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Prologue part 1: Happy days

“Please be still, daughter.” Gregor jokingly pulled his daughter by her long ear.

“I am standing still!” Aranea fiercely argued, trying to catch his hand. “You are the one who is messing with me!”

Kalaisa only smiled at this. To the outsider’s eye, they could be seen as a strange couple. Kalaisa was once part of the Wolf Tribe, a tribe of the Wolfkin people from the distant Ravaged Lands. Her large, black-furred form dwarfed even the figure of her husband, standing head and shoulders above him. Kalaisa’s amber eyes glowed brightly, like a pair of flashlights, a sign of her former rank as a warlord. Her snout was long, and her thick black fur could stop even bullets. Right now, her fur was clean, carefully combed, and shining in the soft lighting of the room. She was wearing a simple black dress and a silver necklace with the symbol of the Wintersong family around her neck.

Gregor was a Wolfkin of the Ice Fang Order, an order of warriors hailing from the distant north. His order served under his excellency Wyrm Lord for a long while before constant clashes between the two tribes of Wolfkins forced Wyrm Lord to relinquish ownership of the Ice Fang Order to His Excellency Devourer. In the lands of Devourer, the Ice Fang Order has become an influential organization, responsible for restoration efforts and guarding the borders from roaming bands of bandits and raiders. As fewer bandits have dared to attack in recent years, many members of the Ice Fang Order have left the military to pursue other opportunities. Gregor was a tall Wolfkin with the snow-white, gorgeous fur coat. He wore the white and blue ceremonial clothes of a noble member of the Wintersong family, and a long sword in a golden sheath rested on his belt. Ten years ago, Gregor made a pilgrimage to the far north, the homeland of the Ice Fang Order. Upon returning, he was accepted into the Wintersong family and reached the rank of knight captain in the Order. Gold rings were woven into the fur of his lower jaw, and a silver necklace, identical to his wife’s, shone brightly around his neck. His eyes were crimson, not glowing with an inner flame like his wife’s, but still very visible red globes.

Aranea Wintersong, daughter of Kalaisa and Gregor Wintersong, stood between her parents, clothed in a blue dress. Four weeks ago, her family had celebrated her third birthday. The cubs of the Ice Fang Order were still small at this age and could barely talk. Yet Aranea had the blood of her mother in her, and the color of her fur was that of the darkest night. Aranea already reached her father’s waist and grew taller every day. She spoke freely and read book after book, in contrast to her Ice Fang Order cousins of a similar age. The members of the Wolf Tribe grew up at a vastly different rate than their cousins. One of Aranea’s eyes was yellow, while the other was crimson, a sign of her father’s bloodline. The fur around the red eye was pale, as if to remind the young cub that she was a child of both worlds.

They stood before the painter, a Wolfkin from the Ice Fang Order, who decided not to join the military. The man was busy creating their portrait, copies of which will later be inserted into three medallions that Gregor had ordered for each member of the family to immortalize this moment of time. The family stood still for nearly an hour, and soon Gregor began to have fun by teasing his daughter.

Aranea hated it when her father tricked her into making a fool of herself.

“Please, just a few moments more!” the painter pleaded as Aranea turned to jump at her father. “I am almost finished!”

“Oh!” The girl quickly returned to her position, becoming still like a statue once again. “My apologies, sir.”

Aranea could hear her parents whispering to each other.

“Stop teasing her, dear.” Kalaisa smiled.

“But it’s so cute when she loses her temper,” Gregor joked. “I will be leaving for a whole month, so I want to take every opportunity I can now.”

“Dad, you can always call me over the terminal,” Aranea whispered carelessly.

“Ah, but it’s just not the same thing.” The painter gave a thumbs up, signaling completion, and Gregor squared his shoulders and spread them wide. Ignoring his daughter’s protests, he grabbed her and hoisted the cub onto his left shoulder. “I won’t be seeing you for a long time, little one, so today we will be treating you to whatever you want. How about a snack for a start? Candies, meat, or honey, perhaps? Or maybe we should try some of those strange vegetable dishes from Oathtakers that have recently appeared on the market? Or should we take a ride around the city?”

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The family left the room and moved into the great hall that led to the inner chambers of New Dawn Fortress. Paintings adorned the walls, and rich, warm carpets with gold trim covered the floors, allowing the Wolfkins to walk barefoot. The Ice Fang Order wasn’t poor; its members had amassed great wealth over the years, whether from trade or from war trophies. They were closely involved in the construction of new cities, inspiring the population, and healing the sick and wounded. The Ice Fang Order was an ever-growing force within the state, always striving for excellence.

“Dad, stop embarrassing me! I can walk just fine.” Aranea tried to break free, but Gregor held her with ease. “We will be the laughingstock if anyone sees us!”

“Let the entire world laugh if they want to; what do we care? Childhood is a fleeting thing, and let the Spirits damn me if I allow you to waste yours in attempts to act grown up.” Wintersong waved his paw dismissively. “You haven’t answered my question, furball.”

“Well, then, I want to learn how to fight properly,” Aranea said stubbornly. “Other cubs train all day in the sword halls; why can’t I join them?”

“Honey, you are still a bit too young for this.” Kalaisa gently patted her daughter on the head. “And besides, there is so much more in the world besides fighting. You can become an artist or an engineer. Just imagine that with your own paws, you can create paintings as beautiful as these.” She pointed at the walls. One painting depicted the Twins and Ravager, the noble progenitors of the both groups, standing side by side in a rare moment of peace. The painter had to create this piece of art from the photo, for Ravager simply could not stand in the presence of the Twins for long without trying to dominate them. The desire to be the strongest was in Ravager’s very blood. The Twins were dressed in doublets of pristine white and trousers of the same color. The man had a longbow behind his back, and the woman had a long sword on her hip. Ravager, meanwhile, was without any clothes; her fur was the color of the utter void, and the only weapons that the Blessed Mother had ever needed, her trusted claws, were hidden deep inside her fingers. She sat on all fours and yet her head was on the lever of her brother and sister. The Twins smiled, but Ravager appeared unhappy and out of place, fighting against an urge to shake their hands off her shoulders. “Or learn how to create world-class technological marvels. You can learn how to heal people…”

“Boring!” Aranea rejected the idea. “I can fight with wooden swords just as well as Keyl can. Every time we spar, he always ends up in the mud. Mom, I’ve heard what others say about you. You were a warlord, the greatest of the great, a fighter with no equals! I want to be like you; I want to even surpass you one day! To crush the enemies of the Dynast and restore the world to humanity!” Aranea allowed her claws to slide out of her fingers and pointed them at imaginary enemies, imagining how she would shred them.

“There were plenty of people stronger than me. Even today, there are many who can crush me into dust without looking.” Kalaisa said softly, “Dear, you do not know what fighting really is, and if the Spirits will it, you will never know. To feel the pulsating sensation in your blood, to see the crushed forms of enemies in front of you... To lose dear friends again and again… No, I will never let you choose this path.” Kalaisa shook her head. “I became much happier when I left the war and began my new career as a doctor.”

“But why?!” the girl yelled angrily. “Battles still rage on in the world! Father is leaving us to fight. Everyone knows there is a danger or two out there. Each day, our people risk their lives to tame the wilderness. Just because you chose to hide and…”

“Your mother is not a coward, and neither is she hiding,” Gregor said, dropping to one knee and lowering his shoulder to look into his daughter’s eyes. “She has a... condition. She can’t fight anymore, or a bad thing will happen to her. And yet she saves lives even now.” Aranea knew what her father meant. Her mother often left home to work at a hospital. The last time there was a shortage of doctors in the neighboring city, Kalaisa left for two whole months to work there.

“This is exactly why I need to become a warrior!” The girl furiously snarled back. “I have to pick up the slack. What if someone tries to hurt Mom while you are away? I owe that much to the heroes of the Order! I must become stronger to protect our home, to …”

“Protect our home?” The knight captain laughed, standing up. “From whom? Furball, you are in one of the safest places in the world! Relax and have fun. Kalaisa and I both bled a lot in our time, so that cubs like you can have all the happiness they can. You don’t owe us anything, and certainly you do not have a duty to follow in our footsteps. Grow, learn, and find what you want. No one will ever dare to touch you here.”

Aranea crossed her hands over her chest. No one sings songs about doctors. None sings songs about engineers. No one builds statues in honor of the workers. The artists themselves competed for the right to create statues of generals, captains, and great warriors. She wanted to become a legendary warrior, like her mother.

And one day I will. She decided. Her eyes would glow with the same light as her mother’s. Foes would tremble at her name. She would become someone who would inspire others. Someone who would protect the weak.

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