The moment the agreement between Darken and King Kazler was sealed, Darken moved swiftly toward the stone gate of the great fortress. There was no time for hesitation—the mission had to begin immediately. He knew well that time was not on his side. It was a silent adversary—one that didn't strike with blades, but was no less deadly than any visible enemy.
As soon as he stepped outside the fortress, just a few paces beyond the gate, it slammed shut behind him with finality. There was no turning back now. He had to advance and carry out his task. His objective was clear: distract the raging wolf and divert its attention away from his companions waiting behind. Their task was far more perilous—undoing the enchantment that had blanketed the valley, stripping its people of their strength and hope alike.
Inside, Toril, Adinis, and Laro stood poised, awaiting their cue to act. Beside them stood Larveo, silent—as if words had abandoned him, or he had chosen not to speak. The silence was broken by the arrival of one of the wolves. He had a half-human form and bore two leather satchels across his chest. Their craftsmanship was easy to recognize—clearly made by elven hands. Understandable, considering the close trade relations between the elves and the wolves.
"How many vials in each bag?" Larveo asked with a calm tone laced with patience—though tension flickered in his eyes.
The wolf, shorter than Larveo and visibly uneasy, tried to steady his voice: "Seven... seven in each bag, commander."
Toril looked up at the dim sky. Deep down, he knew it was merely a magical veil concealing the valley from the surrounding forest. Still, he couldn't shake the feeling that it was darker than it should be.
He sighed and muttered, "So… fourteen counter-spell vials. Is that correct?" Doubt and inquiry mixed in his eyes.
Larveo turned his head slowly. "After extensive scouting and investigation, we discovered six active sites laced with the enchantment cast by the outsiders. These sites are randomly scattered, making traversal between them extremely difficult. We lost many in the attempt."
He added, "There were ten locations initially. We managed to neutralize only four in the past six months."
Laro stepped forward, surprised: "Six months?! We received no word. We thought the Wolf Valley—" He halted, as if the words betrayed him, choosing silence over regret.
Larveo didn't respond. He continued as if Laro hadn't spoken: "The presence of fourteen vials comes from the instructions of the stranger who gave us the counter-spell. He said…"
Then, with a firmer tone, "The original enchantment is immensely powerful. To nullify it, we need two doses of the counter-spell per site. He provided us with twenty vials: fourteen for the six remaining sites, and the rest as reserves—for treating those afflicted by the curse. Unfortunately, using it as a cure has strict conditions, and most of the victims don't qualify."
Adinis furrowed her brows. "What kind of conditions? Are they that complex?"
Laro nodded. "Exactly. What good is an antidote if it can't help most of the infected? Something doesn't add up."
Toril said nothing, his silence pressing. He waited for Larveo's reply, though the latter was clearly growing impatient and eager to move on.
"We don't have time to argue over the terms. We need to start purging the last of the enchantment from the valley. After that, we'll rejoin Larkin. His confrontation with the raging wolf... won't be easy."
With that, he tossed a satchel to Laro and another to Adinis, then took a few wide strides forward—and began his transformation.
Gradually, his form shifted into that of a massive, ferocious wolf. His physique was muscular, his fur gray streaked with white, and glowing red lines ran through it like lightning frozen in time.
"Impressive," Laro murmured in awe.
Adinis, fastening the satchel around her waist, asked, "Where did those red lines come from?"
Without a word, Larveo lowered himself to his front limbs, offering his back. Laro and Adinis climbed onto him without hesitation, but Toril remained still.
"And what about me?" Toril asked, a tightness in his chest.
Larveo's deep voice growled faintly as he replied, "You will remain with the king atop the fortress wall. He wants to see what Larkin will do."
Then, rising to full height again, he added, "I'll see you soon, old friend." And with that, he launched himself into the air, clearing the stone wall in a breathtaking leap—not that Toril was surprised.
Old friend, huh? That's generous of you
thought Toril, eyes fixed on their trail as they vanished toward the dark valley.
But what will you say when you find out I was complicit... in what happened to Princess Eryl?
He lowered his head, battling a storm of guilt and thoughts that his stern face failed to conceal.
Arldir… despite everything he did, I stood in his shadow as if supporting him. It was a mistake to trust him. But what's the point of regret now? Eryl ended up this way... because of me. Because of everyone who reached out to him.
He inhaled deeply, ready to continue the bitter monologue—when he heard footsteps approaching from behind. He turned to find King Kazler of the wolves walking toward him, flanked by four of his followers whose heavy steps seemed to crack the earth.
The king's deep voice called out: "Toril, son of Mazalor… the son of an old friend. He once traveled with Toras, long ago. What are you doing here alone? Have your companions left with Larveo and abandoned you?"
Toril steadied his breath and replied, "No. I chose to stay. I wanted to be beside you—to witness what Darken will do. And also…"
He hesitated, then added, "There's something I want to tell you. Not now—but soon."
Kazler didn't respond. He walked past Toril in silence before finally saying, in a cool voice without turning: "Mount one of my followers. You won't reach the wall's summit on your own." He walked a few steps more, then paused.
In a sudden burst, the king pressed his powerful legs into the ground—cracking the stone—then leapt skyward with astonishing strength, clearing the wall in a majestic arc. His followers followed, except one who lingered, awaiting Toril.
Toril stared, stunned. The king wasn't even in full wolf form, and yet he'd reached the summit with ease. Regaining his composure, Toril climbed onto the waiting wolf. With a swift, slanted leap, the wolf placed one foot on the wall and vaulted to the top.
From there, Toril could see the terrain he'd crossed an hour ago. It now looked far worse—not just ruined ground, but a tomb without graves, where the dead lay beneath rubble and stone. Among the debris, he glimpsed bones, claws, and teeth—likely belonging to wolves who fell defending their land. Or so he believed.
In those very moments, Darken crept cautiously among the wreckage, inching forward step by step. He didn't fear death so much as he feared being torn apart by the raging wolf's fangs.
"Where did that puppy go ?"
Darken scanned both sides, clutching the dagger Adinis had given him before the mission began. The area was silent. No trace of the beast. As if it had vanished.
That was exactly what Toril felt, observing from above, until King Kazler's voice broke the silence: "He's waiting…"
Startled, Toril asked, "Waiting? You mean he's hiding… waiting for the right moment to strike?"
The king nodded : "Yes. Like a hunter stalking prey. He's clever—even with the curse infecting his body, he hasn't lost all awareness. His senses still function like a wolf's. Only now… he's far more vicious." Then he stopped suddenly—something had caught his attention.
Toril sensed it too. A subtle movement. Easy for him to detect—but not for Darken, who continued forward until he found a broken wooden piece wedged between two rocks, marked with strange carvings.
As he bent to retrieve it, something stirred to his right. He turned—and found the beast directly in front of him, barely a meter away.
"He's here!" Toril shouted, alarmed.
Silence fell around him. Elsewhere, Adinis, Laro, and Larveo were carving a path through a rocky corridor toward the cursed enchantment sites. Upon hearing the crashing sound of the wolf's assault, Larveo said—without slowing:
"It has begun." He picked up the pace slightly. "We must hurry. Things could spiral beyond our expectations."
Adinis glanced toward the sound, though they were within a narrow stone passage.
Don't you dare die, human... You have a promise to keep
she thought.
The raging wolf's attack unleashed a cloud of dust. But he quickly scattered it with the force of his wings—revealing that Darken was no longer in front of him. Then—without warning—Darken burst from the wolf's left, landing a direct punch to its jaw.
The blow sent the beast staggering, howling in fury and bloodlust : "What's the matter, pupe? Not a fan of your own moves?... Can't blame you. I hated them too." Darken smirked, rotating his shoulder, ready for round two.
Then he said to himself
That punch… it was strong. I felt it. But the wolf is still standing… Does he possess inhuman endurance? Or am I not as strong as I believed? I can feel the power coursing through me… but I'm not channeling it right.
He furrowed his brows, locking his gaze with the wolf's eyes—those unblinking, watchful orbs waiting for the perfect moment to strike.
This is a first...
He had never truly fought before. Stories were his only window into the outside world. And though most were poorly written or distorted beyond sense, he listened to them with unwavering interest.
He'd heard tales of battles, skirmishes... but they were nothing more than hollow yarns told by the followers of Jabelin—likely nothing but clumsy, fabricated lies.
But now, Darken stood in front of something entirely different. A real fight. One with no room for comparisons, no guesses. Trying to apply the logic of fables here would be sheer idiocy.
He now had a conscious mind—one that wouldn't make foolish mistakes. He wouldn't mock his enemy like those men who claimed they'd fought valiantly... when in truth, they trembled before rats.
Jabelin's dogs ... That bastards,
Darken thought with disdain.
Always boasting about Thay glorious battles—all won on paper. And what? Thay just cower at own shadows.
Darken stepped forward, then bent slightly, eyes never leaving the wolf that tracked his every move. He extended a hand and retrieved the dagger he had left moments earlier.
This moment… I'm not living it out of curiosity. I'm living it for something far deeper.
Slowly, he raised the blade until it aligned with his line of sight—so from his vantage, it looked as if it were slicing the wolf's body clean in half. The air around them thickened with tension. He lowered his body, subtly but steadily, balancing on his left foot, as his right foot crept forward—four steps, maybe less. Steps like words etched into stone, crafting his fate with each motion.
The king could've just offered his blood... He knows Eryl. He knew her father. And he never struck me as someone who'd ignore a pain like that—not even as king of savage wolves.
Then, with a bitter breath
He just... doesn't trust me yet.
And he was right.
Atop the stone wall of the fortress, where Toril stood alongside four wolves, King Kazler watched the field with the sharp eyes of a hawk. His focus wasn't solely on the raging wolf—it was also on Darken. On that singular moment hovering between collapse and triumph.
Human... Darken...
Kazler's thoughts anchored on the lone figure in the center of the arena.
Prove that you deserve my trust... and the worth of my blood. You have a chance to be more than some wandering adventurer—a chance to save two peoples… or be buried here, in this valley, like those who fell before you.
Despite his stoic demeanor, there was the faintest quiver in the king's features—a subtle tension hidden behind his hardened expression. Only those who truly knew him would recognize it.
And Darken… as if catching the king's thoughts in the air, or sensing the heavy weight of expectation upon him, fixed his eyes on the beast before him—on death itself, gnawing silently at the earth.
Then, in a low voice brimming with resolve, he murmured:
"Challenge accepted..."