The morning sun crested the ridge, its warm light doing little to chase the lingering chill from the keep's stone walls. The aftermath of their raid on the beast pens was a heavy, ringing silence. They had kicked the hornet's nest, and now the entire valley seemed to be holding its breath, waiting for the swarm. Draven stood on the watchtower, his eyes scanning the southern trail, his mind a cold engine of probability and projection. The intel they'd squeezed from the captured scouts was clear: Voss was not a man who tolerated insults. Retaliation was coming.
Grayfang, his ancestral guardian, was a massive, silver-furred presence at his side, the unspoken bond between them a seamless extension of Draven own vigilance. Below in the courtyard, the team moved with a new, grim purpose. The triumphant energy of their victory had been replaced by the quiet, efficient focus of a garrison preparing for a siege. Jaxon was reinforcing the main gate with fresh iron ingots, his hammer blows a steady, rhythmic drumbeat. Kara was in the garden, not just tending the grove, but working with the Thornling to create a defensive thicket of spiky, entangling vines at the base of the walls.
Draven descended, the scent of simmering stew and the faint, metallic tang of the forge filling the air. He knelt, offering the Thornling a piece of dried meat. The small guardian, its bond now a solid Level 5, took the offering with a happy chirp. Every asset had to be optimized, every bond strengthened.
He joined Kara by the new defensive hedge. Her dark hair was tied back, revealing the focused set of her jaw. She was a coder debugging a hostile network, her movements precise. She glanced up, her smile tired but genuine.
"Thinking about their next move?" she asked.
"I'm planning our next three," he replied, his gaze sweeping over the layers of their defense. "The raid bought us time, but it also painted a target on our backs."
"A target we're ready for," she said, her hand brushing his arm. The slow-burn connection between them had become a steady, reliable flame, a source of quiet strength in the face of the coming storm.
The focus of the morning's work was the newest addition to their arsenal: the captured Rune-Hound. The beast, now healed and tentatively loyal, was a living weapon system poached directly from the enemy. Draven , with Kara and Jaxon observing, put it through its paces in the courtyard.
"Track," he commanded, tossing a piece of hide scented with his own sweat toward the trees.
The hound's runes flared with a soft, blue light. It cast about for a moment, then locked onto the trail, its movements a fluid, predatory lope. It was faster than Grayfang, its tracking instincts hardwired.
"He's a natural scout," Jaxon noted, impressed. "Voss must be furious he lost him."
"Good," Draven said, a rare, cold smile touching his lips. "Let him be furious. Anger leads to mistakes."
They were running synergy drills—the Rune-Hound flushing a target, Grayfang executing a takedown—when the alert came. It wasn't one of their perimeter alarms. It was a System ping, a priority message flashing in his interface.
[Ally Alert: Verdant Jungle Outpost – Under Attack]
[Source: Mara – Distress Beacon Activated]
The air in the courtyard went still. Mara, Torren, and Jace. Voss wasn't launching a frontal assault on their main base. He was being smarter. He was dismantling their network, picking off their weaker allies one by one.
Draven mind raced, processing the new, catastrophic variable. The Jungle outpost was a vital node, a source of unique resources. But more than that, its defenders were now his people. He had brought them into his alliance, promised them security. To abandon them was not only a moral failure but a crippling strategic one. If he showed he couldn't protect his allies, his nascent empire would crumble before it was even built.
The choice was a brutal one. Stay and defend the keep, their most fortified position? Or take his elite team on a rapid deployment, leaving their home base guarded only by the Golem and a handful of traps? It was a gamble. A high-risk, high-reward gambit.
Kara looked at him, her expression a mixture of grim determination and unwavering trust. "We're going, aren't we?"
There was no other logical choice. "Jaxon, you're with us," Draven commanded, his voice a blade that cut through the tension. "Kara, you too. We travel light and fast. We hit them hard, break their assault, and we extract our people."
They geared up in a blur of focused, efficient motion. Potions, the best of their weapons, the last of the Essence Fang arrowheads. Draven stood before the Realm Anchor, the gateway to their network. He was about to strip his own fortress of its best defenders to protect a remote outpost. It was a move that went against every cautious instinct he had. But it was the only move a true leader could make.
He looked at his team. At Kara, his partner, her face a mask of fierce resolve. At Jaxon, his heavy support, a mountain of quiet strength. At Grayfang and the other summons, their power a tangible force at his command. They were not just a collection of assets. They were a weapon. And he was about to aim them directly at the heart of Voss's army.
"Let's go remind them why they should have left us alone," he said, and activated the anchor.