaken him in a different way. He knew why, he just didn’t want to admit it yet. Admitting it would make it real.

The strike teams of the third army were valuable to their allies, deadly to their enemies, but their greatest strength was undoubtedly their ability to drink more alcohol per pound than any other unit. Often sent out for weeks or months at a time with only your team for company, deep behind enemy lines or through treacherous terrain, the strikers earned a little more freedom than others while at camp.

Alton found himself letting go of the bundle of emotions he had been carrying for the last few days. He shared drinks with his friends, old and new, and allowed himself to relax for the first time since spotting that fateful cave. He watched a group of privates arm wrestle with mana enhancement until one of their arms snapped in half and everyone cheered. The team healer started a rough healing but was so drunk he couldn’t remember how. The private was so lost in his cup he didn’t appear to even feel the pain. A few of the men and women took up singing a bawdy song that was new to Alton. It sounded like instructions for what to do in bed while out in the field. Even his experienced cheeks reddened at some of the lines.

“Riske gave us the night off and tomorrow for rest. A few of the skirmish units volunteered to cover for us if needed. All striker missions are suspended until further notice to reassess priorities. Feels like we might dig in here rather than advance farther south, take extra time to clear the caves and smaller valleys for threats.” Davih leaned against him and said. “So, I have to ask so that I can understand. Carli…?”

Alton took a long sip from the bitter beer that was standard ration here in the camp and sighed. “Yes, for two years. We kept it professional and only our team knew. We planned to marry after the war, maybe move back to Eilholm where her parents have a farm.” He finally admitted it, why this time it hurt so much worse. “I could retire on a captains salary, her a corporal. It would have been a fine life.”

“Damn.” Davih simply said beside him.

It wasn’t against the rules to date in the Agorran military special units, even between ranks. In some ways it was subtly encouraged even, as mana sensitive adults tended to produce mana sensitive children. Alton had refrained for his first eight years, trying to avoid the mix of politics and emotions that followed relationships. Sure, a few nights here and there, but never something so real. Carli had been different, a beautiful woman inside and out. They had shared a friendship that had blossomed into a genuine love.

He smiled as he allowed himself to get lost in the memories of their first encounter, and the many more that built the cornerstone of their relationship. He told the stories to Davih and the others, uncaring, who heard. They all knew him, they all loved him, he was among his brothers and sisters. For this one night amongst the chaos of war, Alton was at peace.