Chapter Fifteen: Steel and Silver
Two weeks passed.
In that short span, the village had changed. What was once a scatter of rough huts and smoke-filled hearths now bristled with structure and order. Timber walls rose higher, reinforced with sharpened stakes. Watch platforms crowned the corners, wolfkin standing tall with bows and spears in hand. Smoke curled steadily from Baldrek's forge, where the clang of hammer on anvil rang day and night.
Kael stood at the southern palisade, arms folded across his chest, crimson eyes fixed on the training yard below.
There, Thalos drilled the wolfkin and goblin patrols with the relentlessness of a storm. The ogre moved with a surprising grace for his size, his deep voice carrying across the yard like a war drum.
"Again!" he barked as a line of wolfkin slammed their shields into formation, goblins darting between them with spears angled outward. "Shields are not walls! Walls do not move. Shields breathe—they shift, they give ground, they strike together!"
The wolfkin leader, Fenrik, bared his fangs as he shouted commands, his tail snapping like a whip. The wolfkin responded with fierce precision, their raw instincts tempered by Thalos' strict code. The goblins, smaller and quicker, darted in and out of the line, practicing harassing thrusts and feints.
Kael watched Umbra prowl along the edge of the field, golden eyes keen, as if judging their efforts himself.
Lyria came to stand beside Kael, bow slung across her back, her silver eyes sharp as ever. "They've improved."
Kael gave a short nod. "Two weeks ago, they were a rabble. Now they're a blade. Rough, but sharp enough to cut."
Lyria tilted her head toward Thalos, who was now demonstrating a disarming maneuver on a wolfkin nearly half his size. "And the ogre?"
"He's proven himself," Kael admitted, though his tone carried its usual caution. "Not just with strength. With discipline. The wolfkin respect him, even if they won't say it aloud. The goblins mimic him. That says enough."
As if to punctuate his words, Thalos swept the wolfkin's legs out from under him, then helped the youth back up with a gruff nod. "Good. Again. And this time, keep your balance, or you'll be carrion."
Kael allowed himself the faintest ghost of a smile.
Later that evening, Kael walked through the heart of the settlement. The stockpiles had grown into something worth notice: bundles of salted hides stacked neatly, barrels of herbs sealed with wax, crude but sturdy weapons from Baldrek's forge gleaming in the torchlight.
A small group of goblins busied themselves with tallying numbers on slate boards, while elves checked the bundles for quality. Everything that would not be consumed by the village was set aside for trade.
Kael stopped to run his hand over one of the hide bundles, the fur coarse beneath his palm. Trade was more than survival now—it was expansion. Influence. A chance to stretch their reach beyond the forest and its overlords.
Umbra padded at his side, silent but watchful.
The goblin elder shuffled up, his staff tapping against the packed dirt. His wrinkled face turned upward toward Kael. "The caravans will take notice if you bring this much. Notice cuts both ways, Lord Kael. Are you ready for the questions that come with it?"
Kael's crimson eyes glowed faintly in the torchlight. "Let them ask. We will answer as builders, not raiders. Our name will carry weight, not fear."
The elder harrumphed but did not argue.
Night fell. The council gathered once more in the chamber, the fire crackling low. The talk was brief—supplies were ready, routes discussed, roles decided. Finally, Kael rose, his presence commanding the room into silence.
"We take our first step beyond these woods," he said. "We show the kingdoms that we are more than a village clinging to survival. Lyria will come with me—her eyes are sharp, her arrows sharper. Fenrik as well. The wolfkin must be seen as more than guards. They are the fangs of this people, and their leader must stand at my side."
Fenrik's ears flicked back, but he gave a sharp nod, tail lashing once. "I'll see it done."
Lyria's lips curved faintly. "And I'll make sure no knife slips past your back."
Kael inclined his head to both. "The rest of you will hold here. Thalos, keep drilling the patrols. Baldrek, the forge does not rest. Elder, see the herbs stored. Every hand has a task, and every task builds toward tomorrow."
They bowed, some grumbling, some nodding, but none dared to challenge him now.
The next dawn painted the forest in pale gold. Kael stood at the village gates, cloak drawn tight, crimson eyes gleaming beneath his hood. Umbra sat at his heel, tail sweeping across the dirt.
Lyria adjusted her quiver, bow strung and ready. Fenrik checked the straps on his armor, his expression grim but resolute.
Behind them, the village stirred awake, the sound of hammers, voices, and life filling the air.
Kael looked once over his shoulder, at the walls, the smoke rising from chimneys, the people moving with purpose. His people.
Then he turned back to the forest path leading toward the distant kingdom.
"Let's begin," he said.
And with that, Kael, Lyria, Fenrik, and Umbra stepped forward, the gates closing behind them as their first journey into the wider world began.
The road stretched wide and lonely, cobbled in some places, worn to mud and roots in others. The forest gave way to rolling hills, morning mist clinging to the grass like ghostly fingers.
Kael led at a steady pace, Umbra padding silently beside him. Lyria followed a little behind, bow slung but ready, while Fenrik walked with his spear across his shoulders, his keen ears swiveling to catch every sound.
The silence did not last.
From the brush ahead came the low, guttural growls of something hunting. Umbra froze, hackles raised, a deep rumble building in his chest. Kael's eyes flashed crimson as the shadows around his hands stirred.
"Worgs," Fenrik hissed, lips peeling back from his fangs. "A pack."
The beasts broke from the treeline—four massive worgs, black-furred and slavering, eyes glowing like coals. Their breath misted in the morning air, fangs slick with saliva.
Kael raised a hand, voice low. "Hold the line. Let them come."
The first worg lunged, a blur of fur and teeth. Umbra met it head-on, their clash shaking the earth. Another worg veered for Fenrik, who spun his spear with brutal precision, thrusting into the beast's shoulder. The worg howled, snapping at his arm, but Fenrik snarled back and forced it down.
Lyria loosed an arrow. The rune-etched shaft glowed faint blue, piercing clean through a worg's neck. It staggered, choking on its own blood, before collapsing into the dirt.
The last worg circled wide, cunning in its hunger. It darted toward Kael, who stood motionless until the very last second. Then his shadows surged, lancing outward like spears. They pierced the worg's flank, driving it to the ground where it writhed, yelping.
Kael's eyes glowed brighter as he raised his hand to finish it.
"Kael." Lyria's voice cut through the haze, steady but firm. "It's beaten."
The crimson light faded, the shadows receding like smoke in the wind. Kael exhaled slowly, lowering his hand. The worg limped away into the brush, defeated but alive.
Fenrik wiped blood from his spear and grunted. "You fight like one of us," he admitted to Thalos' training, his yellow eyes sliding to Kael. "But you lead like no wolfkin I've ever known."
Lyria shouldered her bow and glanced at Kael. "And you didn't lose yourself. That matters."
Kael gave no answer, but his gaze lingered on the retreating beast.
By midday, the spires of the kingdom rose from the horizon. Stone walls, tall and imposing, ringed the city like a crown. Beyond them, rooftops stretched in clusters, smoke rising from chimneys, and the faint shimmer of banners in the wind.
The gate guards eyed them warily. Fenrik drew hood up over his ears, Lyria lowered hers, and Kael's crimson gaze dimmed to a dull ember. Umbra, however, drew more than one suspicious glance.
"State your business," a guard demanded, spear crossing the path.
"Trade," Kael answered evenly. He gestured to the bundles on their cart. "Hides, herbs, steel. Nothing more."
The guard's eyes narrowed at Umbra. "And the beast?"
Kael's stare hardened. "Mine."
Something in his voice—low, commanding, edged with something more than human—made the guard swallow and step aside.
The market was alive with color and chaos. Merchants shouted prices, hawkers waved their wares, children darted between stalls. Kael's group drew eyes immediately—Fenrik's gait, Lyria's bow, Kael's presence. Whispers rippled through the crowd, but no one dared approach too closely.
At their stall, the hides and herbs sold quickly. Hunters admired the pelts, healers scrambled for the rare plants. Baldrek's steel, though simple, fetched a decent price for its sturdiness. By the end of the day, the small chest before them was heavy with silver and a few glimmers of gold.
Kael watched the chest being filled, but his focus was elsewhere—on the way people looked at them. Some curious. Some fearful. Some calculating.
Lyria leaned closer, her voice pitched low. "We're noticed. That's both good and dangerous."
Kael nodded. "It means the plan is working."
But as he turned back, the weight of the chest shifted. A shadow darted past—a boy, thin and quick as smoke. His hand snapped out, and the chest was gone.
"Thief!" Fenrik roared, lunging forward with a snarl.
Kael was already moving. Umbra surged after the boy, shadows flickering in his wake as Kael vaulted the stall in pursuit.
The thief slipped into the crowd, darting through legs and around carts. People shouted in alarm as Umbra barreled past, Kael's cloak whipping behind him as his eyes blazed red.
"Stop!" Kael's voice cracked like thunder, sending a ripple of unease through the market.
But the boy didn't stop. He vanished into the alleys, chest clutched tight.
Kael followed.
And the hunt began.