The wind at the Wolf's Den was always cold, but today, it carried a different scent. It smelled of ozone and high, thin air.
The Den guards, usually bored, were standing rigid at the main gate.
A group was approaching up the winding mountain path. They didn't walk like Wolves, heavy and grounded. They moved lightly, almost skipping over the stones. They wore cloaks of gray and white feathers, and their eyes were sharp, constantly scanning the horizon.
It was the Eagle Tribe.
"Halt!" the Wolf guard barked, crossing his spear. "This is Wolf territory. State your business."
The leader of the Eagles stepped forward. He was a tall man with a face weathered by the sun and wind, his hair a shocking white, though he moved with the strength of a young man.
"We heard a whisper on the wind," the man said, his voice rasped. "A whisper from the lowlands. We are here to ask the Wolf if he is a liar."
To understand the tension at the gate, one had to understand the history of the High Peaks.
Sixteen years ago, there were no "tribes." There was only The Pack.
All the villages—Wolf, Eagle, Bear, Snake, and Owl—were united. They were a single, unstoppable force that kept the mountains safe. And at the center of that Pack, the one who held them all together, was Evergreen.
But when Evergreen vanished, the Pack shattered.
Without their leader, the tribes turned on each other. They were divided not by land, but by belief. They all had a different theory about why their leader had left them.
The Bear Tribe believed Evergreen had betrayed them. They thought she sold them out for power. They became bitter and angry.
The Snake Tribe believed she disliked them. They thought she grew tired of their weakness. They became secretive and jealous.
The Owl Tribe believed she was simply tired of fighting. They thought she left to find peace. They became pacifists, hiding in the deep woods.
The Eagle Tribe believed she had died. They thought no warrior, not even her, could survive the Great War. They mourned her as a fallen god.
Only the Wolf Tribe believed she was alive. They were the only ones who refused to grieve. They were the "fools" who waited for a ghost.
For sixteen years, the Eagles had looked down on the Wolves with pity. They thought the Wolves were chasing a fantasy.
Until today.
The gate creaked open.
Master Durai walked out. He was not wearing his armor. He wore his simple training robes. Master Sebastian walked beside him; his face unreadable.
Durai looked at the Eagle leader. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife.
"Kael," Durai said, his voice deep and steady. "You have come far from your peaks."
Master Kael, the Eagle leader, did not bow. He looked at his old friend with desperate, burning eyes.
"One of my spies returned from the south," Kael said, his voice shaking. "He heard... rumors. Rumors of a name."
He took a step forward, ignoring the guards' spears.
"Durai. Look me in the eye. Is it true? Is... is she alive?"
The entire mountainside seemed to hold its breath. The Eagle warriors behind Kael gripped their weapons. The Wolf guards tightened their stance.
Durai looked at Kael. He saw the pain in his friend's eyes. The pain of sixteen years of mourning.
"Kael," Durai said softly. "Let me ask you a question. Is there anyone in this world... anyone at all... who could kill her head-on?"
Kael froze.
A sob broke from Kael's throat.
It was a raw, ugly sound. The Master of the Eagle Tribe, a man who could spot a mouse from a mile away, covered his face with his hands and started to cry.
He dropped to his knees in the snow. "She... she's alive... she's really..."
The Eagle warriors looked on in shock. They had never seen their master weep.
Master Durai, the Stone Wolf, watched him.
And then, the ice on Durai's face cracked.
A slow, graceful, genuine smile spread across his face. It was a smile of relief, of shared burden.
He stepped forward and pulled Kael to his feet, embracing him.
"How are you, old friend?" Durai whispered. "It has been too long."
An hour later, the mood in the Den had shifted completely.
The two Masters were in the war room, drinking hot tea.
"When will he return?" Kael asked, wiping his eyes. "Your Wolf. The boy."
"He will only return with Evergreen," Durai said, looking at the map. "That was his order."
"And you have confirmation?"
"We do," Sebastian added. "The boy sent a message. It was... chaotic. But clear. She is there. We have a theory that she might be held captive."
Kael let out a long breath. "Then the Eagles are with you, Durai. If the Wolf is hunting, the Eagle will be his eyes. The Pack... might be forming again."
Outside, in the mess hall, things were less... poetic.
The Wolf disciples and the Eagle disciples were sitting across from each other, eating stew.
It was awkward.
A young Wolf, chewing on a bone, stared at an Eagle warrior.
"Why are you wearing feathers?" the Wolf asked bluntly. "Are you a bird?"
The Eagle warrior, who was delicately picking at his food, scoffed. "It is for aerodynamics. We fight in the high winds. Why are you wearing... that?" He pointed at the Wolf's heavy fur cloak. "You smell like a wet dog."
"It's wolf fur!" the Wolf shouted. "It's manly!"
"It's fleas," the Eagle countered.
"At least I don't look like a giant chicken!"
"Chicken?!" The Eagle stood up. "I have the vision of a hawk! I can see a coin on the ground from the top of the tower!"
"Yeah?" The Wolf stood up too. "Well, I can smell what you had for breakfast yesterday! And it smells like... birdseed!"
Within seconds, the two groups were shouting insults.
"Ground-crawlers!"
"Cloud-heads!"
"Flea-bags!"
"Pigeon-brains!"
Suddenly, a young female Wolf threw a bread roll. It hit an Eagle square in the forehead.
Silence.
The Eagle slowly wiped the crumbs from his face. He picked up a spoonful of mashed potatoes.
"This is a call for WAR," he whispered.
And the mess hall exploded into the greatest food fight in the history of the mountain.
High above the mess hall, perched on the thick wooden rafters, there were five figures.
They were dressed in midnight-blue cloaks that seemed to absorb the light. They wore soft-soled boots that made zero sound. They were the Owl Clan.
While the Eagles had marched in through the front door with pomp and circumstance, the Owls had infiltrated the Den three days ago. They were inside the walls. They were under the floorboards. They were the masters of stealth, intelligence, and the silent kill—disciplines passed down from Evergreen's assassination techniques.
The leader of the Owl squad, a young man named Jiro with glasses that slid down his nose, looked down at the chaos below.
"Pathetic," Jiro whispered, adjusting his glasses with a gloved finger. "Look at them. Wolves and Eagles, throwing carbohydrates like children. They lack discipline. They lack the Silent Mind."
Beside him, a female Owl nodded sagely. "Indeed. True power is stillness. We are the watchers. We are the voids. We are—"
SPLAT.
A stray bowl of tomato soup, launched by a particularly strong Wolf arm, defied gravity. It arched high into the rafters and landed squarely on Jiro's head.
The red liquid dripped down his midnight-blue cloak. It dripped onto his glasses. It dripped onto his nose.
There was a long silence in the rafters.
The female Owl stared at her friend. A small, high-pitched giggle escaped her lips.
Jiro slowly wiped the tomato chunk from his eye. "You find this amusing, Aria?"
"I... no, sir," Aria choked out, her shoulders shaking. "It's just... the Silent Mind is... very red today."
"Do not mock the—"
THWACK.
A large scoop of mashed potatoes, flung by an Eagle, hit Aria in the side of the head. She slowly fell over sideways on the rafter, clinging to the wood.
Jiro looked at her. "The Silent Mind seems... lumpy."
Aria sat up. Her eyes were no longer wise. They were furious.
"They ruined my cloak," she hissed. She pulled a handful of throwing knives from her belt.
"Aria, no!" Jiro hissed. "We are unseen! We are—"
SPLAT. A partially eaten turkey leg hit Jiro in the chest.
Jiro stared at the grease stain. He looked down at the brawling Wolves and Eagles.
"Stealth is compromised," Jiro announced, grabbing a loose plank of wood. "ENGAGE!"
With a synchronized war cry, five "silent assassins" dropped from the ceiling directly into the center of the food fight, screaming like banshees. The Wolves and Eagles stopped for one second, confused, and then happily started throwing food at the new targets.
Meanwhile, near the South Armory.
The corridors here were quiet. Or they were supposed to be.
Charlotte was doing her rounds. She was checking the inventory of the new rifles. She walked with a purpose, her boots clicking on the stone.
She stopped.
She didn't hear anything. She didn't see anything. But the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. It was the Wolf instinct. She was being watched.
She spun around, her hand dropping to the pistol at her hip.
"Come out," she commanded. "I know you're there."
For a second, nothing happened. Then, a section of the stone wall seemed to peel away.
It was a girl. She was wearing a camouflage cloak that matched the Den's stone perfectly. She was for sure a spy, tasked with mapping the armory. She had been holding her breath for a few minutes.
The girl froze, realizing she'd been spotted.
"Who are you?" Charlotte asked, her eyes narrowing. "You're not a Wolf."
The girl panic-blinked. She had been trained in 1000 ways to kill a man with a spoon, but she had skipped the class on "lying under pressure."
"I... I am..." the girl stammered. She saw the feather on the floor dropped by an Eagle earlier. "I am an Eagle!"
Charlotte raised an eyebrow. "An Eagle? In a stone-cloak? Hiding in a wall?"
"Yes!" the girl squeaked. "I am... practicing my... vision! Eagle vision! I have to... stare at rocks! To make my eyes... strong!"
She widened her eyes comically, trying to look like she was staring intensely at the wall.
"I am staring so hard right now," the girl added helpfully.
Charlotte stared at her. The lie was so stupid it was almost impressive.
"Right," Charlotte said slowly. "You're staring at rocks. In the dark. To improve your vision."
"Exactly! It's a... secret Eagle technique! Squawk?" she added, unsurely.
Charlotte sighed. She knew this wasn't an Eagle. Eagles were loud and annoying. This girl was quiet and weird. But she didn't sense malice. Just... awkwardness.
"Fine," Charlotte said, releasing her gun. "Just... don't stare at the guns. Stare at the ceiling. It's more interesting."
The girl in a hurry tried to walk away.
She slumped against the wall, falling on the floor. "Nailed it," Charlotte whispered.
Back in the War Room, Master Durai and Master Kael were trying to discuss strategy.
"The path to the academy is blocked by guard 24/7," Durai said, pointing to the map. "We will need—"
CRASH.
Something heavy hit the heavy oak door of the meeting room from the outside.
Then, a voice: "I WILL FEED YOU YOUR OWN FEATHERS!"
Then, another voice: "MY CLOAK IS DRY-CLEAN ONLY, YOU BARBARIAN!"
Master Kael looked at the door. "Is that... my Lieutenant?"
Master Durai sighed, rubbing his temples. "I believe he is fighting with one of... my wolves?"
Suddenly, the door flew open.
A young Wolf disciple slid across the floor on a slick patch of gravy, spinning like a curling stone, and came to a stop right at Master Durai's feet. He was covered in flour.
He looked up at the two terrifying Masters.
"Updates?" Durai asked calmly.
"We're winning, Master!" the boy chirped, gave a thumbs up, and scrambled back out the door.
Durai looked at Kael. Kael looked at Durai.
"I missed this," Kael said, smiling.
Durai agreed.
Back in the War Room, the food fight was a distant roar. Master Durai and Master Kael sat with Master Sebastian, sipping tea that had gone slightly cold.
"We must do something," Kael said, tapping the table. "When she returns... it cannot be just a nod at the gate. It must be grand. A celebration. A signal to the mountains that the Queen has returned."
"A feast?" Durai suggested.
"Too simple," Kael scoffed. "Wolves just eat. Eagles... we soar. We need something permanent. A monument. A testament to sixteen years of faith."
They debated ideas. A new tower? A carved mountain face? A bonfire the size of a house?
In the corner, Master Sebastian was quiet. He wasn't looking at the map. He was looking at the guards standing by the door.
There were four of them. Wolf guards. They stood perfectly still.
Too still.
Wolf guards fidgeted. They scratched. They sighed. They were alive.
These guards were statues.
Sebastian set his tea cup down.
"Gentlemen," Sebastian said, his voice light but his eyes razor-sharp. "It seems that we forgot to welcome one more person."
Durai and Kael stopped talking. They looked at Sebastian, then followed his gaze to the guards.
The air in the room shifted. The pressure dropped. Everyone stopped, trying to sense if there was anyone from outside their packs.
One of the guards, the one closest to the map table, slowly reached up. He unclasped his heavy wolf-head helmet and pulled it off.
He wasn't a Wolf.
He was a man with pale skin, eyes like slits, and a smile that was all sharp angles. He wore a high collar that hid a tattoo on his neck.
It was the leader of the Snake Clan.
His name was Malachi.
"Greetings, Masters," Malachi said, his voice smooth as oil sliding over glass. "I was about to offer an idea about the token of appreciation that you wanted to give to Evergreen. May I?"
SHING.
CLICK.
In less than a second, the room transformed.
All the masters, without a second thought in their minds, held swords, knives, and guns to his head.
Master Durai had a heavy broadsword resting against Malachi's throat.
Master Kael had a dagger pressed to the back of Malachi's neck.
Sebastian was holding a flintlock pistol aimed directly at Malachi's heart.
The other three "guards" in the room instantly drew weapons—curved, wicked daggers—and leveled them at the Masters. They were Snakes, too.
Malachi didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just held that light, annoying smile.
"I don't think treating your guests like this is a good sign for neighbors," Malachi drawled, eyeing the broadsword at his throat.
"It is also not nice for a neighbor to spy on their neighbors," Durai said confidently.
"Why are you here?" Kael asked, pressing the dagger harder against the Snake's skin.
"I heard that you are bringing Evergreen back?" Malachi answered.
"Yes," Sebastian answered from behind his gun.
"And you invited the Eagle clan for a..." Malachi looked disdainfully at the lukewarm cups on the table. "...a tea party. We wanted to come as well. We felt... left out."
"When did you infiltrate the Den?" Durai asked.
"Right before the Eagles' came," Malachi smiled.
Durai's grip on the sword tightened. "Do you have anything else to say before we kill you?"
"Yes," Malachi answered instantly. "About the welcome gift. How about we make a gold statue of her...?"
There was a long, stunned silence.
Sebastian looked at Durai. Durai looked at Kael. Kael looked at Malachi.
Slowly, very slowly, Sebastian lowered his pistol.
"You know," Sebastian said, looking at Durai, "that is a fine idea."
"It is," Durai admitted, lowering his sword. "Gold holds up well in the snow."
The tension released instantly. All weapons were lowered.
"Sit," Durai said, gesturing to an empty chair. "Tea?"
"Please," Malachi said, smoothing his hair. "But do try to get it hot next time."
The War Room was now a strange tea party of deadly rivals. Durai, Kael, and Malachi were sitting around the map table, the tension slowly dissolving into the steam of their cups.
Durai took a sip, grimaced at the cold tea, and slammed the cup down. He tallied the room. "We have the Eagles," he grunted, nodding to Kael. "We have the Snakes," he added, eyeing Malachi with mild distaste. "Or as I call them, the 'Grass-Crawlers'." "I prefer 'Terrestrial Strategists,'" Malachi corrected, unbothered. "Right. Grass-Crawlers," Durai ignored him. He turned to Sebastian. "We're still missing some people. We summoned the Owls. And the Owls were supposed to drag the Bear Claws out of their caves." Durai leaned back, the wood of his chair straining under his bulk. "So, where the fuck are they?"
As if on cue, the heavy oak door creaked open.
A man stood there. Or rather, a sculpture of misery stood there.
It was Jiro.
Usually, Jiro was a picture of elegance—midnight-blue cloak, pristine gloves, perfectly combed hair.
Now, he looked like he had been dipped in a vat of leftovers.
His cloak was dripping with brown gravy. A large, soggy crouton was stuck to his forehead. His glasses were askew, and he was wiping something that looked suspiciously like pumpkin mash from his ear.
The room went silent. Even Malachi looked impressed.
"Greetings," Jiro said, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.
"Jiro," Durai said, trying very hard not to smile. "You... made it."
"I was delayed," Jiro hissed, peeling the crouton off his face and flicking it onto the floor. "Your Wolves, Durai... they are pure barbarians. Animals. Who throws a leg of lamb as a projectile? It is a waste of protein!"
Sebastian covered his mouth with his hand, his shoulders shaking. "Jiro... my friend..."
Jiro glared at him. "Do not speak."
"Did you..." Sebastian couldn't help it. "Did you lose the food fight?"
"SHUT UP!" Jiro snapped, his composure finally breaking. "Tactical retreat! It was a tactical retreat! The mashed potatoes... they were everywhere... it was a sticky nightmare..."
He stormed to the table and fell into a chair, looking like a wet, angry bird.
Durai cleared his throat, bringing the room back to order. "Well. You are here. The Owls are accounted for."
He looked past Jiro, at the open door. The hallway was empty.
Durai's face grew serious. "You are here alone?"
Jiro sighed, the anger leaving him. He pulled a handkerchief from his pocket—miraculously clean—and began to wipe his glasses.
"Yes," Jiro answered quietly. "I went to the Caves myself. I spoke to the Bear Master."
"And?" Kael asked.
"The Bear Claw Clan was not interested," Jiro said, placing his glasses back on his nose. "They did not ask if she was alive. They did not ask when she was coming."
Jiro looked up; his eyes sad behind the lenses.
"For them... Evergreen is still a betrayer. They said if she returns, she returns as an enemy and leaves as a dead body."
A heavy silence fell over the room. The atmosphere changed.
The Pack was gathering. But one of its strongest limbs was missing. And worse... it might be fighting against them.