The Warden's hall was nothing like Theo expected.He'd imagined black stone and cold air, banners heavy with dust. Instead, the space was small, warm, and lit by dozens of low-burning oil lamps that filled the air with the scent of cedar and something faintly floral.
Magda marched him down the center, past a pair of guards in dull bronze armor. Their helmets were carved with the same three-claw sigil burned into the keep's doors, but their eyes tracked Theo in a way that made him feel more like prey than guest.
The Warden sat behind a low desk carved from a single slab of pale wood. His hair was silver, but his posture was sharp, his eyes sharper. He didn't wear armor — only a dark coat fastened at the throat with a pin in the shape of a crescent moon.
"Theo Ashvale," the Warden said, his voice smooth and dry. "You've been here less than a day, and already the guests have taken an interest."
Theo stopped a few steps from the desk. "I didn't invite it."
"No," the Warden said. "You simply caught its attention. Which is worse."
Magda stayed silent at Theo's side. The Warden leaned forward, folding his hands.
"Do you know why the High Council sent you here?"
Theo hesitated. "They didn't tell me."
"That's a lie," the Warden said, without heat. "They told you enough for you to be afraid. And that fear… the guests can taste it."
Theo's jaw clenched. "They said the moonwater reacted to me."
The Warden's eyes brightened with interest. "Ah. That explains much."
He rose and stepped out from behind the desk. He was taller than Theo expected, and as he came closer, Theo caught the faint smell of iron again — the same that clung to the watchtower's stones.
"Moonwater doesn't react to just anyone," the Warden said. "It sings for those who carry old blood. Dangerous blood. Blood that remembers its debts."
Theo frowned. "Debts?"
"Not to us," the Warden said softly. "To them."
He walked past Theo and closed the hall's double doors. When he turned back, the light from the oil lamps made his eyes look almost translucent.
"You've seen one," he said. "Out in the field."
Theo nodded.
"They are not all the same," the Warden continued. "Some take forms you'd recognize. Others never bother. But they all share one thing — they remember names. Your name, for instance, is no longer safe."
Theo felt the weight of that settle in his chest. "What does that mean?"
"It means that if it is not stopped," the Warden said, "the guest will come again. And again. And eventually, it will not knock."
Magda stepped forward. "Warden, there's something else. The sword."
The Warden's gaze shifted. "Show me."
Theo drew it slowly, the green-bound hilt fitting his palm too well to be accidental. The blade caught the lamp-light in a strange way — not reflecting it so much as swallowing it, leaving only the faint shimmer of runes along the steel.
The Warden's expression darkened. "This is not ours."
"I found it in my room," Theo said.
"No," the Warden replied. "It found you."
He took a slow breath. "There are weapons that the guests fear. Not because they can kill them — nothing can, not truly — but because they can bind them. Such a blade doesn't simply appear. Someone wanted it in your hand. The question is whether that someone wishes you to be the hunter… or the bait."
Theo slid the sword back into its scabbard, but the hum in its steel seemed stronger now, almost eager.
The Warden returned to his desk. "We will learn which, soon enough."
"How?" Theo asked.
"Tonight," the Warden said, "you will stand on the wall."
Magda stiffened. "That's too soon."
"It's necessary," the Warden said. "If the guest has chosen him, there is no hiding. Better we see what it wants under our terms than under theirs."
Theo felt the pull of the sword in his hand, the memory of that figure in the field, the frost spreading across his door.
"What happens if I refuse?" he asked.
The Warden smiled thinly. "Then I will send you back to the High Council, and let them explain why their wolf wouldn't leave his den."
Theo didn't answer.Not yet.Because somewhere under the Warden's calm words, he could hear the faint echo of the voice from last night.
Not outside the door this time.Not in his head.
Closer.
I will be there, little wolf.