Winter’s Rebirth: B1 - 4. The North Teaches Fast

Winter’s Rebirth Index

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-One Day After Arrival; Frostholm’s Founding-

Victor stood at the ridge’s edge as false dawn bled gray across the world, studying what would either save them or kill them. Behind him, one hundred souls stirred—the scrape of boots on ice, the snap of canvas, breath pluming in columns that caught the light like signal fires.

Over the past hour, he’d done a lot of reflection. Now, here he was, hovering over the eagle’s carcass steaming in the snow, its fiery blood only just now dying against the white.

He watched the heat rise and his people gather. One hundred faces, many still looking tired from a restless, cold night. Fear in most. Hope in a few. Exhaustion in all.

The wind carried the smell of charred feathers and burnt air; it had taken almost the whole night for it to extinguish.

His amber cooled beneath his tunic, the amplification unwinding from his muscles like rope from a winch. His fingers ached as spots momentarily danced at the edges of his vision; when channeling it, his eyes could penetrate the night, which wasn’t needed now that dawn’s beams reached over the eastern forest far below.

This is the perfect day to cross the fields… Spring’s first day. It will take a few more days for the animals and monsters to emerge from their burrows and hibernation. It’s now or never… We must make our permanent settlement before life…and death reawaken.

He turns to face them—settlers, hunters, builders, children clinging to their mothers’ coats. The Song of the North died in their throats when a bird out of childhood stories struck. Now they were waiting to see if the fifteen-year-old noble boy who killed it knew what to do next.

Victor pulled the amulet free from beneath his tunic and let the dual stones hang visible against his chest. The ruby and amber caught the pale light, walnut-sized jewels that could buy a barony in the south or kill an untrained soul in seconds if they channeled wrong.

“Listen up.” His voice carried across the ridge without shouting; the same tone his drill instructors had used when a whisper meant more than a scream. “Before we move into that valley, you need to understand something.”

The murmurs died. A woman near the back pulled her child closer. An older mason’s jaw tightened. He knew the cadence, the weight that came before hard truths.

“Magic stones.” Victor lifted the amulet higher, let the stones swing. “In the empire, commoners touch these without imperial sanction, and the punishment runs from execution to the destruction of your entire clan, depending on who catches you and how generous the magistrate’s feelings that day. Even the king could face consequences for improper policing.”

He let that settle, watching eyes flick toward the few soldiers in the expedition, checking if this was a test, a trap, some noble game played for sport.

“We’re not in the empire anymore.”

The wind bit through the silence, shivers running through more than one spine at those words.

“…Out here, the cold doesn’t check bloodlines before it freezes you solid. Dire wolves don’t ask for your birth certificate before they rip your throat out with fire-laced teeth.”

He gestured toward the smoldering eagle carcass, heat still rising from blackened feathers. “That thing had a ruby shard in its chest half the size of a pebble. It could fit on my thumb. Every predator in this wasteland carries similar stones—fire, ice, strength…even invisibility and mind control. They’re born with it, bred for it by this hellish northland…made for it.”

His gaze swept across them. Hunters shifted weight, builders with calloused hands rubbed their arms, mothers held their children, who’d never asked to be here… Only Caldren and he had been that stupid.

The old general was wearing a thoughtful smile, no doubt wondering if he was really going where this conversation appeared to be heading.

“No. This is not the empire… So here’s what’s going to happen.”

He stepped forward, boots crunching through the crust. “Every adult steps forward and touches this amulet. We’re finding out who has an affinity for amber and ruby—who can channel them. Nobles typically have an affinity for two, even three types of stone.”

Victor saw the way many of them shrank back, knowing all too well the consequences of even handling a magic stone. However, a few brave souls, trembling as they were, stepped forward. All he needed was that; the rest would fall into line, one by one.

“Note that just because you do not activate it, it does not mean you cannot channel magic stones, only that you do not have an affinity for amber or ruby. Those who do find their affinity will train with General Caldren. Fast. Because we need every advantage we can scrape together if we’re going to survive what’s waiting down there.”

He directed their eyes to the bird. “Sunfire eagles are not the worst thing awaiting us…”

A hunter near the middle—grizzled, maybe forty, scar along his jaw—raised a hand. “My Lord, what if the empire finds out?”

“Nothing.” Victor’s tone went flat as hammered steel. “My father used the same tactic, training the settlers to use magic stones when his princess went north in her conquest… My mother conquered the territory our king now enjoys.”

He let the information simmer within him, noticing that a few of his people’s reactions suggested they were familiar with parts of that story. Given that his mother was relegated to a far harsher land by her uncle and stripped of all titles, it was only by the emperor’s grace that a remedy was found in elevating his father’s title.

“In any case, the emperor rewarded them, actually, and praised them for their boldness. The price for failure is death. Succeed? You may need to keep what we did here quiet, but you’ll be elevated to positions of power.”

Every face blanked, processing what he’d just revealed and trying to reconcile it with the world they knew. Victor had the answer, though.

“Why? Because the empire wants the north settled. They don’t care how it happens so long as we push the empire northward.”

He let that truth breathe.

“Anyone who wants to leave, step aside now. No judgment. I won’t stop you, but you know every one of us is known by the borderlands. Leaving is death. I wish I could say otherwise. I cannot protect you. Staying? I can try…and you might live.”

Five seconds.

Ten.

Nobody moved, and Victor nodded once.

“Good. Form a line.”

They came forward slowly, uncertain in the way children approach a fire they’ve been told will burn them.

The first was an older mason, hands bearing decades of stone dust ground into the creases. He pressed his palm to both, flinched at the heat and pulse within, pulled back.

Nothing.

Victor waved him aside.

A young woman next, farmer’s build, maybe twenty. The amber flickered when her fingers brushed it—weak response, barely there, but something.

“You’ll train with Caldren when we get another amber,” Victor said.

She nodded, eyes wide and wet, relief and fear braiding together, not truly knowing what that meant.

One by one, they came. Most felt only warmth—maybe a tingle where skin met stone, nothing more. A few made the jewels glow faint: amber for those with strength in their bones, ruby for those who carried heat in their blood. Victor mentally marked each and filed them into the training roster that Caldren would build.

Then the line thinned to the hunters waiting at the back—and Kaia Brennan stepped forward.

Victor knew her. He made a point to know almost every one of his one hundred settlers along their path to this point, at least by name and surface level.

Fifteen now, maybe sixteen by how she carried herself—an adult by this harsh world’s standards. She had always looked at him in almost a reverent way after seeing him spar with the Wintergate Fortress guards with his claymore. 

Orphaned at twelve during the Rapture Plague—parents dead within a week of each other, brother lost to famine in the south before her aunt fled north with her to Winterhart lands, seeking work and mercy. Two years later, imperial scouts had selected her for this expedition.

She was small. Petite in the way hunger carves people down—not frail, just hollowed out. Chestnut hair tangled beneath a wool cap, face wind-burned and sharp at the cheekbones. Not ugly, just stripped of anything soft. Her eyes were steady, though. Green, clear, fixed on the amulet like it was a gate she refused to let stay closed.

“Lord,” she whispered, though her voice was stronger than most in their expedition, “I…I want to be a hunter. I don’t want to be a farmer…be weak.”

The scarred hunter—Durren, his name was—snorted low. “Few women have what it takes for the real wilderness, My Lord. No offense meant, but her frame’s not built for hauling kills or walking twenty miles through waist-deep snow.”

Kaia’s jaw set. “It’s deeper than that, Durren, and I’m stronger than I look. I don’t fear death. I scared it away…or else it would have taken me with my parents and brother.”

She didn’t look at Durren while responding, keeping her eyes on Victor.

He saw it in her, woman or not; the weight of the strong on her shoulders, with one goal in mind—the type of resolve he needed.

“Kaia Brennan,” Victor acknowledged, her breath holding as he said her name, making it a statement instead of a question. “You want to be a hunter.”

“Yes, My Lord.” Her voice didn’t shake.

Victor held up the amulet and let it swing between them.

“Step into the fire… Determination doesn’t always bring results. As much as I don’t like reality often…there’s no getting around it. Your body won’t hold up under the stress needed to be a hunter in this environment. That is a fact.”

Her bottom lip drew in slightly, a lump dropping down her throat at the hard stare he gave her, light-blue eyes devouring green. He let that statement hang, felt the chill run through every soul nearby at his cold, but not cruel tone.

“That said, this is not the reality we all knew…” He lifted his amulet, letting her gaze fixate on the blinding jewels. “Touch it. Perhaps the north has an unusual fate for you.”

She reached out, fighting doubt from the pressure of every gaze closing in on her, yet she connected with the metal frame—fingers bare, red from cold, nails cracked.

The moment skin met metal—not even stone—the amber flared.

Bright. Blinding. A surge of golden light that made Victor’s teeth ache and sent heat rolling through the air like a furnace door kicked wide. Kaia gasped, back arching, eyes rolling white as her soul tried to drink power her body wasn’t trained to hold—

Victor yanked the amulet away.

She dropped to her knees, breath coming in ragged gulps that steamed the air. Sweat beaded on her forehead despite the cold. Her hands trembled, fingers twitching like she was still gripping something live and burning.

The strongest connection in the group. She’d need it.

“Easy.” Victor knelt beside her, kept his voice low and clinical. “Breathe. Slow.”

“I—what—” She blinked, vision clearing in fragments. “What was that? I-I was on the edge of a cliff—an endless cliff with darkness below me…”

“Affinity. Strong. Perhaps as strong as a magic knight.” Victor kept his tone steady, matter-of-fact. “You activated it without meaning to, and these two jewels are at a count’s level. You opened your whole soul for it to consume… Another second and muscles would have torn, blood vessels would have burst. You would have died a terrible death.”

More than a few swiftly retreated from the dangling jewels as their glow faded.

Kaia stared at him, still panting, but a brilliant smile showed—pure, white teeth—perfect teeth. “I did it? I…I can be a hunter?”

“More than that…” he mumbled, narrowed eyes drifting to Lyra—his sole emerald user—a distance away, shrinking a little. “Every hunter will be a soldier by the end of this week.”

No wonder Lyra’s been drained and been scarfing down rations… His focus fell to the emerald shining around her throat. She’s been healing everyone’s medical conditions since our journey began… Good initiative, but I’ll have to talk to her about that at some point.

“Can you stand?” he asked, focus returning to the girl.

She nodded, pushed herself up on shaking legs. Locked her knees. Straightened.

“I won’t disappoint you, M-My Lord!”

Victor looked past her to Durren. “She’s got a stronger soul than most of our hunter team combined, including you. Once trained, she’ll be an incredible asset. She joins.”

Durren’s mouth opened, closed. He glanced at the frail-looking farm girl and nodded—grudging, but real. He’d test her, most of the hunters would, but Kaia probably wanted that challenge.

Victor turned back to Kaia. “Learn fast, and if you can’t keep pace before we find you an amber, you go back to the hearth team. Understood?”

“Yes, My Lord!” Her voice was steel wrapped in exhaustion, giving him a salute.

“Good.” He paused, letting the weight settle between them. “Food and defense are the same job out here. Can you handle killing…potentially even other nobles’ men if I demand it?”

Kaia’s throat worked. She glanced at the eagle’s corpse—blood pooled black in the snow, feathers still smoking—then at the unique, powerful bow and claymore slung across Victor’s back.

“Yes, My Lord. I want a weapon as big as yours!”

Victor chuckled, Caldren wearing an interested grin nearby. “We’ll see what you can handle. Weight is still a thing. But gear up. We leave in one hour.”

She scampered off with the rest of the hunters, and he dismissed the rest of the groups to prepare for the valley march.

Caldren approached as the line finished, the last few settlers stepping back with either relief or disappointment. The old general carried something wrapped in oiled cloth. He unfolded it carefully.

A ruby shard. Tiny—maybe the size of a split pebble, as he’d said—but the color was pure. Deep crimson, no cloudiness, no fractures. Cleaner than anything mined from southern or northern veins.

“From the eagle,” Caldren says. “Purer than I’ve seen in twenty years. Your father would have sold twenty giant reindeer to a noble for a stone like this. Yes, a beginner stone, but one that likely won’t break with their fumbles. Perfect for what we need.”

Victor took it, feeling the warmth even through the cloth. “I was counting, but were you? How many responded to the test?”

The elder gave him a smirk at his playful smile as Victor channeled it, entering the focus state and the hellfire of the forest within his soul. The flame danced around his fingers, warming his whole body before he broke the connection and tossed it back.

“Eleven with amber. Sixteen with ruby. Two with both, weak affinities.” Caldren’s grin was sharp as he caught it, the kind that came from dark humor and darker truths. “And one girl who damn near cooked herself touching a stone she wasn’t ready for. Even you can only draw out about five percent for a few seconds, My Lord.”

“Yes, well, Rome wasn’t built in a day,” Victor chortled, tucking it back below his coat and tunic.

“You and your mysterious Rome, with its monstrous coliseum. I’d like to see such a sight if I die and get sent to your old world.”

Victor gave a weak shrug. “I don’t like your odds. You’re more likely to end up in a Jap hellhole than in Ancient Rome, in my estimation. In any case, begin training them as you march to the fortress. Small channels, controlled burns. I don’t need to tell you the drill.”

“No, you do not, Young Lord. I’m getting excited… Don’t get killed on your first day entering the valley.”

“It isn’t like death is permanent,” he mused, rubbing the weak stubble on his young chin—he’d need to find time to shave at some point.

Caldren nodded, tucking the shard into his belt. “You’re taking the Hunt Team east, then?”

“Yeah. Need meat before nightfall. Two weeks of dried rations won’t last if we’re doing heavy labor…or healing everyone’s broken and damaged teeth,” he mumbled, glancing toward their sole magical healer, who shivered upon noticing his scowl.

The old general chuckled, stroking his beard and scraping off the ice attached to it. “Aww, leave the poor girl alone. She’s doing the Hearth’s work.”

He leered across at the elder as he flashed his teeth—perfect teeth he’d been long gifted with due to Victor’s mother’s healing care over the years. “You put her onto this.”

“It’s a good way to lift morale, wouldn’t you say?”

“…Touché,” he mumbled, taking the phrase from a Frenchman he’d known during the war. “Touché…”

Victor glances toward the valley, toward the dark smudge of forest on the horizon.

The plain is actually the safest place we could be… That forest is a deathtrap. What unfortunate noble was given that frontier location? Whoever they are, I doubt they’ll last the month.

“You’re heading to the ruins? I don’t want us to push toward the forest until we at least have our foundations set.”

“Mmm. That’s my thought, as well. Someone’s got to keep the fires lit for your return, and I make a good housewife.” The old general’s expression shifted, humor bleeding into something harder. “But that fortress might already have a tenant, My Lord. I’ll first explore it alone. Could have dire wolves…or something worse.”

“Shadowmane leopards?”

Caldren’s mouth thinned, eyes scanning the horizon, yet vision traveling back through time. 

“Killed one with my father when I was your age. Damn thing ambushed us from thirty feet away—that pounce distance is incredible. Didn’t even see it move until it was on top of him—onyx and amber stones, stealth and physical enhancement. You don’t fight them. You survive them if you’re lucky.”

Victor studied the ruins through the dying storm. Black stone jutting from snow, walls half-collapsed but still defiant. Big enough to shelter a family of leopards. Maybe cubs if the season was right.

“…You’re a lot more skilled than you were back then… But if you see tracks, find a defendable area and wait for me. We can take it together.”

“I’m a lot older, too, My Lord. And if we see frost goblin signs?”

He gave the old man a questioning smirk. “If you need my help with frost goblins, why did you even come and take a vital slot?”

“Mmm. You’d be shocked at how strong some of their leadership can be… What about frost troll tracks?” he pressed with that same signature grin.

“Then we’re dead.” Victor snorted in return. “We’re just dead… Be serious, though. You’re not in your youth anymore, old man. Don’t go dying on me.”

Caldren barks a laugh. “And you’d best not get surrounded by wolves, boy. Your fancy stones won’t save you from twenty sets of fire-laced teeth that can snap steel with a bite.”

“Keep them safe,” Victor whispered.

“Keep yourself alive, My Lord,” Caldren answered.

They broke apart. The old general turned, already barking orders.

Victor watched them move along the camp, setting off for the valley—a column of breath and hope trudging downslope toward the valley, toward walls that might shelter them or kill them, depending on what nested inside.

The hunters waited beside him, observing, making sure no enemy tried to ambush them from the rocky slopes. He drew his bow—quiver and claymore strapped on his back—scanning the ridges and sky.

Birds flew overhead, their presence both large and intimidating, though their prey of choice were giant goats. Easy prey to knock off a cliff with a flurry of wind and pick up the remains. 

Once his people disappeared behind the white below, he turned to his hunters.

Twelve of them. Kaia at the back, gripping a borrowed bow like it was the only thing keeping her upright. Durren checked his arrows with practiced efficiency. Two younger men—brothers by the look, same jaw, same build—whispering to each other.

Lastly, of note, an older, muscular woman who was exactly what Durren was referencing. Her face was like weathered leather, and her eyes had seen many kills before.

Mara, her name was. Trap-setter. Widowed young, raised three sons alone, all grown now and scattered south. Her experience would be the main thing she brought to this party, not the physical labor, though she didn’t fall behind most of their crew.

“Gear check,” Victor said. “Tarps, snowshoes, rope. We’re hauling two sleds for meat—keep the reindeer still and quiet. They’re trained. Something moves, you signal—don’t shoot unless I give the word. Clear?”

“Yes, My Lord,” they said as one.

“Good. We’ve got maybe six hours of decent light once we’re in hunting territory. That’s enough to find a herd, make kills, and butcher in the field. Anything we can’t carry gets cached in snow… The wildlife will eat it instead of us.”

He slung his bow across his back, checked the quiver. Thirty arrows, five penetrator heads, and five tipped with ruby dust that glittered dull red in the weak light. Not enough for a real battle, but enough to drop a lead predator if it came to that.

“Move out.”

The snow was deeper than he’d expected.

Twenty feet in the low drifts, twenty-five where wind had piled it into sculpted ridges that looked solid until you stepped wrong and broke through to your waist. It crunched under their snowshoes—each step sinking six inches before the webbing caught and held. The sled trailed behind on empty runners, carving twin lines through white that would fill again by evening.

They moved slowly. Methodical. Eyes scanning for movement, ears tuned to wind and the subtle shifts that meant something alive was nearby.

After an hour, one of the younger hunters—broad-shouldered, maybe eighteen, dirt-brown hair—slowed to match Victor’s pace. They were taking turns on the sled to conserve strength. Kaia got no special treatment, but Mara appeared to be taking the girl under her wing.

“My Lord, what should we watch for out here? Besides the obvious.”

Victor didn’t break stride, gaze still sweeping the horizon. “Arctic foxes here.”

The kid blinked. “Foxes? Aren’t they small?”

“Two and a half feet tall, six in length. Smart and vicious.” Victor gestured to a patch of unmarked snow ahead—pristine, untouched, no tracks leading in or out. “They use their tails and magic to sweep away their prints. You’ll never see them coming. Illusion magic—they’ll make you think a drift is solid ground or a crevasse is just a shadow. Harmless to adults, mostly.”

He let the implication hang.

Kaia, walking a few paces back, went pale. “You’re saying they hunt children?”

“Been known to,” Victor mumbled, tone staying flat, educational. “Steal them. Drag them into burrows and use ice magic to chill them, so they don’t cry. By the time parents notice, it’s too late. My parents lost one child that way. Never found the body.”

Silence pressed in, except for the crunch of snow and the scrape of sled runners.

Mara spoke up, voice rough from years of cold air and pipe smoke. “What else, My Lord?”

Victor pointed skyward without breaking stride. “Storm gyrfalcons.”

They looked up. High above, dark shapes wheeled against gray along the peaks—big, broad-winged, circling west toward the ocean.

“Nine-foot wingspan,” Victor said. “Tall as a grown man when they land, maybe taller. Hunt mountain goats, cliff prey—anything on high ground. Can summon wind strong enough to knock you off a tower or blow you back a dozen feet if you’re caught on a wall. Alphas can make wind blades that’ll slice through leather and punch through bad steel like it’s wet parchment. Their wind barrier makes normal arrows all but useless.”

One of the brothers whistled low. “How do we fight those?”

“We don’t. Stay off high ground, keep tarps ready to pull over to not look like prey.” He glanced at the shapes circling westward. “They’re heading to the coast—probably nesting season. We can’t be sure, though. We don’t know a lot about the ecology this far north. But as long as we stay low and keep moving, past settler experience suggests they’ll ignore us. Typically.”

“Typically, My Lord?” Durren muttered from the middle of the line.

Victor almost smiled. “Typically.”

They walked.

The plains stretched, endless—white bleeding into more white, horizon blurred by distance and haze at this lower level. To the east, Blackwood Forest rose like a wall of shadow, trees massive enough to shame anything that grew in the south. To the north, mountains hid behind veils of cloud that never quite lifted.

Kaia moved up beside him, breath pluming steady now, legs finding rhythm. “My Lord, you said frost goblins stay in the forest. What about the other things? Dire wolves? Those leopards General Caldren mentioned?”

“Both avoid open ground when they can help it.” Victor scanned the distant tree line miles away, noting where shadows gathered thicker. “Wolves hunt in packs—fifteen to twenty, sometimes up to thirty if prey’s abundant. Leopards hunt solo or in family groups. Three, maybe four, if they have cubs they’re teaching.”

“And the leopards have…”

“Onyx and amber. Speed, strength, enhanced senses, and stealth. They can turn near-invisible—day or night—and move without sound, striking before you know they’re there.” 

He glanced at her—small frame bundled in furs, bow strapped across her back, eyes hard with the kind of determination only orphans and soldiers carried. “You won’t see one unless it wants you to. Have a reason you want to know more than to run and hope?”

Her jaw set. “I want to get strong enough to kill one.”

Durren snorted from behind them. “Ambitious.”

Victor didn’t laugh. He studied her—scars on her knuckles from challenging field work, not play; calluses on her fingers from bowstring and rope; the way she moved like someone used to carrying weight that wasn’t hers.

Someone taught her the basics, and she’s been trying to keep the training up herself… Probably her father.

“Then you’ll need to understand what you’re fighting,” he said. “Creatures here can bring out the power of magic stones far better than humans. These leopards are born predators—fast, smart, patient. Give them onyx and amber, and they become nightmares. You want to beat one? You only do it by beating it at its own game…or just overwhelm it with even stronger amber use.”

Kaia didn’t flinch. “I’ll do that. I’ll get strong enough to beat it in one blow.”

That caught the attention of the crew. Victor only smiled, though.

“Good. Prove it on the elk first.”

They crested a low rise two hours later, and Victor stopped.

Movement ahead—maybe half a mile out, dark shapes against white spreading across the basin in loose clusters. Too many to count at first glance.

“Down,” Victor whispered. “Tarps up. No sound.”

The hunters dropped, pulling white canvas over their backs and heads. They became formless lumps, shapes that could’ve been rocks or drifts or nothing at all. Victor channeled amber—just a thread, enough to sharpen his vision without burning through his soul’s reserve stamina.

The world tightened. Distance collapsed into focus sharp enough to ache.

Dire elk.

Eighty at least, maybe more scattered beyond the first cluster. Massive bodies fourteen feet at the shoulder, antlers wide as loaded carts. They grazed on something beneath the snow they’d kicked up, which was no small feat.

It could have been lichen, maybe, or the magic grass his mother had spoken of, the kind that stayed green even under twenty feet of frozen weight. Steam rose from their breath, halos of warmth in air cold enough to crack stone.

The heat was out, the sun blazing and blinding most—give it a week or two, and the whole valley would be a quagmire of mud—nothing he wasn’t used to.

Enough meat to feed the colony for weeks if they could bring down even two.

Then, he saw the gray shapes.

Low. Crouched. Circling.

“Caldren wasn’t joking,” Mara breathed beside him, voice barely more than an exhale. “Look at those beasts… They’re titans.”

Not quite… There are far bigger things in the ocean. But our problem now is dire wolves.

“Look for gray movement—the edges. There. See them?”

“No,” most of them mumbled back, squinting, vision not amplified by amber, like him.

Then, one rose slightly, and they saw it in all its horror.

Six feet at the shoulder. Ten to twelve feet long from nose to tail-tip. Fur thick and dark, almost black, with that reddish tint his father had warned about—ruby shards burning in their chests, making their pelts catch light wrong. Their eyes glowed faint crimson, heat bleeding through.

Victor counted.

Eighteen… Dammit. Definitely more hidden. They’re waiting for a signal from the alpha…which is precisely what I need to be listening for, as well…

“My Lord,” Durren whispered, voice tight as wire, “you said they travel in packs. How many? How do we survive?”

“By understanding them, like any other game you’ve hunted.” Victor kept his tone calm, instructional—the way drill sergeants spoke when panic meant death. “Dire wolves are pack hunters. They have a strict hierarchy. Alpha leads, the rest follow. You kill the alpha, the pack tears itself apart fighting for dominance, breaking into smaller packs.”

“And if we miss?”

“We run. Hopefully they’re more interested in the elk.”

Kaia’s voice was barely audible. “How do we know which one’s the alpha?”

“Watch. Find the first one who makes a move, just like the sunfire eagle.”

The wolves moved—coordinated, practiced, the kind of efficiency that came from hunting together for years. Three broke left, driving the herd’s flank inward. Four broke right, cutting off escape routes. The rest held center, waiting.

And at the center, one wolf stood larger than the others. Scarred muzzle, patches of missing fur along its shoulder where some past fight had carved deep. Its tail burned brighter—actual flame, not just ember-glow. It barked once, sharp and commanding.

The pack surged forward as one.

The elk tried to fight. Water magic flared across the snow—mirror-smooth ice sheets forming underfoot, steam bursts meant to disorient, reflective surfaces designed to confuse predators. But the wolves crashed through like the illusions were nothing, teeth finding throats, fire scorching hide black. Six elk went down in the first rush—thrashing, screaming, blood turning snow to slush.

The alpha moved last. Lazy, confident. It lunged for a calf separated from its mother, jaws closing on the neck, and dragged it into the snow with casual brutality. The fire in its tail flared brighter, triumphant.

Victor’s hand went to his bow.

“That one. Wait for my strike, then hit the elk—four bows each one—a single arrow won’t bring it down.”

He felt their wavering hearts, yet they followed orders.

Victor selected an arrow—not ruby-dusted, the penetrator. Channeled amber into his arms, his back, his core. He felt the draw become clean, a straight line through bone, muscle, and willpower. The world narrowed. Breath slowed. Heartbeat dropped to something measured, controlled.

Tarawa. Saipan. Kunishi Ridge.

Line up the shot. Don’t think. Just pull.

He loosed.

The 1,000 lb bow cracked the air.

The arrow vanished, reappeared as a streak of motion too fast to follow. It punched through the alpha’s skull without it noticing a thing, exited clean, and buried itself in the elk carcass beneath with a meaty thunk.

The wolf dropped. No sound. Just weight hitting snow.

The pack froze.

For a heartbeat, nothing moved—wolves mid-stride, elk mid-flight, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.

Then the fire in the alpha’s tail guttered. Died.

Chaos erupted.

The wolves turned on each other—snarls, snaps, bodies colliding as hierarchy shattered like ice under a hammer. Three broke away immediately, dragging elk carcasses over the nearest rise. Four more fought over the alpha’s body, teeth flashing, blood spraying—both sides retreated when the next largest stood over it. The rest scattered into the drifts, vanishing like smoke.

The hunters burst into action under their tarps, firing their arrows at the elk who ran in their direction. The pack finally broke, howling, disorganized, dragging kills over distant ridges. The field went silent with only one wolf remaining, standing over the alpha—his prize.

Yet, he wasn’t the true victor in this battle.

Second arrow notched, the wolf’s scanning gaze locked on him, fire-bright eyes zeroed in. And Victor let his next arrow fly. It dropped mid-turn, arrow punching through its open mouth and out the back of its skull as it tried to rally those who would listen.

Clean.

Victor lowered his bow, let the amber bleed out of his muscles before it could cook him from inside, hands trembling slightly—it took a lot to use this bow.

“Now we go to work before they return… Nice kills, soldiers.”

Two dire wolves. Three dire elk.

“We feast tonight, and Kaia…”

“Y-Yes, My Lord?” she asked, voice shaking and eyes wide at the giant creature she’d helped to take down. “I-I did it?”

Mara slapped her on the butt, making her stifle a yelp.

“You did, girl, now quit shaking.”

Victor smiled as the girl’s already red cheeks darkened further, rubbing the sore area before his words made her lock up. “It looks like we’ve got your amber… We begin training on the way back.”

“H-Huh?” Her new, perfect smile returned, brighter than any he’d seen. “Yes, My Lord!”

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