The first howl split the night like a blade. Not one, not two—but a chorus, sharp and hungry, rolling from the dark treeline. Kael's boots crunched on the white earth as he stumbled along the palisade, hands tightening on his sword's hilt. He had enough mana for four spells, none of them enough to carve a path through what he knew was coming. Perfect.
The shadowfangs poured from the treeline, shapes low and fluid, moving like smoke across the forest floor. Their eyes glinted, phosphorescent and cruel, teeth bared in cruel anticipation. The beast's scream, multiplied a dozen times, ripped the silence in half. Kael's chest tightened.
"Archers, fire!" Lucas's voice cut sharply, a spear through the chaos. Kael saw arrows streak through the dark like falling stars. Several beasts yelped and fell, but more surged forward.
Kael gripped the hilt of his sword, fingers tight around leather that felt suddenly too thin. Fantastic. I trained for an hour with this thing. Can I even use it right?
The shadowfangs reached the palisade with a low, guttural hiss, claws raking against the wood. Splinters flew as the wall groaned under their weight. Some of the beasts crouched, ready to leap, but the archers' arrows cut through the air, felling the first to make a move. One went down with a yelp, thudding against the snow. Another twisted mid-leap, an arrow lodged in its flank, before hitting the ground.
Kael moved closer to the wooden wall, feeling the vibrations of claws striking timber beneath his boots. The smell of wet fur and blood reached him, sharp and immediate. Fantastic, he thought, this is going well.
Kael pressed himself closer to the wall, eyes tracking the shadows twisting in the snow. One of the beasts lunged too close, caught mid-leap by an archer's arrow. It slammed into the palisade with a sickening crunch, only to meet another obstacle—an ice spear he had set in place earlier. He wasn't sure if he'd placed it yesterday or just this morning after the funerals; exhaustion blurred the hours after pouring his mana into the traps.
The creature shrieked, claws flailing, eyes wide and uncomprehending. Then it went still. Kael flinched as a warm spray hit his cheek. Blood and gore splattered through the gap in the wall where the spear had pierced it, sticky and hot against the icy cold of the evening.
He wiped at his face instinctively, tasting iron, heart thudding in his chest. Fantastic, he thought bitterly, first wave of the night, and I'm already getting showered in gore. He swallowed, trying to steady himself, gripping his sword tighter, the leather biting into his palm. Every instinct screamed to step back, but the palisade held, the archers kept firing, and the shadowfangs surged forward, relentless and cruel.
One shadowfang lunged too close, claws scraping the palisade. Without thinking, Kael swung his sword through a gap in the wall. The blade met the beast with a wet, sloppy thud—hardly the clean strike he had imagined. The creature yelped, more annoyed than injured, staggering slightly before twisting away. Kael's grip slipped, leather biting into his palm, and he stumbled back a step, stomach dropping.
He swallowed, trying to steady himself, gripping his sword tighter. Every instinct screamed to step back, but the palisade held, the archers kept firing, and the shadowfangs surged forward, relentless and cruel.
Kael's stomach twisted, fear gnawing at the edges of his mind. He had hoped the traps would give them a moment's reprieve, but reality was sharper than any spear or blade. He clenched his teeth and raised his sword again, muttering under his breath, "At least I didn't get eaten… yet."
As Kael drew a shuddering breath to steady himself, a shadowfang leapt onto the palisade. Its claws dug into the wood, scraping harshly, and its head tipped over the top, fangs glinting in the faint light.
A volunteer froze, eyes wide, then stumbled backward, slipping on the snow. He fell hard onto his back, his pitchfork buried in the snow. Kael's mind stuttered—panic, hesitation, calculation, all at once. Should he use mana or save it for later? Four spells could change the course of a fight—or leave him helpless when it truly mattered.
He gripped his sword tighter, as if the sharp blade could answer for him. His throat went dry. Gods, do something. Don't just stand here like some decoration.
The beast heaved higher, its teeth snapping, eyes wild with hunger. Kael's knees locked. He could almost feel those fangs burying into his throat, his knees shaking.
Then, as if the world decided to mock his hesitation, two arrows streaked through the dark and buried into the shadowfang's skull. A third clattered into the wall. He flinched. The beast gave a strangled cry, spasming, then toppled backwards off the palisade with a heavy thud.
Kael's lungs released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. His sword trembled in his grip. Brilliant work. You stood there, you thought very hard about maybe helping, and then the problem solved itself. What a contribution.
The night was a blur of violence and noise. Guards stabbed their spears through the narrow gaps in the palisade, grunting with each thrust. The wood rattled as shadowfangs slammed against it, claws searching for a way through. Somewhere down the line, one beast slipped past.
Kael's head snapped toward the sound of men shouting. A shadowfang was inside the walls, its black hide writhing as three guards drove their spears into it, pinning it against the ground. The beast howled, froth spraying from its jaws. One guard screamed as its claws raked across his arm. Another was already on the ground, his spear next to him, covered in snow, in a spreading pool of blood. His eyes stayed open, wide, glassy.
Kael swallowed hard. The man didn't even twitch.
Rhys's voice cut through the storm, sharp as iron. "Hold! Keep them pinned...don't give them an inch!" His orders carried, but his throat was raw, frayed with desperation.
Arrows hissed overhead, the sound constant, filling the air like angry wasps. Each twang of the bowstring was a heartbeat, each thud of impact, one shadowfang falling, another pushing forward.
And then Kael saw Lucas.
The young man stood frozen, sword half-raised, eyes locked on the nightmare unfolding just three paces away. A volunteer was being dragged through one of the wall's gaps, his hands clawing at the white ground as a shadowfang pulled him out by the leg. His screams were raw, jagged things, cutting through the rest of the noise.
Lucas didn't move. His mouth hung open, the sword trembling in his arm. His gaze was fixed on the volunteer's face—the blind panic, the desperate reach of fingers scrabbling for purchase as his body vanished into the dark beyond the wall.
Kael's chest tightened. Too much was happening—everywhere at once. He couldn't track it all. Arrows hissed, men shouted, claws tore at wood, and his thoughts scattered like snow in a storm. Before, he had seen the fight clearly, shapes, openings, threats, and how to answer them. Now? Now he saw nothing but chaos. Every choice felt like a mistake waiting to happen. Should he burn his mana now, or hold it for later when things grew even worse? Four spells. Four. It was laughable against the tide crashing around them. His hand tightened on the hilt until his knuckles throbbed.
A voice cut through, raw and furious. "Lucas! Move, damn you!"
The guard captain stormed past Kael, seizing the young man by the collar. He shook him hard, spittle flying as he screamed into his face. "Do something or get out of the way!"
The command snapped Lucas from his stupor, eyes blinking wildly, like a sleeper yanked from a nightmare. His sword arm jerked up at last, the blade flashing clumsily in the firelight.
Lucas finally moved, but the young man's strikes were hesitant, half-hearted, his fear more visible than his skill. Even with the training, even with his oath, he was just another scared boy.
It took a few moments, but Lucas seemed to shake off the paralysis gripping him. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing, and a low hum of azure light flickered along the edge of his sword. The glow pulsed with a strange rhythm, faint but unmistakable, a fragment of power Kael had yet to see.
Then Lucas moved. His legs carried him with a sudden, fluid precision, closing the distance to a shadowfang that had just scrambled through a breach in the wall. The beast hissed, teeth bared, but Lucas's sword flashed again, leaving a streak of glowing blue in the dark.
Kael barely had time to process the motion before another shadowfang leapt through, claws extended, eyes locked on him. His stomach plummeted. There was no time to think, only react. His hand flared with a low azure glow, pulsing along his palm as mana surged, warming his veins with icy fire. He raised his sword, muscles taut, every nerve screaming, and braced himself—the shadowfang charged, its black shape blurring against snow and darkness.
And then...