---RYNE---

“Ryne…” Claude whispered.

Shadows appeared in the tunnels: shadows that turned into the familiar shapes of my brothers. Woodrow’s red hair peeked out from the walls before Wilbur’s messy brown. Our new furry friend hopped off and stood in front of me, watchful, ears and tail pointed to the cavern ceiling. She growled at Woodrow and Wilbur.

“Calm, they are my brothers,” I told her. She looked back at me, unsure. I knelt and picked her up again, almost cradling her. I brought my lips close to her soft ears, taking a few steps away from Claude. “The scent of the Chaos is in them, but so is their humanity. They have been good to me, especially the brown-haired one.”

She stared at Wilbur, sniffing the air. She still felt tense, but her tail wagged friendly enough. There will be time to adjust.

Claude and I faced my brothers as they stared back, frozen in place, taking it all in. They looked especially bewildered to find Claude in a cave with a dormant lava pool in the middle of the night. With the pup in hand, I walked over to them and explained what had happened. When I finished the story, my brothers nodded, seemingly understanding; their lips pouted, their eyes reflective, calm… then they spoke at the same time.

“What were you thinking going into the dark forest yourself, lad?” Their eyes checked Claude for injuries. Wilbur was grabbing his arm and feeling for broken bones while Woodrow kept chastising him. He allowed them, grinning at me as I smiled back.

Woodrow slapped him softly at the back of his head. “You must feel so confident to have taken on wild beasts.” He leaned close to Claude so they were eye to eye, face serious. “Do not let it get into your head. Something miraculous has protected not only you but the villagers nearby.” He was trying hard not to look in my direction.

Claude nodded slowly. “I… I know. There was something else guiding me. It felt like the warmth from a hearth.” Claude looked at me then. I avoided his gaze.

He picked up his old iron sword lying on the ground. Rusted, when it once was glowing brilliant blue. He shook it, figuring out how to make it come to life once more. He held it out to me. I grabbed the hilt and when nothing happened, he secured it between his jeans and belt.

“You really should have a scabbard for that,” Woodrow commented.

Claude’s eyes fell on their robes and saw the tears. “You look rather worse for wear, even for monks.” He bit his lip. “If we had our own wool to spare, I’d gladly give you some.”

“Don’t worry about us,” Wilbur said. Once his examinations were done, he sighed and brought his full attention to another matter.

The pup was now sniffing their boots. She sniffed Wilbur’s the longest and I thought that she was recognizing the bond he and I shared. Without warning, she squatted and released her liquids right on Wilbur’s boot. Claude and I exchanged looks of childish glee. Woodrow turned his face away and clamped his lips, shoulders shaking, choking on his laughter. Wilbur looked at the pup stone-faced until she relieved herself fully.

“Lovely,” Wilbur remarked dryly.

“She made her mark on you,” I offered.

Wilbur pinched the bridge of his nose and I slowly felt like a young child who had brought home something that should not have been brought home. After all, other common monks from other monasteries prohibited pets. But he must realize that everything about us was uncommon. The pup was a giant beast not even hours before.

“I suppose that you shall take care of it. What will you feed it?” Wilbur was looking at the tiny direwolf biting his boots.

My answer was ready. “The forest will provide.”

“The dark forest with few scampering animals?”

“I…” When at last we purified the beast from her corruption, I felt something heavy lift from these parts. I was not sure of it, but perhaps it has a connection to the occurrences of monsters. Or if not that, then something about it made the dark forest less gloomy.

The tiny furball, happy to have made her show of friendship to my brothers, barked towards the area where she slept. We had not noticed it before, but when she was rampaging in her corrupted adult form, she must have swiped at the boulders containing the fire opals. The ores were scattered all around that area. And in that rubble of brilliant reds was a smattering of sharp, oddly shaped, crude dark stones.

“Cinder voids…” Wilbur whispered.

He hurried to collect them in his satchels. Claude, Woodrow, and I helped in gathering as much as we could, thankful that we did not need any pickaxe or hammer. Claude held one up and looked at its curious shape.

“I’ve never seen ores like these. You use these for experiments, Brother Wilbur?”

“Quite,” he replied. He bit his lip and said, “Alchemists use them for experiments. The fire opals, as the name suggests, have fire qualities in them, and they believe it can help relieve ailments regarding temperature.”

Claude brought it close to his sword. “Can these be forged into weapons? I’ve heard that some knights of the realm have gemstone swords instead of the common iron ones we have.”

“No,” Wilbur replied. “That is, I am not sure.” He held the fire opal he had just gathered. “These are fragile and unfit for smelting. Their qualities are more for medicine. Although… if one can figure out a way to melt it without damaging its more stable properties…” he let the thought trail off.

When we had collected enough, Wilbur turned his full attention back to the pup again. She sat on the ground looking at him innocently.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Claude came to my rescue. “I could help take care of it. When I visit.”

“I suppose.” He raised his hands in defeat. “Fine. It’s not like I can stop you. Or her.” Wilbur marched back towards the tunnels, bulky, clacking, the shapes of the fire opals and cinder voids forming within the fabrics of his pockets and satchel.

He was happy enough when he strode off; satisfied that we got the ores needed to wake the everbanes.

Claude was holding the puppy for now and it kept looking at me and barking. I nudged Woodrow to go ahead as I grabbed Claude’s arm, preparing to guide him back out of the mountain.

Woodrow scratched her furry head, smiling down at her. He said to me, “So your reward is to keep her as a furry friend, eh? I suppose it is a welcoming, albeit noisy, presence in the dour monastery.”

“She won’t be the only one there to cause a ruckus,” I reminded him. The village of Kent will camp near our monastery, right in the granges. The land was spacious and more than adequate to house them. They would have to do without walls and wooden towers, but the dark forest is their protection.

When I turned around, Claude was watching me. He turned away quickly and recovered. He flashed me a smile. I softly wrapped my hand around his arm and took him through the dark slippery tunnel, out of the cave’s mouth, and back out under the night sky. The moon was still showing her pale face. As we were walking, I felt conscious that Claude must be growing weary of our silent exchanges away from him. But, no, I knew by now he would understand. He always seemed to.

Claude blinked when he saw the night sky. He placed the puppy on the ground where she crawled between my boots. He was unsure of where to go, looking at the path he came from. I closed my eyes and felt the movement of the dark forest. All was quiet. No direwolves were running around. As if for reassurance, the sweet pup barked happily.

“The forest shall take you home, Claude,” I said quietly.

He does not speak. He does not move, only staring at the path as his feet remain planted on the ground. I thought he must not have heard me. Suddenly, he turned around and hugged me close, his chin resting under my shoulder.

“I feel so much tonight,” he said. “I never got to go out this late at night. I never got to walk through those dark trees. I never got to ever be so close to Mount Lhottem. I thought that I would grow old never knowing what it looked like nearby, much less be inside it.” I felt him grip me tighter. “And I thought we would meet our end inside that cave. I never thought that I would see a direwolf from a story, as beautiful as the moon. And then… and then... Ryne…” I felt his breath expand his lungs and then deflate. “I don’t know, but wherever you are, the world is alive and strange and scary and wonderful. Everything is new.” He patted my back. “Take care, my friend.”

My arms were raised in midair, fingers curled in surprise, unsure if I should hug him back. No one, no boy my age, ever touched me so. Slowly, my arms wrapped around him He was so warm, his breaths and heartbeat steady.

“Take care, my friend,” I said back.

He smiled, nuzzled the pup, and paused. “What should you name her?”

“What?”

“She’s yours now. Every pet needs a name.”

Oh. I had not thought about that. I bent down and stared at those beady, patient eyes. But of course, what else would be more fitting to Gaelmar’s theme? “Ember,” I said easily.

“Amber?”

“Ember, like fire.”

Claude smiled. “A fitting name. I will see you back at Rothfield, Ember.” He patted her head one final time.

And he was off, the forest welcoming him. Please take care of him like you have always done, I prayed to whatever force there was in the forest. Woodrow clapped me on the back. I picked up Ember, her snout snuggled between my neck.

“So, what manner of beasts will be there for you to purify, I wonder?” Woodrow asked, appearing behind me from the shadows. But the question was left in the air, hovering like the snow and ash surrounding Mount Lhottem.

___

The calmness after the battle brought the reality of the destruction in the village of Kent. Everywhere was splintered wood, either from the wall, the collapsed towers, or the broken spears. They littered the site, resembling more like broken bones and severed arms. I shivered. I hid Ember under my cloak. Only a bit of her face poked out for air. None of the villagers noticed her as we passed them, too dour collecting and cleaning the debris and piling them a couple of feet away.

Since the vines had not collected us, we knew that I must invite the elders to our monastery to make it official.

I saw Agate first, hands on her hips, overseeing the cleanup, her shield was propped against her legs. She saw me entering the nonexistent gates and marched up to me.

“Thank the Saints,” she huffed. She shook her head and nodded at the wreckage. “We can’t repair that big of a damage, Ryne. We…” She breathed out slowly, looking at the ground before meeting my eyes. It must be difficult for her pride to ask for help.

I beat her to it. “The offer I made earlier awaits, elder Agate.”

“How timely, too.” Her tone was dry. “All my life I have lived here. I suppose it is… new to camp somewhere else. We promise not to be trouble, Brother. Not too loud during your prayers. I know the dedication of the clergy.”

“Thank you, elder.” I paused and scanned around. She saw me looking.

“Harlan is in his house tending to the other wounded. We’ve already moved the other villagers to his other huts as well. Your healer, Wilbur, is highly appreciated, but…” she closed her eyes and made a frustrated, sorrowful sound. “Even he cannot save the grievously injured. He is in my father's house. Go.”

Frowning, I went back to the elder’s house and upon entering, saw the crumpled mess of groaning, shivering bodies that we pulled from the grounds earlier. This was worse than the first time I saw them. They are so brave, every one of them, to be injured last night yet still choosing to fight.

Wilbur was bandaging a leg on the far end of the room, the torchlight from outside pointing towards his hunched figure on the wooden floor, still carrying the bulky weight of the newly harvested ores. He looked defeated as he saw me. He shook his head.

“I have no more healing tonics for wounds such as these. I only have some for illnesses plaguing the land, but not for grievous, fatal injuries. I went ahead and gave them the feverflukes in case an infection starts, but it is up to the natural resistance of their bodies to fight them off.” He whispered close to my ear, adding, “Some of them have not long.”

I had thought there were no casualties. But I suppose I was hopeful or foolish. I saw on the straw cots men and women fighters moaning and grunting. Five of them were bandaged up and smelled of the common oils; the natural organic remedies folks use for treatment.

I released Ember onto the floorboards and went to a man I recognized. He was slight of frame and pale. Jerome. He had a deep wound from his shoulder down to his chest. He shivered when I drew near. When he opened his eyes, he swallowed, lips dry. “I thought… I could help, but I…”

“Hush, brave fighter,” I said. I touched his forehead and wiped away the sweat. Ember sniffed him, her tail downcast. Slowly, she tugged at my sleeves and licked my fingers. I raised my brows at her.

Ember went to the opposite side of Jerome and laid her paws on the tip of his gash. And then, without warning, she glowed! A glow whose warmth and aura looked almost identical to my own. I had no strength in me; I was spent purifying and releasing Ember from her captivity. But she was adding her own strength to mine.

I do not know where she came from or her connection to Rothfield, or the Saints. But this power was unmistakably holy. She raised her glowing head at me, waiting. I touched Jerome’s forehead and placed my palm on his heart.

Heal, I thought.