9:27 PM, 9th of December

<1 hour and 45 minutes since unscheduled departure>

Maybe it was the wind and snow. Maybe the reality of what she’d done had finally caught up with a young child. Whatever the case might be, it didn’t take long for the flames in Elshka’s eyes to die down, soon to be replaced by a pitiful sort of helplessness. The bony arms that held desperately to an Assassin’s leg now shook visibly, and not just from the cold.

Perhaps, after all, Wolf had simply imagined seeing herself in the halfling. Or perhaps still, this tiny frightened girl was more like Wolf than anything else.

Now not time for pointless musings, Wolf heard Linlin’s stern voice in her head. The voice was right. Now was the time to get out of the cold and find this reckless and defenseless little thing a hiding place.

Luckily for both Assassin and stowaway, the next room over provided just that. It was a storage compartment, filled to the brim with crates, bundles, and sacks. Wolf helped Elshka find the smallest crevice she could crawl into, then spoke to the pair of gleaming eyes that stared out from it.

“I have to keep going. Can you stay here by yourself?”

Be still and content in solitude. A nod.

“Now, whatever you see or hear, do not come out of there unless I or one of the other grannies come get you, alright? Can you promise me that?”

Stay in the shadows where nothing and no one can hurt you. Another nod, noticeably slower. Then—

“What about my father?”

“I’ll bring him back. I know he’s done right by me and my girls.”

“Do you promise?”

Wolf paused. Just say yes. How hard was it to just say yes and assuage a young child’s worries? Do it. Promise her.

“I’ll do what I can.”

Wolf stood and left Elshka to her hiding hole. She then hastened out of the compartment, hurrying for more reasons than one.

By the time she barged into the next room over, the train had slowed considerably, likely just seconds away from coming to a full stop. The passengers too—just regular Goblin folk: diplomats and their families, the porters, and the children that had run around serving drinks to human guests—had cottoned on that this was a major deviation from the itinerary. To a one, they cowered behind whatever corner they could find, as an aging Assassin and her aching knees limped through their midst.

Seeing this, Wolf couldn’t help but smile ruefully. To think the Franzishmen back home are so afraid of the Goblin soldiers… when the Goblin folk are just as scared of human monsters like me. They were justified in their fears, of course, especially now… with the entire train shrouded in shadows.

Still, right now, this Assassin had only one—no, make that two—marks in mind. She limped past the terrified Goblins, intent on sighting her marks as soon as possible. I need to know where they are. I need to know what they’re doing. I need to stop them from going after the children and the Wolfpack. She was just about to reach for the door to make her final carriage transfer when—

BOOOOOOOOM!

The whole carriage shook, rocked by a tremendous explosion. The force, which shattered Wolf’s [WILD SENSE] beyond all functionality, was such that only walls reinforced with three layers of ballistic steel and ceramic tiling could've saved a carriage-ful of Goblins (and one human) from being reduced to rubble.

Wolf staggered, then stomped down to keep herself upright, incurring more of her knees’ ire. She ignored the panicked shouts of her fellow passengers, ignored the painful ringing in her ears, and pushed on.

Outside, Wolf was met by a sight so bizarre and fantastical that it would’ve taken her some time to understand it, even if her [SENSES] hadn’t been completely ruined.

The rest of the train was gone. Blown to pieces by an explosion from within. Charred remains of the Kronvall Express littered the mangled railway upon a bridge, with nothing but the blizzard and the mountain air on either side.

In the distance ahead, a raging pyre of bright red flames rose into the night sky, somehow unbuffeted and unquenched by the wind and snow as it fed upon what was left of the boiler room for kindling. Even in her addled state, Wolf knew that no fire should behave like this. At least no fire her human mind could comprehend, untouched by Industrial Magic and the Urlking’s [AMALGAM] spell.

As a moth to a flame, Wolf was drawn to this pyre. Even in her addled state, she knew the pyre was where she needed to be, in order to dispel the darkness that ever resided in her heart. In order to see this job—thirty bloody years in the making—to its bitter end.

She limped on. Tentatively at first. So much so that she lost her balance and staggered again, this time nearly to the edge of the bridge and the sheer drop beyond. Even as she pulled back hastily, she saw—or rather, didn’t see—the bottomless pits of the canyon below.

She limped on. Forcing more courage and certitude into her shaky legs. As she drew nearer to the pyre, she saw more things. More things that added to the urgency of her limping march.

A lone Goblin—a Conductor by the look of his hat and a Boilersmith by the steam-rifle in his hands—stood against an impossibly tall figure who cast a grostesquely large shadow amidst the burning flames. Viktor Gabbro, defying his King and the human consort who flitted in and out of the shadows.

Viktor fired, though with an unsteady aim that told aplenty of his struggles that had preceded this moment, and missed. No, not missed… Rather, the railway spike that shot from his rifle lost its velocity halfway through its flight, before dropping harmlessly at the Urlking’s feet. Then the Urlking held out a spindly arm, directed squarely at his Conductor’s weapon. Viktor let out a strangled yell, then dropped the rifle altogether, as if the whole thing had just turned to molten metal in his hands. Then Eddie stepped in and kicked the rifle away, farther down the bridge and toward the pyre.

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It was this last action that well and truly snapped Wolf out of her lethargy. Biting off a snarl of rage so as not to announce herself, she dashed forward, eyes darting for a shadow for her to use. Surely, with the fire burning so bright, and with the Urlking’s skeletal frame swaying in the wind, there’d be plenty of options for her to—

A sudden chill. Not the wind that lapped against her already frozen skin, but something deeper, more insidious. This chill started from inside her bones and worked its way out, turning every fibre of a mortal’s being into brittle ice that knew only to yield, to obey, to worship—lest it fall apart, never to be made whole again.

[EMBRITTLE]. At its most terrible and most irresistible. And this time, Wolf had no protection in the form of her Tactician’s [REPEL] spell, nor the affirmation with which to make it stick.

Wolf stumbled, even as she frantically scanned her surroundings. There’s got to be something. There’s got to be something I can use! But the [EMBRITTLEMENT] of her body and mind was total, and the Assassin failed to summon the wherewithal with which to cast her own magic. Eventually, she even lost the will to fight, as she collapsed to her knees, along with one last impotent screech from her failing joints.

Wolf’s borrowed scimitar slipped out of her numb fingers and clattered onto the railway. Then Eddie Hofstra—ever diligent, ever competent—stepped in and kicked this too, out of Wolf’s reach and off the bridge entirely.

Now, two defeated assassins knelt facing each other, and Wolf was once again struck by Viktor’s uncanny resemblance to the erstwhile portrait—and a murky shadow from her own memories. It was a strange thing to focus on, given the direness—hopelessness—of her situation. But such was the totality of her [EMBRITTLEMENT] that she knew only to seek the nearest possible source of warmth and comfort.

The pyre and its raging flames—heat aplenty—yet beckoned from farther down the bridge. But the Urlking soon stepped into the frame, engulfing an Assassin and her desperate yearnings in his grotesquely large shadow. This was the shadow Wolf had been searching for, but now that she found it, she no longer had any use for it.

“Welcome, my child.” The Urlking’s eerily thin voice carried over the screaming winds. “I’m glad you’ve decided to join us after all. It’s a cold, cruel world out there, and we all need to seek warmth however we can, often by relying on the kindness of others.”

Wolf wanted to refute the Urlking. She wanted to spit in his elongated and too-gaunt face. She just couldn’t find the strength. As if in search for the source of that strength, she glanced toward Eddie, who now stood to the side, just on the edge of the Urlking’s shadow. Eddie blinked for a moment, stricken, as if blinded by her Assassin’s gaze. She then looked away… and whatever hope had already died in Wolf died anew.

“To that end,” the Urlking continued, apparently oblivious to the dying embers of his captive’s struggle, “you’ve come to the right place. Here by my side is where you’ll find your permanent home. That beacon of acceptance and constant companionship that has eluded you for the whole of your restless life. Join me, Wolfhilde. As so many others already have. Enrich my kingdom in ways only you can. As you know you wish to.”

Did she? Wolf wanted to refute the Urlking, but she no longer knew the source of her defiance. After all… wasn’t the Urlking right? Hadn’t she always sought acceptance and companionship, even as she professed her love for shadows and solitude? So what if that acceptance came at an eldritch king’s behest? The mountain was cold. And the fire looked so warm.

“But,” the Urlking said now, drawing back ever so slightly, such that his shadow swayed with him, “as desirous as I am of your company, I also have a responsibility to my people. I am, after all, a king, and a king must demand absolute loyalty from his subjects. Prove your loyalty to me, won’t you, Wolfhilde? Slay by your hand this traitor who kneels across from you, and I promise you shall have my undying gratitude and eternal friendship.”

Wolf’s gaze floated across the shadows and fell upon the kneeling figure of Viktor Gabbro. Head downcast and eyes absent their fire, but unmistakably him. The Goblin boy from Wolf’s nightmares. The one she saved thirty years ago, on a night as cold and windy as this one. And now… she was to—

“I understand you’re rather bereft of the tools of your trade,” the Urlking’s thin voice carried over the howling darkness within Wolf’s heart, “but an Assassin of your cunning and ability… I trust you’ll find a way to improvise.”

Wolf wanted to refute… no… what did want to refute? What did she want to protect? What did she want to cling to? Viktor knelt across from her, presenting his pathetic self as the most guileless, most defenseless prey the Assassin had ever needed to hunt. How hard was it to just walk over and snap the neck of a defenseless prey? To finally put an end to her nightmares?

Yet, something continued to howl from within the darkness of her heart. Something that needed to be heard. An affirmation. But what—?

Just then, a part of the rubble that fed the pyre ahead crumbled, rolling onto the surface of the bridge with an audible clatter. Three pairs of eyes—the Urlking’s, Eddie’s, and Wolf’s—turned in unison toward the noise, where they fell upon—

“Leave my father alone!”

The miniscule, soot-covered figure of Elshka Gabbro stood before the pyre.

Her bony legs trembled in the buffeting wind. Her cyan smock was smeared with dirt, grime, blood, and god knew what else. Her hands, frostbitten and bloodied from having crawled across the side of the bridge, held—or tried to hold—her father’s steam-rifle, which was at least half the size of her whole body.

And her eyes burned and glowed, with a ferocity that would put the pyre behind her to shame, as she pointed the rifle at the Urlking and pulled the trigger.

And that was the same moment Wolf found it again. Her affirmation. Because she knew then. She saw… that even a tiny girl could cast an enormous shadow.

“Arrrrggghhhh!!!”

The railway spike flew toward its intended target, before it lost steam, just like the last one. But by then, Wolf von Leid had [BROKEN] into Elshka’s [SHADOW], where she grabbed the spike from midair and buried it into the Urlking’s neck.

For an instant, Wolf’s entire world was the spike that had penetrated the Urlking’s throat—catching windpipe, gullet, vein, and artery onto its point—before it tore through on the other side. Then she saw the look of terrified shock on an eldritch king’s face—ever so mortal in his final moment, before his entire skeleton of a body lurched over the side of the bridge and onto the sheer drop beyond. Wolf then pulled back, just in time to find solid ground, but not before glimpsing the Urlking’s body as it flailed and hurtled into the bottomless pits below.

“No!”

The anguished cry came from Eddie Hofstra, who until now had been content to watch from the periphery. She stepped to the edge of the bridge, where she tracked the Urlking’s—no, his Crown’s—descent. Her face held none of her usual beauty as it contorted and convulsed with panic. With indecision. Then, as Wolf watched on in numb horror, Eddie jumped.

***

It took some time for Wolf’s [SENSES] to recover.

The first thing she attuned to was the hiccuping sniffles of a frightened young child as she rocked in her father’s arms. The second thing was the father’s soft if slightly guttural murmurs—murmurs of love, commiseration, and gratitude. The third thing was the dying crackles of a pyre that had burnt itself dry.

Soon, more sounds and voices danced at the periphery of Wolf’s [SENSES]. Footsteps in the snow. Graceful, as befitted a Sifu of the Yuan discipline. Then more footsteps followed behind that, heavier, more confused, and no doubt weighed down by hot tea, blankets, and other means by which mortals—humans and Goblins alike—sought warmth and comfort on a cold windy night like tonight.

The last thing Wolf held in her mind—moments before she gave into the weariness of her crumbling body and the warmth of her approaching companions—was darkness. The darkness in her own heart. And the darkness in the heart of another she thought she knew and loved. A darkness so profound and so insidious… that not even a Wolf who’d hidden in shadows for thirty years could break through it.