When the morning sun finally scattered the last tendrils of fog, Vi stepped out of the town head’s house, adjusting the woolen cloak around her shoulders.
Almost immediately, she noticed something strange, people were running. Not in panic, but with urgency and purpose, their faces bright with excitement. Dozens of townsfolk passed by her, some carrying tools, others simply heading in the same direction: toward the town gates.
Curiosity piqued, Vi followed.
As she drew closer, the growing murmur of voices, loud and layered, rose into the air like the hum of a great festival. She passed through the narrow streets, turned a corner, and paused as the full view of the outer gate came into sight.
Her silver brows lifted.
Before her stood a gate unlike anything she had ever seen.
Thick, unnaturally thick, its two towering doors looked as though they had been woven from massive roots. Each root twisted and coiled around the other, layered in thick, knot-like bands until they formed a solid, immovable wall of bark and timber. Even the hinges weren’t metal, but large loops of entwined roots that flexed slightly as the gate moved.
At first, Vi suspected some clever artisan had constructed it with aesthetic flair, perhaps hoping to impress. But that thought vanished quickly. No backward town fighting for survival would waste time on beauty.
Her eyes widened. It wasn’t just the gate. The entire palisade had changed.
The wall stretched in both directions, one continuous barricade of gnarled roots and fused bark. There were no gaps. No seams. Just one immense structure, a meter thick in most places, formed of tightly packed, living wood. She approached, pressed her hand against the surface, and blinked.
Rough in shape, yes, but smooth in texture. Like the skin of an ancient tree, shaped by time and magic.
They spilled from the base of the wall and snaked across the ground, thick, veiny tendrils that pushed deep into the soil, anchoring the structure with an eerie, natural permanence.
Vi’s breath caught in her throat.
"How is this possible?" she whispered, brushing her fingers along the surface again.
Her eyes drifted upward, tracing the line of the wall as it encircled the valley town.
This wasn’t the work of a simple Acranist.
This was a phenomenon, an impossibility.
And Kaelor... the fool with strange powers and stubborn will... he had done this.
Vi stepped back slowly, lips slightly parted. For the first time, she wasn’t sure if she was looking at a miracle...or the beginning of something far more dangerous.
Because through this, she could see that Kaelor’s gift was far beyond what she had seen. It could even be on par with the two great men of legend!
Her lips quivered at the thought of that.
Just then, Kaelor emerged onto the main street, striding toward the town gate with wide strides.
A thick fur coat hung over his shoulders, its inner lining stitched with care and warmth. Mildred had made it for him long ago, months before his arrival. In truth, she had prepared several garments in advance, guided by measurements sent by his mother a year prior.
The coat swayed as he walked, and at his waist dangled Ignis, the longblade forged by Vulcanus, its faint glint a symbol of strength and promise. Behind Kaelor, the Guard followed, twenty in total, with Hound at their head.
Hound’s imposing figure was draped in a leather vest layered with a hulking bear-fur mantle, the massive head of the beast resting over his right shoulder like a trophy. The same ensemble adorned the six original Dreadclaws and the fourteen newly inducted Guardsmen.
According to Hound, it was tradition: before any great hunt or battle, a true hunter must wear the fur of their mightiest kill.
Of course, most of the new recruits had no such victories to boast of, many were rabbit chasers or antelope trackers. But Hound, ever the silent mountain of foresight, had opened his personal stash.
Kaelor had been stunned.
Furs. Heavy, luxurious, and fearsome, enough for all fourteen men to don thick bear hides crowned with snarling, taxidermied heads. The sight of them, walking in formation, was enough to stir something primal in the townsfolk.
Their sabers hung at their sides. Daggers glinted on their opposite hips, and some bore hidden blades tucked into their boots. Yet Kaelor knew that once these men rose fully to the level of the Dreadclaws, they’d have no need for shoes at all, their very bodies would become living weapons, their feet tougher than any footwear.
A chorus of voices rang out from the gathered townsfolk.
"Bless you, My Lord!"
They watched with eyes brimming with awe and hope as Kaelor passed. He returned their gaze with a faint but steady smile, his gaze briefly brushing over Vi who stood quietly near the gate, her silver hair catching the morning sun like strands of light.
He didn’t say anything to her, though a part of him had considered asking for her horse.
He kept that thought to himself.
Without breaking stride, Kaelor led his Guard up the slope beyond the town. As they crested the hill, the newly transformed palisade rose behind them like a fortress from myth, ten feet high, fused with roots and bark that gleamed faintly in the sun.
Kaelor looked back once.
And then, without fanfare or farewell, he turned and vanished into the embrace of the forest.
An hour into the forest, the canopy above them began to dim, not from the thickness of the trees, but from the brooding clouds that had silently gathered overhead.
The once golden sun vanished behind their mass, casting a gray pall over the underbrush. A low rumble echoed in the distance, rolling like the growl of some unseen titan.
Still, Kaelor and his Guard pressed forward.
This was not a march of blind vengeance. Kaelor had a purpose.
He wasn’t here to wipe out the entire wolf pack, at least not yet. The goal today was to test a theory that had nested itself deep in his mind.
’What if the fusion power didn’t just create more Dreadclaws... what if it could evolve them further?’
The idea had haunted him since his last encounter with the Devil Wolves.
Could his Dreadclaws ascend further, become something greater? What if fusing more Devil Wolves, especially powerful ones, into a Dreadclaw elevated them to a new form? An Alpha Dreadclaw, perhaps.
If that were true, then what about Hound? If he fused Hound with the white-furred wolf king...
The thought was too grand to ignore.
Kaelor pressed forward, the forest dampening all sound save for the thuds of boots and bare paws on wet soil. Then, a single raindrop struck his forehead. He stopped.
His gaze lifted toward the heavens.
At that exact moment, the sky split with a roar, thunder cracked through the clouds like a whip, and the forest was swallowed in a torrential downpour.
Rain slammed against the leaves, drenching the world in an instant. Kaelor’s face was soaked, droplets running down his cheeks like cold sweat.
A large, firm hand landed on his shoulder.
Hound leaned in, his fangs barely visible, his expression grim and sharp beneath the rain.
"We should thank the heavens for this rain." His voice was a murmur, almost reverent. "I can smell them..."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
Kaelor’s grip instinctively tightened on Ignis.