The sky is black and heavy. Rain has begun to drum on the leaves and the earth. White lightning splits the clouds, each flash followed by thunder that rolls like cannons in the open air. Together, the storm's sounds weave a calm—yet quietly unsettling—harmony.
Rain hammers harder with every step as Las and Eli sprint through the trees, mud splashing underfoot and thunder rolling above.
Eli:
"Move it, monkey-head! Faster—you're slower than a turtle!"
Las shoots her a sideways look, breath puffing in the cold.
Las:
"What's wrong, short kitty—afraid of getting wet?"
Eli:
"Not the time to smack you. Run, banana-head!"
Through the darkness, shapes emerge—small, rough stone shelters thrown together in haste. From narrow slit windows, tiny flames glow like watchful eyes, flickering in the rain-soaked night.
Rain drums on the awning as Grov rocks in a creaky chair, sipping wine and humming off-key.
A rabbit comes sprinting through the downpour, shouting:
Rabbit:
"Mayor! Mayor!"
Grov sets his cup on the little side table and squints.
Grov:
"You five—why are you running and yelling like that?"
Rabbit (panting):
"Mayor, it's me. What five?"
Grov (deadpan, pointing past him):
"The five standing right next to you."
Rabbit (blinking into the rain):
"Uh… what?"
Before Grov can answer, two voices cut through the rain as Las and Eli push into the shelter, dripping and out of breath.
Las:
"There—do you see him?"
Eli shoots him a flat, mocking look.
Eli:
"No. I went blind after spending this long with you."
Rainwater trails off their cloaks as Las and Eli step under the awning toward Grov.
Las:
"Mayor Grov—we've got good news."
Grov squints, rocking once in his creaky chair.
Grov:
"I can see it, I can see it—you found a second monkey. And you, Eli—new friend already?"
Las's face scrunches into a cartoonish grimace.
Las:
"Are you drunk again, old owl?"
Grov's cheeks flush; he blinks with a goofy smile.
Grov:
"Me? Drunk? Where'd you see that—hic, hic."
Grov lurches up from the chair, swaying left and right, one finger raised.
Grov:
"I am… the mayor… of Rock… City!!!"
He topples to the ground.
…
A few minutes later
Inside a small stone hut, Las and Eli sit before a fire. Rain patters on the roof; smoke curls softly up the chimney. Beside them, a few small animals, bundled in blankets, sleep peacefully, their breathing steady in the glow of the flames.
Las sits like a sulking kid, glaring into the fire, holding his palms close to the flames.
Las:
"We came all this way—and he's drunk."
Eli turns the flare gun Scarface gave her over in her hands, frowning.
Eli:
"What did he mean, 'we'll find you'? Aren't we supposed to find them? None of this makes sense."
Las slips the papyrus from his belt and studies it. In an instant, a rush of images floods his head—Sifu's death, Ikaros, Rock City in ruins, the Black Wolves, the Marshal, Ikaros's words: light and darkness.
Las (thinking):
"Why all this for a piece of paper? I don't get it. Maybe… if I do this, everything stops?"
He lowers the papyrus toward the fire. The edges curl and darken, catching flame.
Eli's eyes fly wide; she lets out a startled gasp, snatches the papyrus from his hands, and starts blowing frantically at the burning corners to put them out.
Las just stares at her with a dumb, guilty scowl.
Eli (staring at the charred edges):
"Monkey-head!!!"
She stands and gives him a sharp smack on the crown.
Las clutches his head, whining through his teeth.
Las:
"Stop hitting me, short cat!"
Eli fixes him with a hard, angry stare, jaw tight.
Eli:
"Why did you do that?"
Las (quiet):
"To make it all stop."
Eli:
"Are you stupid, monkey-head? Ikaros and Master Sifu gave their lives for this—for you—and you just toss it into the fire? Does their sacrifice mean that little to you?"
Las's grip tightens around Sifu's staff
Las:
"A 'small' sacrifice? Because of this stupid scrap of paper—how many died? Your parents. Sifu. Ikaros. Thousands of others. You have any idea how heavy that is? If we'd just handed it over, maybe none of this would've happened.
I can't take it anymore—do you get it, you stupid cat? How many more have to die?"
Eli's expression hardens. Without a word, she slips the papyrus into her belt.
Eli:
"Fine. If you can't handle it, I will. Since your small, shaky hands can't hold it, I'll keep it. Their sacrifice means more to me than that."
Las grinds his teeth, jaw tight.
A heavy silence settles. Only the fire speaks, cracking softly in the dim room.
A piercing whistle knifes through the air, growing louder—closer.
Las and Eli snap their eyes to the ceiling.
Las:
"What the—"
Before they can move, something punches through the roof—a blur, dropping at impossible speed. Fire blooms across Las's vision—then everything goes white.
Silence.
The next heartbeat explodes. The stone hut buckles; the roof caves in. The little shelter collapses like a house of cards, a rush of dust, sparks, and shattered clay swallowing the room.
Silence—then the night tears open.
A thousand Black Wolf howls rip through the rain.
Rockets fall straight down like a second storm, slamming into the north side of the camp, where the tents sit closest to the riverbank.
Fire devours the canvas; sparks leap high, swallowed by the rain.
Las lies buried beneath the collapsed eastern wall of the hut, coughing dust, his hand groping for Sifu's staff under the debris.
A few meters away, by the main fire pit, Eli shouts orders to the survivors, her voice barely piercing the roar of thunder.
Eli (distant, shouting):
"We need to lift these stones—there are animals trapped under here! Help me!"
Rabbit:
"Lift the stones!"
Badger:
"Move! More are coming!"
A white-furred hand hooks Las by the collar and yanks him free of the wreckage.
Smack.
Eli (in his face):
"Wake up, idiot!"
Las's eyes snap open.
Las:
"Wh—what's happening?"
Eli's gaze cuts toward a tall ridge a few meters beyond the camp.
Eli:
"They found us. The Black Wolves."
Las rolls onto his side and looks. His eyes go wide. Across the mud, small bodies lie scattered like abandoned toys. Rain drums on open palms and glassy eyes, a cold, relentless requiem.
...
ROCK CITY
Down in the library, the fox's shadow keeps writing—calm, unhurried—across her book, each stroke laying down red letters in the candle's faint glow.
....
On the ridge, a black figure stands in the rain.
The Marshal sits in silence, watching the camp from above, his knife clenched tight. One green eye fixes on the chaos below; a crooked smile slips across his face. Around him, the Black Wolves howl like monsters, restless and rabid, waiting for his signal—like a chained beast straining for the moment someone finally looses the iron.
The Marshal watches with quiet hatred.
He raises his hand—slow, controlled—then brings it down in a sharp cut.
Behind him, rockets tear into the night.
Silence follows.
Marshal (calm, almost bored):
"Find the papyrus."
...
ROCK CITY
The fox smiles—calm as a funeral bell—while the bone-quill drags red across the page; it isn't joy but certainty, the quiet knowledge that every story dissolves into nothing.
...
The Black Wolves pour forward like black shadows, spilling into the dark. Thunder cracks. Lightning strobes across their wet fur as they descend toward the camp—hungry for slaughter.
All the animals stare in terror as the Black Wolves surge toward them; cries and sobbing smother the night.
Las rises with a cold, frozen stare. He steps to a slab of rubble, heaves it aside, and pulls Sifu's staff from beneath the stones. Rain slicks the wood as he squares his shoulders, eyes fixed on the oncoming pack.
Las:
"Today… it ends."