The fluorescent lights of the hospital hallway hummed with a cold, electric sound. It was 4:00 AM. Linda sat on a hard plastic chair outside the Emergency Ward. She was still wearing her coat. now stained with mud and dust. Her perfect hair was a mess. She looked small, exhausted, and completely out of place. She had been there all night.
The double doors at the end of the hall burst open. Harry, Hazel, and Margot came running in, flanked by a few other students who had heard the rumors. They were breathless, their faces pale with worry. They spotted Linda. "How are they?" Harry gasped, skidding to a stop. The question struck Linda like a needle. She looked up, her eyes red-rimmed. "Emily... Emily is fine," Linda whispered, her voice trembling. "She's resting in Room 304. It was... just exhaustion. And a head wound." "And Eiden?" Hazel asked, her voice sharp with fear. Linda looked at the closed doors of the Emergency Ward. Her expression crumbled. "His condition... is very rough. He was shot. And... and he lost so much blood." She said it not with pride or arrogance but with genuine, shaking concern.
Harry wiped his eyes, his glasses fogging up. "He... he can't die. He won't die, right?" Margot was openly crying, clutching Hazel's hand. Hazel, the stoic analyst, looked like she was holding back a scream. It was a strange sight. Eiden had recruited them with blackmail, bribes, and manipulation. They were supposed to be his "pawns." But as they stood there, terrified for him, it was clear that something had changed. The bonds built on tricks had hardened into something real. They weren't assets anymore. They were friends.
The heavy doors of the Emergency Ward swung open.
A doctor, an older man with gray hair and a face lined with stress, stepped out. He pulled off his surgical mask, looking down at a clipboard. He looked tense. Confused.
The hallway went deadly silent.
Harry was the first to break it. "How is he?"
The doctor looked up, blinking as if surprised to see them. He looked at the terrified faces of the students.
"He..." The doctor paused, frowning. "He is completely out of danger. His vitals are stable. He's sleeping."
A collective gasp of relief swept through the group like a physical wave.
"Oh, thank god!" Margot sobbed.
"He made it," Harry whispered, leaning against the wall for support.
Linda covered her face with her hands and burst into tears—not of fear, but of pure, overwhelming joy. She didn't wait for another word. She jumped up and ran down the hall toward Room 304, needing to tell Emily.
But the doctor didn't smile. He was still staring at his clipboard, his frown deepening.
At that moment, heavy boots echoed in the hall.
Maverick Cronus strode in. He was still in his uniform, though he had cleaned the blood from his hands. He looked like a man walking into a funeral.
He saw the doctor.
"Doc," Maverick said, his voice low. "How is the boy?"
"He is fine, Officer," the doctor said.
Maverick let out a breath he felt he'd been holding for hours. "Good. That's... good."
"Is it?" the doctor asked.
Maverick froze. "What do you mean?"
The doctor stepped closer, lowering his voice so the students wouldn't hear.
"Officer... that boy was shot in the back. He had three broken ribs. His hand... it was burned down to the muscle tissue. He had lost nearly forty percent of his blood volume."
"I know," Maverick said. "I was there."
"Then you should know," the doctor said, his eyes wide with a professional, scientific fear, "that he should be dead. Or in a coma. But he's not. His clotting factor... his cell regeneration... I've never seen anything like it. The burn on his hand is already scarring over. In hours."
The doctor looked at the door to the ward.
"The problem isn't that he's hurt, Officer. The problem is that he's fine. I could never imagine a boy of his age surviving something like this. Medically speaking... he is not normal."
Maverick stared at the doctor. A cold chill went down his spine.
They are killing machines, his father had said. They are not human.
Maverick didn't know what to say. He couldn't explain it.
"He's... a strong kid," Maverick muttered, a weak lie.
He stepped around the doctor and walked down the hall toward Emily's room, the sound of his own footsteps feeling too loud in the quiet hospital.
It turned evening. The hospital grew quiet, the silence only broken by the distant hum of the city and the beep of monitors.
All the students had left. Even Emily, who had fought tooth and nail to stay, had been practically carried away by Maverick. The doctor was firm: Eiden needed two more days of absolute rest.
Eiden lay in the dark, staring at the ceiling. The pain medication made his head swim, but his mind was racing. "What was I thinking? he chastised himself. Going berserk like that. Tearing through a building with an axe? That is not how a wolf works. I could have blown my cover entirely."
"How have you not blown it yet?"
A voice came from the shadows near the window.
Eiden tensed, his hand instinctively reaching for the knife on the table, but stopped. He knew that voice.
Liam was standing in the corner, arms crossed, blending perfectly with the dark. Noah was perched on the windowsill like a gargoyle, eating an apple he'd stolen from a nurse's station.
Eiden tried to sit up. His ribs screamed in protest. "How... ahh..." He gritted his teeth against the pain. "Lie down, fool," Liam said, stepping into the dim light of the streetlamps outside. "Are you okay, Noah?" Eiden asked, seeing Noah.
"I should be asking you that!" Noah said around a mouthful of apple. "You were the one fighting like a kangaroo and getting shot! I just took a little nap on the floor."
"No," Eiden answered, settling back against the pillow. "I am fine."
Liam stepped forward to the foot of the bed. He looked at Eiden—really looked at him. There was no longer disdain in his eyes. There was respect. But there was also worry.
"Well," Liam said, a small smirk touching his lips. "Your girlfriend is safe. You happy?"
"She is not my girlfriend," Eiden corrected instantly. "She's just... a friend. A complication."
"Yeah, right. Right," Liam said, clearly not believing him. "Whatever you say, Devil."
Liam's face grew serious. "So. About the mission. Should we abort?"
Eiden looked at him. "Abort?"
"Look at you, Eiden," Liam said, gesturing to the bandages. "You look hurt like hell. You nearly died. And what do we have? We don't have much info on Evergreen yet. If Master Durai sees you like this... he won't let you continue. He'll pull you out."
Eiden forced himself to sit up, ignoring the fire in his side. His eyes were intense. "Maverick Cronus." Liam paused. "What?" "That's the name," Eiden said. "That's the lead." "You mean Emily's brother? The soldier?" "Yeah," Eiden said. "I got intel. The spy... the one who died in Bletchworth... his report said he saw Evergreen on the grounds of the academy. And he saw Maverick with her."
Liam frowned. "How can you be sure? How can anyone be sure? None of us have ever seen Evergreen. Only the Masters and the Elders remember how she looks."
Noah hopped down from the window. "Yeah! If only they came on this mission! Master Durai could have just looked at her and said, 'Yep, that's her!' We could have found her way sooner."
"It's true," Eiden said, his voice heavy. "If the Masters came, they could identify her in a second. But that's the problem."
He looked at his friends.
"They are not what they used to be. Time has taken its toll on them. Their skills... their speed... they are fading."
Noah nodded solemnly. "If they got into a fight like we did today... against forty men with guns... they would most likely be crushed."
"Exactly," Eiden said. "We are the new blood. We have to do what they can't."
Liam sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, you two are not wrong. The old wolves are losing their teeth." He looked back at Eiden. "So, about this Maverick. You think he is the key to finding her?"
"I don't know that," Eiden admitted. "But I do understand that I am on the right track. The family... the secrets... it all centers around The Cronus."
Liam nodded. He walked to the window, checking the street below. It was clear.
"We have to go," Liam said. "We need to report this back to the village. Tell Durai you're alive. Tell him about Maverick."
He turned back to Eiden one last time. His expression was hard, a reminder of who they were.
"Remember, Eiden," Liam said. "Evergreen is more important than any of us. She's more important than me, than you... and she's more important than your 'friend' Emily. Don't forget that."
Eiden met his gaze. "I won't."
Liam nodded to Noah.
"Get well soon, kangaroo!" Noah whispered, waving.
The two Wolves slipped out the window and vanished into the night, heading back to the mountains, leaving Eiden alone in the dark with his pain and his mission.
High in the jagged, volcanic "Iron Peaks" to the north of the Wolf's Den, the wind didn't just blow; it tore at the rock like a wild animal trying to get in. It howled through canyons of black obsidian with the sound of a thousand dying beasts.
This was the home of the Bear Claw Clan.
They did not live in a village. They lived in a scar on the earth. An open, festering wound in the mountain's side that refused to heal.
There were no trees here, only black rock and gray dust that coated the throat and stung the eyes. The houses were not built; they were piled. Huts made of rusted metal, scavenged stone, and the bleached bones of massive beasts clung to the cliff sides like a disease.
The people here did not smile. They did not sing. They were hard, angry, and perpetually bitter. They walked with their heads down and their shoulders hunched, always ready for a fight. In the Bear Claw Clan, if you wanted something, you took it. If you couldn't take it, you didn't deserve it.
A man ran down a treacherous path lined with sharp shale. He was a scout, his face wrapped in dirty rags to keep out the dust. He was heading toward the highest point in the clan's territory: The Broken Watch House. It was an ancient stone tower that had collapsed years ago, leaving only a jagged, tooth-like stump of a fortress against the gray sky.
Inside, the air was thick with smoke from a fire pit fueled by dried dung and oil.
A man sat on a throne made of welded scrap iron and bear pelts.
He was huge. His skin was the color of old leather, and a thick, white scar ran diagonally across his face, taking one of his eyes with it.
This was Vorian, the Master of the Bear Claws.
Around him stood his lieutenants, men and women who looked more like bandits than warriors. Gorm, a man with no teeth and a massive hammer, and Bruna, a woman with scars covering her arms.
The scout burst in, falling to his knees on the rough stone. "Master Vorian! News! From the South!"
Vorian didn't move. His one good eye, yellow and bloodshot, bore down on the scout. "Speak. And if it is wasting my time, Gorm will remove your tongue."
"It... it is the Wolves, sir! And the Eagles! And... the Snakes!"
Vorian leaned forward, the metal of his throne groaning under his immense weight. "They are fighting?"
"No, sir! They are... meeting! In the Den! Master Durai... he has called them. They say... they say the Pack is forming again."
The room went dead silent. The crackle of the fire sounded like gunshots. Gorm spat on the floor. "The Pack? Those traitors?" "Why?" Vorian rumbled, his voice like grinding stones. "Why now?" The scout trembled. "They say... she is returning. Evergreen. They say the Wolves have found her."
Vorian stood up. He was nearly seven feet tall. A giant of rage and muscle. He grabbed a heavy iron goblet and hurled it at the wall. It shattered the stone, spraying wine like blood. "RETURN?!" he roared. "She dares to RETURN?!" He paced the small room, his anger radiating like heat. "She left us here! She left us to starve in the rock while she played dead! And now Durai thinks he can bring her back? To what? To rule us again?" "Never!" Bruna shouted, drawing a knife. "We bow to no traitor!"
"We will not bow," Vorian hissed. "We will bury her. If she is alive... then we have a chance to kill her properly this time."
He looked at the scout. "Where?"
"They say... the Academy. St. Swithin's. A boy... a Wolf pup... is there. Eiden Killian."
Vorian stopped pacing. He smiled. It was a terrifying expression, stretching his scar.
"Killian's brat? He lives?"
Vorian looked at the shadows in the corner of the room, where the darkness seemed thicker.
"Kane."
A figure stepped out of the darkness. He was a boy, no older than Eiden, but he was looking more sharp then any of them. He wore heavy, plated leather armor and carried a weapon on his back that looked like a cross between a sword and a meat cleaver. His face was blank, devoid of emotion. He was the Bear Clan's prodigy. A boy raised on hate and raw meat. "Master," Kane said. His voice was deep, a rumble of stones.
"You hear this?" Vorian asked.
"I hear."
"I have a mission for you. You are going to school."
Vorian walked over to Kane and placed a massive hand on the boy's shoulder.
"Go to this academy. Find this... Eiden. Break him. Make him scream. And then... find her."
"Kill her?" Kane asked.
"No," Vorian said. "Not yet. She is Evergreen. Even I am not fool enough to think one boy can kill the Goddess of War. If you find her... you signal us. We will bring the entire clan. We will bring the mountain down on her head."
Vorian's eye burned with sixteen years of hate.
"But the boy... the Wolf pup... kill him. Send his head back to Durai. Let them know the Bears are not joining the Pack. We are hunting it."
Kane nodded. He adjusted the massive blade on his back.
"Consider him dead," Kane said.
He turned and walked out into the gray, dusty wind. The Bear had been poked. And it was hungry.