The fire crackled, its warmth casting fragile tendrils of light into the encroaching darkness. The boy crouched in-front of the flames, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the shifting shadows beyond. The wolves were out there—silent, watchful, waiting. He didn't need to see them to know; their presence thrummed in the air, an oppressive tension that prickled along his skin like the first chill of a storm.
The trench and barricade were crude, their jagged stakes clawing at the night like skeletal fingers. It wasn't much. It wouldn't stop them. But it might slow them down. And that would have to be enough. His palm gripped the hilt of his sword, slick with sweat despite the cool night air, while his offhand tightened around the solid haft of the axe.
"You want me?" he rasped, his voice low and sharp. "You'll have to earn it."
The wolves didn't reply with snarls or growls. They didn't need to. Their silence was a calculated weapon, one that pressed against his frayed nerves and whispered of how little time he had. Shadows flickered at the edges of the firelight, and he felt the weight of their eyes, cold and calculating.
His breath came shallow, drawing sharp pains from his ribs. His body screamed for rest. Fear threatened to claw its way into his chest, but he forced it down. Fear was a luxury he couldn't afford. Not now. Not here. The calculating part of his mind—the part forged in the dark belly of the slave ship—stirred to life, pushing emotion aside in favor of cold, unyielding logic.
The wolves moved in the mist, silent as whispers. They were testing him. A flicker of movement to his left drew his gaze, but when he turned, it was already gone. Another blur passed on his right—too fast to track. Just a game, a cruel and deliberate one meant to fray his nerves and force him to act.
But he stayed still. Waiting. Watching.
The first attack came without warning. A shadow burst from the treeline, fur rippling and teeth bared. The boy turned sharply, his sword flashing upward in a wide arc. The blade bit into the wolf's shoulder, drawing blood, and it yelped before retreating into the dark.
The motion wasn't instinct—it was memory. His father had him practice it hundreds of times a day by the fjord, until his muscles knew what his mind could not forget. A single, deliberate arc of the blade, not too wide, not too shallow, designed to turn aggression into pain. "Precision is strength," his father had said, his voice calm as he deflected another blow. "Strength without control is weakness."
The boy staggered as the sand beneath his feet shifted treacherously, pulling him back to the present. His chest heaved as he planted his feet again, gripping the sword tightly. The firelight caught the steel, casting flickering shadows across his face. He steadied his breath, his father's words lingering like a distant echo. Control. Precision. He would need both if he wanted to survive.
"That all you've got?" he spat, his voice brittle with defiance.
The wolves didn't pause. A second wolf darted forward from the opposite side, low and fast. The boy barely had time to react, thrusting his axe down in a desperate strike. The crescent-shaped edge glanced off its flank, but claws raked across his thigh, tearing through fabric and skin.
He stumbled back, biting down a cry as the pain flared hot and sharp. Blood soaked into the torn fabric of his pants, and his leg buckled, sending him down to one knee. The firelight swam before his eyes, distorted by sweat and exhaustion.
"Damn it," he hissed through clenched teeth, forcing himself upright. His vision blurred for a moment, but he blinked hard, steadying himself. "Focus."
The wolves circled tighter now, their movements just at the edge of the firelight. Low growls hummed through the air, a bone-deep vibration that set his teeth on edge. He could feel their strategy shifting. They weren't just testing him anymore. They were wearing him down.
Two wolves attacked together this time, their movements precise and coordinated. One leapt high, teeth snapping for his throat, while the other charged low, aiming for his legs. The boy swung the axe wildly, catching the first across the snout with a sickening crack. It yelped and fell back, But the second wolf's jaws found purchase, tearing through his side in a hot burst of pain.
He staggered, his legs wobbling beneath him. Blood soaked through the torn fabric of his tunic, the metallic scent sharp in the air. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he pressed a hand to his side, trying to stem the bleeding.
The pack circled tighter, their growls harmonizing into a dreadful symphony. Their eyes glinted in the firelight, malevolent and unyielding. They moved with purpose, each step calculated to push him closer to exhaustion.
The boy fell to one knee, his hand pressing against his side where blood seeped through his fingers. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything but the crackling of the fire and the steady growl of the pack.
"Stay up," he muttered, his voice a harsh whisper. "Don't give them the satisfaction."
His weapons felt heavier with every passing second, his arms leaden from the effort of keeping them raised. Sweat dripped down his face, stinging his eyes, but he didn't blink. He couldn't afford to.
Another wolf lunged, its jaws snapping inches from his face. He brought the axe up just in time, the impact jolting through his arms. The wolf recoiled, snarling, and retreated into the mist.
His chest heaved, each breath a battle. His vision blurred, the edges darkening, but he refused to fall. He gritted his teeth, his jaw tight with determination. "Focus," he muttered, though the word felt hollow.
He turned to the flames, his chest rising and falling with steady breaths. The fear was still there, sharp and cold, but something deeper stirred—something fierce and unwavering. His hands relaxed at his sides as he focused, letting the tension in his body melt into the air around him.
The fire sensed it.
For a moment, they flickered, almost hesitating, and then they answered.
With a sudden, deafening roar, they flared to life, exploding upward in a column of blinding light. Tongues of flame surged outward, twisting and leaping as if they had been waiting for his resolve. The beach was bathed in a searing brightness, every grain of sand and crashing wave illuminated as if it were midday. The wolves froze, their snarls cut short, confusion and fear flickering in their eyes as the heat washed over them.
The fire roared and writhed like a river breaking free of its dam, twisting and surging with untamed ferocity. The boy stood tall, his shadow stretching to the treeline in front of him, his backdrop aglow in the inferno's light. The flames dared the wolves to approach, their wild dance a warning. The wolves hesitated, paws digging into the sand as their predatory confidence wavered. For the first time, the boy saw doubt in their eyes—and he felt the blistering raw power match the calm that had rooted him.
Then, the pack parted. From the shadows, a larger figure emerged—the alpha.
It was massive, its fur dark and rippling with muscle. It moved with deliberate grace, each step measured and confident. Its eyes met his, unblinking and piercing.
The boy's knuckles whitened around the hilts of his daggers. "Finally," he rasped, his voice hoarse. "I was wondering when you'd show up."
The boy slid the axe back into his belt, his eyes fixed on the shifting shadows ahead. Slowly, he drew the dagger with his left hand, its polished steel catching the flicker of firelight. Behind him, the inferno stirred, its chaotic flames settling into something deliberate, almost aware. Without a word, the fire answered. Two tongues of flame lashed out, fluid and purposeful, coiling around the blades in his hands.
The fire didn't merely burn—it fused with the weapons, surging along their edges in streams of molten gold. The sword and dagger glowed, alive with fierce, pulsing heat. The flames moved like veins of energy, shifting and breathing in sync with him. This was no simple light but a radiance that drove back the shadows with unrelenting force, as though the fire itself had taken shape to stand at his side.
The weapons thrummed with power, their warmth melding with his resolve. The flames didn't obey; they partnered with him, wild and unyielding, a force born of their shared will. They were no longer just tools but fiery extensions of himself, alive and ready to strike.
He shifted his stance, rolling his shoulders as the energy coursed through the weapons. The dagger struck first, precise and sharp, the light trailing behind like simmering streaks. His sword followed without hesitation, its arc crossing the dagger's path in a flowing motion—a reflection of his father's teachings. The two weapons moved in tandem, their searing edges weaving a pattern of defense and attack.
He stepped lightly to the side, the dagger stabbing outward while the sword swept low in a calculated arc, dividing the space around him as if forming an invisible barrier. The combusted energy rippled outward with each motion, casting wild shadows that danced across the sand. His movements felt fluid, instinctive, each swing and strike an extension of his will. The weapons didn't clash or compete—they worked together, their smoldering rhythm a reflection of the boy's focus and resolve.
To the alpha, the display was both mesmerizing and unnerving. Its amber eyes tracked the luminous arcs as they lit up the night. It paced a step back, head tilting slightly, a low rumble rising from its chest. There was hesitation now—a primal recognition of something beyond its understanding. The flames weren't just light and heat; they were alive, an extension of the boy's resolve.
The alpha circled slowly, its gaze sharp and calculating. The boy matched its movements, his heart pounding—steady and insistent. But he maintained eye contact, refusing to show fear.
"You thought I was prey?" he said, his voice low but steady. "Come, get some."
The alpha stood a few feet away, its sharp eyes locked onto his, and for a long moment, neither moved. Its gaze turned to the mesmerizing flames along the boy's blades, then back to him, weighing the fight.
The alpha huffed, a low sound more akin to acknowledgment than a growl. It stepped back slowly, deliberate and calm, retreating into the shadows.
One by one, the pack followed, their glowing eyes vanishing into the mist.
The boy fell to his knees, his body trembling with fatigue. He stared at the place where the alpha had stood, a faint smile tugging at his bloodied lips.
They could've killed me," he murmured, his voice barely audible. He stared into the fire, its warmth wrapping around him like a fragile shield. For the first time, exhaustion felt like triumph.