The chime was a single, clean note in the pre-dawn quiet, an alert from the southern perimeter wire that cut through Draven's sleep. He didn't move. He lay still, processing the data. A single ping, no follow-up. Not a full-scale assault. A stray beast or a single, clumsy scout. Kara's warmth was a solid, grounding presence beside him, her breathing a quiet rhythm in the dark. The slow-burn connection between them had finally caught, a steady, quiet flame that had become as essential as the fire in the hearth.
[Automated Trap System Alert: Southern Trail – Breach Detected]
He slipped from the blankets, the movement fluid and silent. Grayfang was already on his feet, a hulking shadow of ancestral power, his silver eyes locked on Draven. A question passed between them through the bond.
Draven grabbed his cloak and dagger. He nudged Jaxon's shoulder with his boot. The big man was awake instantly, hand on his sword. "Ping?" Jaxon whispered, his voice a low rumble.
Draven nodded. "South. A quiet look. Kara holds the keep."
She stirred as they prepared, sitting up with her dark hair a wild tangle around her face. "Go time?"
He leaned down and pressed a quick, firm kiss to her forehead, a gesture that was both a comfort and a promise. "Recon. Back before the coffee's ready."
She squeezed his arm, her trust absolute. "Watch your six."
They moved out into the pre-dawn mist, a two-man fire team with a wolf for a point man. The Territory Mapping Interface painted a blue, holographic path over the damp earth. The southern trail was a known quantity, the traps he'd laid with Kara a reassuring layer of security.
They found the breach at the first choke point. The wire was intact, but a fresh, armored boot print was stamped in the mud beside a snapped twig. Human. One of Voss's.
"One man, retreating south," Draven murmured, analyzing the fading heat signature in his interface. "He's sloppy. We can catch him. Intel is a higher priority than stealth right now."
Jaxon grunted in agreement. "Let's go hunting."
They followed the trail for a half-mile, moving with a practiced, lethal silence. Grayfang froze, a low rumble vibrating through the ground. Voices. Through the thinning mist, Draven saw them: three of Voss's grunts, their jagged-crown insignia stark against their scarred leather armor. The one with the muddy boots was reporting to a wiry, hard-faced leader.
"…wires are live, just like the boss said. This summoner's dug in deep," the scout was saying.
The leader nodded. "Voss wants him taken quiet. A full raid is still days out. We probe again tomorrow—"
That was all the intel Draven needed. A quiet takedown meant a small team. A raid in days meant he had a timetable. Time to disrupt it. "We hit them now," he whispered to Jaxon. "Disable. Don't kill. I want the leader."
Grayfang was the opening move, a Spectral Charge that phased through the scout, throwing him off-balance with a grunt of surprised terror. Jaxon was a thunderclap, his sword not aiming to kill but to disarm, crashing against the second man's mace with brutal, calculated force. Draven flanked right, his dagger a blur as he hamstrung the leader, while the Thornling on his shoulder launched a Thorn Barrage, a spray of suppressive fire that peppered the third man's armor.
The fight was over before the enemy could mount a defense. It was a symphony of violence, a perfect takedown. In seconds, three of Voss's professional soldiers were on the ground, groaning, their weapons scattered.
Draven zip-tied the leader's hands with a length of spare wire. "Voss's plan," he said, his voice a cold, flat demand. "All of it."
The man spat blood. "Go to hell, summoner."
Draven just nodded to Grayfang. The wolf stepped forward, and Draven channeled a sliver of energy into their bond. Grayfang's silver eyes began to glow with a terrifying, ancient light—a pure intimidation aura. The hardened soldier's bravado evaporated. The intel spilled out: Voss was camped five miles south with thirty men, pushing north for resources, and Draven's keep was at the top of his acquisition list.
They gagged and bound the prisoners, dragging them off the trail. They were a problem for later. For now, they were a message.
Back at the keep, the sun was burning through the mist. Kara met them at the gate, relief washing over her face before being replaced by a hard, professional focus. He gave her the quick, brutal summary. "Voss is coming. A full assault is days away."
Her expression hardened. "So we get ready."
The rest of the day was a blur of focused, furious preparation. Draven was at the forge, the hammer ringing like a war drum as he smelted ore into more spikes. Jaxon hauled the prisoners to a makeshift cell, grumbling about "babysitting." Kara joined Draven at the forge, her presence a quiet, steadying force. In the heat and the smoke, as they worked, she leaned in and kissed him, a deep, lingering promise of a future worth fighting for.
That evening, the fire burned bright. They shared a meal, the tension of the day giving way to a warm, defiant camaraderie. Jaxon told a story about hot-wiring a generator in a Mumbai blackout, equating it to jury-rigging their new traps. Kara talked about building firewalls for Seattle tech giants, a digital defense that felt strangely similar to what they were doing now. Draven listened, sharing little, but absorbing the strength of his team.
They were a coder, a mechanic, and a strategist, led by a man with no past. A weird, broken, but brutally effective family. Kara's hand found his under the stars. The bonds were forged. The fortress was ready. Let Voss come.