—CHURCH—

The earth groaned in the middle of the night, a deep rumble that tore me from the grasp of sleep. I lurched upright, heart hammering in my chest as the tremors shook the ground beneath our feet. Ember, sensing the unrest, leapt into my lap, her small form trembling. I wrapped my arms around her, holding tight as the roots of the ancient oak above us swayed, dust falling like ghostly confetti from the ceiling.

The shaking ceased as abruptly as it had begun, leaving a stunned silence in its wake. I breathed deeply, feeling the tension in my muscles slowly loosen. Without a word, I stood and climbed the staircase, my hand pressing the torch lever. Through the flickering light, I glimpsed Brother Woodrow’s distinctive red hair as he moved like a specter among the settlers, his voice a soothing balm against the fear still hanging in the air.

“Calm down, it’s all right. Just the earth settling,” he murmured, palm out. “We’ve faced worse.”

The reassurance settled some, but I could see the unease lingering in their eyes. Wilbur emerged from the infirmary, his satchel clinking softly with glass vials as he approached me. He gripped my arm, his face pale but determined as we braced ourselves against another wave of shudders. The pews rattled, Gaelmar’s statue swaying dangerously, and I feared for just a moment that it might topple.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, the earth stilled once more.

“It’s over,” I murmured, more to myself than to Wilbur, but my voice wavered, a chill creeping down my spine. As I scanned the church for signs of injuries, a sound pierced the silence; the low, guttural howl of a beast. It was near.

The vision hit me like a bolt of lightning, sharp and clear. The shadowbeasts were prowling the forest, larger and more ferocious than ever before. Direwolves, but bigger and more ferocious than before, crashed through the underbrush, their fangs gnashing at branches that dared to slow them. Some of the dark trees fought back, their thick limbs lashing out and turning wolves to ash, but the beasts were relentless, pushing forward, heading straight for Rothfield town.

“Wilbur, gather the villagers here in the church,” I commanded, summoning a flame that sparked to life and lit every candle in the room. The church walls glowed in warm hues of gold and orange, but the comfort was short-lived. With a deep breath, I knelt before Gaelmar’s statue, trying to offer up a prayer strong enough to dispel the miasma creeping in. But my flame faltered, my breath coming in ragged gasps as the strain overwhelmed me.

“Ryne…” Wilbur’s voice, low and tense, broke through my concentration. He touched my shoulder gently, urging me to look up. The flames danced and shifted, painting images that were not of this room, but the continution of the vision. The direwolves surged down the hills, a tide of claws and teeth, their howls a chilling symphony of death.

“No…” I breathed, rising to my feet. I could see figures gathering in the square, soldiers and townsfolk alike, clutching spears and swords. And then the bells began to toll, their peals echoing through the valley. The howls ceased, replaced by the hushed murmurs of preparation. And screams.

Woodrow burst through the church doors, his face flushed, eyes wide. “I know that sound,” he said, voice tight with dread. “It’s a call to arms. They’ll rally everyone. Every able-bodied man, whether they want to fight or not. Even—”

“Claude,” I whispered, the name like a knife twisting in my chest. The thought of him out there, facing those monstrosities alone, made my heart clench painfully. I didn’t think, I just moved. Wilbur and Woodrow’s shouts blurred together as I ran for the door, channeling the flame into a short wall of fire that rose between us, a barrier to keep them from following. “I have to go to him,” I called over my shoulder, my voice breaking. “I’ll be careful, I swear!”

The fire flickered and died down, leaving only the two of them staring back at me. I can see their urge to pull me back. The earth trembled again, and this time shouts rang out from the village of Kent. I took a deep breath and met their eyes, pleading silently for their understanding.

“Go. Protect the people,” I urged. “You’re needed here if the direwolves come. I leave the monastery to your care.” I glanced at Woodrow, his face taut with worry, but he nodded sharply, rushing past me to rally the villagers.

“I’ll not be reckless, I promise,” I added. “I just… I need to see him. I’ll do my best without risking my life.”

“Ryne…” Wilbur’s voice was thick with pain as he tore his gaze away, hands trembling as he turned to help the villagers. I swallowed hard, the weight of his unspoken words pressing down on me.

“Ember, to me!” I called softly. She darted to my side, her small, fierce form set and ready.

The path outside was dark and treacherous, but I knew it by heart. The wind howled through the trees, carrying ash. My heart raced with every step, my mind a chaotic swirl of fear and hope. I’d promised myself I wouldn’t fall apart, wouldn’t let the terror overtake me.

But the thought of losing Claude…

I bit down on my lip, forcing the fear back. I have to find him. I pushed on, knowing that whatever lay ahead, I’d face it. For Claude. For Rothfield. And for the sliver of hope that we might have a future beyond this night.

—ROTHFIELD TOWN—

Keeping to the shadows, Ember and I crept toward the town square. From beneath the twisted boughs of the trees, the low, guttural growls of shadowbeasts reverberated through the crisp night air. My pulse quickened as a direwolf prowled closer, its hulking form shifting through the underbrush. With a focused flick of my wrist, I summoned a bright sphere of flame and hurled it directly at the beast’s muzzle. The wolf howled and staggered back, its snarl cut short as the fire engulfed its face, igniting its fur in a flash.

My breath hitched. Realization struck like a thunderclap. I had forgotten. Fire. They burn easily. Before I could conjure another flame, a second direwolf streaked through the trees, eyes glinting with feral hunger. Ember snarled beside me, her fur bristling as she let loose a burst of flame of her own that seared the shadow wolf’s pelt. Without missing a beat, I grabbed her by the scruff and sprinted deeper into the chaotic town square.

The scene was bedlam. People darted in all directions, shrieking in terror. Townsfolk pounded on doors that refused to yield, while others frantically dragged children from the open streets. Ragged elders, looking like frail beggars, threw themselves over the little ones, shielding them with trembling limbs. I ducked low, using the trees for cover, my heart twisting at the sight of frightened eyes staring up from the dirt-streaked faces of children.

For now, the direwolves had yet to breach the town wall, but the defenses were crumbling. Soldiers, distinguishable by their iron helmets and ragged armor, manned the barricades alongside townsfolk wielding nothing but wooden sticks and hastily fashioned spears. There was no discipline, no order. Just desperation.

Sinking to my knees, I clasped my hands over my chest, feeling the warmth of the flame coiling within me. “Gaelmar, show me where he is,” I whispered. The flame obeyed. It surged forward, leaping from torch to torch until it landed in an alley not far off. But before I could shadowstep, a scream rent the air. Wood splintered, followed by the sonorous blare of a warning horn.

“The wall has fallen! The beasts are coming!” The panicked shout echoed from the belltower above. Soldiers scrambled into the streets, pounding their shields together, rallying themselves to face the coming storm. My blood froze as I watched a hulking direwolf barrel through the breached wall, straight into the heart of Rothfield. Men shouted orders; weapons clattered. Women’s screams tore through the night.

I forced myself to keep moving, clinging to the trail of the flame like a lifeline. Fear knotted in my stomach, threatening to overwhelm me. I darted through alleyways, squeezed into the shadows of abandoned carts. Then, a soft whimper pulled me up short. I looked down and found a dusty-faced child huddled beside an unconscious old man. The man’s head lolled, blood trickling from a gash above his brow.

Crouching beside him, I pressed a hand to his wound and murmured a prayer. Heat radiated from my palm, sinking into his flesh. The bleeding stopped; bruises lightened. The man sagged, his grip slackening on the child, but the boy clutched at his sleeve, eyes wide and fearful. I managed a small, strained smile and pointed down the alleyway. “Stay hidden. I’ll keep the beasts away.”

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Leaving them behind, I followed the flickering trail of flame until it brought me to the town square. Claude stood in the center, sword held ready, his jaw set with grim determination. Makeshift barricades of barrels and ruined carts littered the square, offering little more than a symbolic defense.

“Flee, boy!” A townsman shoved Claude aside, his face a mask of anger and fear. “Go back to your farm and protect your mother!”

Claude’s voice, calm yet unyielding, rose over the din. “My mother is here. We were summoned by Lord Bahram.”

The man cursed under his breath, his knuckles whitening around his spear. “Then may the Four Saints guard you, lad. You know how to fight?”

Claude nodded, the set of his shoulders firm. “Aye.”

The townsman eyed the sword Claude carried, recognizing the fine craftsmanship of the blade. “Good fortune that you brought your father’s sword. Use it well.”

With a fierce roar, the man charged into the fray, thrusting his spear into a wolf’s belly. From the belltower, archers rained flaming arrows down, setting the carts ablaze and driving the beasts back. I lashed out with my own flame, sending a bolt streaking toward a wolf’s face. The creature yelped, its pelt catching fire as it careened into another.

It seemed we might hold the square. Then a greater direwolf emerged from the shadows. Twice the size of its kin, it reared back and howled. The sound reverberated through the square like a death knell. Soldiers faltered, their weapons slipping from nerveless fingers. Panic gripped the air.

“No!” I shouted as the beast lunged forward, jaws clamping around a man’s leg. It dragged him down, the rest of the pack descending on him in a frenzy. My gaze snapped to Claude. He stumbled, his legs giving way. Three wolves closed in—too fast for him to rise, too many for him to fend off.

Panic roared through me, but I pushed it back. I remembered Woodrow’s teachings, Agate’s calm voice: Control your power. Do not let it control you. Taking a deep breath, I steadied my hand on Ember’s fur and released it. A great sphere of flame blossomed in front of Claude, shielding him from the wolves’ snapping jaws. The holy fire consumed them in an instant, reducing fur and flesh to ash.

Claude staggered to his feet, his expression one of awe and bewilderment. For a moment, our eyes met across the battlefield. His lips moved, as if to speak, but there was no time. The greater direwolf snarled at my shieldflame, its eyes blazing with hate. Just then, a flaming arrow struck it in the eye.

The crowd roared as the beast toppled. But more wolves took its place. Claude squared his shoulders, shaking off the daze. With a powerful swing, he cleaved through three wolves in one fluid motion, his sword a blur of silver and firelight. The men around him shouted in support, falling back to give him space as he cut down the remaining beasts.

“More of them are coming from the east!” a soldier yelled. “But the forest... it’s like it’s... protecting us?”

“What nonsense is that?” the commander barked. “Are you seeing ghosts, lad?”

“I don’t know!” the soldier stammered. “It must be a trick of the moon. I thought I saw pale figures fighting in the trees.”

The commander waved it off. “Whatever it is, bring more flames! We’ll drive them back.” He clapped Claude on the shoulder. “Good work, lad. But stay here. Hold the line and protect the people.”

Claude nodded, determination hardening his features. His sword moved with deadly precision as he finished off the stragglers, his stance sure and unyielding amidst the chaos. I watched from the shadows, pride and something deeper warming my chest. Even in the firelight’s harsh glare, he moved like a natural, his blade cleaving through the darkness.

But then Ember’s growl drew my attention. The greater direwolf, the one I thought slain, slunk through the smoke, using the haze as cover. Its gaze was fixed on Claude, hungry, vengeful.

“Behind you!” I shouted.

Claude turned just as the beast lunged. My arm shot out, fingers trembling with power. The sword in Claude’s hand flared to life, glowing brilliant blue. He stared at it in wonder, but only for a heartbeat. Then, with a powerful thrust, he drove the blade straight into the beast’s skull. The direwolf crumbled into ash.

Exhaustion washed over me. The heat inside me flickered, guttered out. Stumbling back into the shadows, I called Ember close and slumped against the wall, my vision blurring. Darkness closed in as I murmured a final prayer, letting it carry my thoughts to Claude, wherever he was.

The world slipped away.

—DREAM—

"I hope you have not forgotten about me, little brother," a voice called out, deep as the earth, resonating like distant thunder.

"I would never," I replied, though my words seemed to dissipate into the oppressive darkness surrounding me. The figure I spoke to was hidden in the void, yet the voice pulled at my chest with a familiar gravity, drawing me closer and closer. It whispered to me again, like wind through cavernous halls.

"I knew you had it in you. I always told Wilbur you were strong. Now, look at you. Wielding a power that can heal and save the world. Oh, Ryne. Let me see you that way."

"Tell me where you are, brother."

But no answer came. Only silence and darkness. Yet, I found myself moving. Though I had no legs, I ran and ran through the emptiness, desperate to find the source of that voice. Something heavy and powerful throbbed in my chest like a distant drum, and the air tasted of metal and storm.

"In the mountains," the voice finally echoed. "I will call you. Hurry, Ryne. Hurry before I hurt anyone else."

—CHURCH—

I woke in a haze, my head pounding like a blacksmith’s hammer on iron. The infirmary was dimly lit, shadows bending around a lone candle flame on the table beside my bed. Blinking, I saw familiar faces flicker into view. Woodrow, his arms crossed, a sharp glint in his eyes. Wilbur, his gentle hands supporting my back as I struggled to sit up. Agate, Harlan... and Claude.

Claude stood at the far edge of the room, his posture tense, his gaze fixed on me. His expression was firm, as if he’d held back a torrent of worry behind that hardened stare. My chest tightened at the sight of him. I opened my mouth, scrambling to find something to say.

“I can explain,” I blurted, but Wilbur’s soft voice cut through the air.

“Claude carried you on his back once the direwolves retreated.”

I blinked, trying to process. “Are they gone?”

“For now,” Claude replied quietly, his voice like a balm on a wound. He moved closer, and the others slowly withdrew, sensing the need for privacy. Soon, it was just the two of us.

“What were you thinking, going into Rothfield like that?” His tone was stern, yet his eyes softened, lingering on the bandage at my temple.

“What were you thinking,” I countered, heat rising in my chest, “charging into the town square to fight those beasts?”

“To protect my family,” he said, the words a stubborn truth that settled between us like an unmovable stone.

“And I went to make sure you were safe,” I shot back.

“You could have died!”

“So could you!”

The tension broke, and we both chuckled, the sound light and brittle, like shattering glass. For a moment, the weight of fear lifted. Then, w ejust stared at each other. Understanding flickered in his gaze. “Ryne, I can see you have your secrets, but... I want you to know, whatever they are, I’ll stand by you. I don’t need to know everything. Just that you’re safe. That’s enough.”

I swallowed hard, the words sticking in my throat like thorns. Instead of speaking, I reached forward and pulled him into a tight embrace, feeling the steady beat of his heart against mine. He tensed at first, then relaxed, his hand coming up to rest against my back. I breathed in the scent of ash and sweat and felt a knot of relief loosen inside me.

“Is Lydia and Annette all right?” I asked softly as I pulled away.

“They’re fine,” he said, a small smile tugging at his lips. “They waited out the onslaught at a friend’s house. Ma will probably tie me to a chair once she hears I was in the thick of the fight.”

I smiled back, heart warming at the thought. “I’d feel the same way.”

He squeezed my shoulder gently before stepping back. “I’ll leave you to rest. I’ll come back as soon as I’m able.”

With a final, lingering glance, he turned and left the room. The door swung shut softly, and then all four of my visitors flooded back in, their voices overlapping.

“He was so brave, bringing you back.”

“That was reckless, Brother Ryne. Admirable, but reckless.”

I held up a hand, and the room fell silent. “Agate, you first.”

“The direwolves were bigger this time. Smarter. We almost lost three men, and if it weren’t for Gaelmar’s flame illuminating the church, we would’ve lost more.” Agate shivered, running a hand through his hair as if trying to shake off the memory.

“You two were seen,” I said, turning to Wilbur and Woodrow. “The soldiers saw you in the battle.”

Woodrow nodded, expression grim. “We realized too late that the few wolves that came near the settlement were just a distraction. Their true aim was Rothfield Town. But the dark forest hemmed us in, letting us fight only at the edges. We did what we could.”

“You did well.” I tried to smile, but weariness tugged at my limbs. “And... I didn’t lose control.”

Woodrow blinked in surprise, and then a slow grin spread across his face. He clapped me on the back, and I winced. “You fought well, Brother Ryne.”

“Thank you,” I murmured. “And your men?”

“They’re resting in the church nave,” Agate replied. “Brother Wilbur treated their wounds. They’ll be moved here as soon as they’re stable enough to walk.” His gaze shifted to Wilbur, a sly grin forming. “Though it’s odd, isn’t it? Our dear healer here flinching at the sight of blood.”

Wilbur’s smile was tight, but he nodded curtly. “It’s an old affliction. One I manage. Let’s focus on the injured.”

The group left me with well-wishes, and I leaned back against the pillows. I could still see Claude’s worried expression, the way he’d stood guard over me like a sentinel. A strange warmth settled in my chest, half comforting, half frightening.

“We need to stop the source,” I murmured, my mind drifting back to the voice in the dream. “There’s something in Mount Lhottem. A force tied to the beasts and the earthquakes. We have to investigate.”

Wilbur’s voice cut through my reverie, firm and unyielding. “Not until you’ve regained your strength.”

There was no arguing with him, not in this state. I nodded, the fight draining out of me, and slumped back into the bedding.

Woodrow gave a nod to Wilbur, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he retrieved his wooden pipes. “I’ll check on the people of Kent,” he murmured, then slipped from the room, his silhouette fading into the darkened corridor.

Wilbur sat beside me, handing over a bowl of steaming porridge. He watched silently as I lifted the spoon to my lips, his gaze steady and reassuring. From the hallway, the soft notes of Woodrow’s music floated through the air like a lullaby, filling the quiet spaces left in the aftermath of battle.