The sun had barely dipped behind the fortress walls when Siraq found Knox alone, sitting on the edge of the old watchtower, legs dangling above the snowy courtyard. The fairy festival's laughter was a faded echo, muffled by the thick, enchanted stone. From up here, the Sanctuary looked like a scene from a storybook, runed walls, shadowfire lanterns, bear kin and fairies mingling, Nyx's tail flickering in a window's glow. But Siraq's face was all shadow, and her eyes held no warmth.
She didn't bother with small talk. "Warden. I need to speak to you. Truly."
Knox patted the stone beside him. "Sure. I get the feeling this isn't about snowball tournaments."
Siraq sat, her massive form making the stone groan, a light scent of mint and steel surrounded her, it was.... oddly comforting. For a long while, she watched her clan, Kota wrestling with fairy kids, Yorrik sharpening a blade, the prankster sisters plotting with Lira. At last she spoke, voice low, measured. "You know the north is harsh. But the world beyond… is worse. Not because of cold or hunger. But because of men."
She took a deep breath, her breath frosting in the air. "The Empires, human, mostly, but not only, have grown rotten. They call themselves the Races of Light. They claim the gods chose them to rule. For others, beastfolk, oni, fae, even kin like yours, they offer only chains, fire, or the sword."
Knox's jaw tightened. He'd known, in a vague way, that the outside world was a mess. But something in Siraq's voice made it real.
"They take children, Warden. They force our shamans to reveal secrets, then kill them. They burn our sacred groves. They take magic they do not understand and twist it, make weapons that poison earth and sky, make tools to hunt us like animals." She hesitated, her stoic mask slipping. "My mother was a matron. She died with a collar around her neck, in a pit, for the amusement of men in gilded masks."
Knox stared at his hands. The Oni runes on his arms seemed to pulse, as if in sympathy or warning.
"They call it 'purity doctrine.' They call us tainted. They call themselves holy. But what they do…" Her voice broke, just for a moment. "We have lost hundreds. My sister's cubs were taken. We do not know if they live."
A silence stretched, heavy and raw. Knox's thoughts spun. For a moment, he was back in the forest on his first night, blue lightning bugs tearing at his flesh, the world indifferent to his pain. But even that hell felt honest compared to what Siraq was describing.
He tried for gallows humor, but it came out brittle. "I thought Shadowfen was brutal. At least here, if something wants to kill you, it's honest about it."
Siraq nodded, eyes hard as ice. "The forest teaches. But men… men forget they are beasts, and become worse."
Knox's mind drifted, unbidden, to memories of Earth: classroom diagrams of genocide, black and white photos of camps and barbed wire, a small man with a mustache and a voice that promised a perfect world built on bones. He shuddered, bile in his throat.
"I grew up in a place," he said quietly, "where people told themselves those stories were ancient history. But they weren't. There's always someone who wants to draw lines, decide who's pure, who's not. Kill for it. I thought I'd left that behind."
Siraq looked at him, not with pity, but recognition. "We have legends of Wardens. They were not always kind, but they protected the wild places. When they vanished, the world forgot how to be afraid of the dark. And so, the dark crept in."
She handed him something, a strip of cloth, torn and stained, embroidered with a blue sigil. "This was found in a burned village. The humans who did it wore this crest. They call themselves the Dawn Crusade."
Knox stared at the symbol, rage sparking in his gut. "Crusade, huh? Never trust anyone who needs a holy war to feel important."
He stood, pacing the tower. "I've been..." He hesitated, looking at his hands, at the claws and runes that marked him as something more than human. "I've been playing house. Building walls, making jokes, pretending the world can't pry into my little miracle. But I have power now. Real power. And I'm just… sitting here."
Siraq's voice was soft. "You have built something rare. Hope. Family. That is not nothing."
"Maybe," Knox said, voice shaking. "But if I just hide here while monsters wear human faces and burn the world… what does that make me?"
A long silence. Down below, the fairies began a new song, their voices high and clear.
Siraq surprised him, laying a heavy paw on his shoulder. "You are not one man. You are the Warden. The world will watch what you do next."
Knox let the words settle, let the rage and shame and sorrow swirl. He looked at the forest, his home, his shield.... and knew it couldn't be enough.
"Not in my forest," he said, voice low but certain. "Not in my world. Not ever again."
Siraq's eyes shone. "If you stand, we will stand with you."
He nodded, jaw set. "It's time the world remembered what it means to be afraid of the dark."
The System pinged, grave for once:
[Quest Unlocked: The Warden's Oath
Objective: Defend the lost, judge the wicked, and make the world fear the night again, on your terms.]
Knox looked at Siraq, at the crest of the Dawn Crusade in his hand, and at the sky growing darker by the moment.
"We'll start with the ones who call themselves Crusaders," he said. "And we'll see how pure their courage is when the shadows come for them."
As the moon rose, the bear matron and the Warden stood together on the tower, the weight of history and hope settling on their shoulders. Below, the fortress glowed with life and laughter. But in Knox's heart, a new fire burned, a promise that this time, the monsters would run.