Chapter Twenty-Two – The Savior
William and Beta stood beside an ancient tree, gazing down the slope. Beneath the frozen ground lay the grave of Beta's mother—Alpha. Every year, the two of them came here to stand in silence.
Beta was always sorrowful on this day. He still remembered the moment his mother sacrificed her life to protect him. To honor her, he would hunt a bear each year as an offering. But this winter, he had failed. His grief weighed heavier than ever.
William gently stroked the wolf's head, whispering:
— Easy now…
Beta stepped forward, raised his muzzle, and let out a long mournful howl. Then, side by side, they returned to the cabin.
Half a year had passed since William's retreat into the wilderness. He had grown used to his blindness, relying on his other senses for daily tasks. Yet whenever he needed to travel farther than the cabin, Beta guided him faithfully.
Three long months he had spent digging into the frozen earth and gathering firewood. Then, with quiet determination, he began building a hot spring bath of his own. He crafted a small hut beside the cabin, sealed the wooden walls with mud and water, and let the Siberian frost harden them into insulation.
At the heart of it, he placed a large metal tank—secured with the help of the local people. Two pipes ran from it: one to release steam, the other to cycle water between the tank and a wooden tub. It worked by simple laws of physics—convection and capillary motion.
He covered the tank with planks so its warmth would radiate inside. Then he built a cylindrical tub, half a meter wide and one meter tall, sealing it with a resin-like paste taught to him by the natives.
When all was done, he smiled in quiet satisfaction, patting Beta's head. He lit the fire beneath the tank, shoveled snow into the side chamber, and soon steam hissed through the pipes. Everything worked flawlessly.
Inside the bathhouse, William stripped off his clothes, grabbed a towel, and entered with Beta, who carried a comb in his jaws. Steam wrapped around them like a blanket. Hot water trickled into the tub, filling it near the brim.
With a grin, William leapt in. Beta hesitated, then bounded after him. For a whole day, man and wolf enjoyed the warmth of their private hot spring.
Beyond their quiet world, chaos churned. William had been cut off for six months, blind to the news: wars flaring in the Middle East, Reed Richards and the Doom team preparing for space, young mutants disappearing, Tony Stark's endless revelries, Obadiah Stane's watchful eyes, Bruce Banner's secret experiments, and hidden alliances between Arthur, the head of Kingsmen, and a bald man named Valentine who never went without a hat.
But even if William knew, what could he have done? Nothing.
The year 2005 was fading. He thought briefly of Christmas as he walked back toward the cabin. Then he stopped.
Beta's ears twitched. The wolf inhaled deeply, tense, ready. The scent of blood drifted on the wind.
William touched his head gently:
— Calm… but ready.
Together, they slipped behind a thick tree.
Through the swirling snow, a girl ran. Her hair was golden but tangled, her pale face streaked with blood. Her white leather suit was torn and pierced, her jacket ripped open. Three armed men chased after her, hatred burning in their eyes.
This was Yelena. In her desperation, she heard the distant howl of a wolf. Hope stirred in her chest. Death beneath a wolf's fangs seemed kinder than the hands of the beasts pursuing her.
But fate struck cruelly. A bullet tore into her side. Blood dripped onto the snow. Her legs faltered, the world blurred, and before darkness claimed her she heard curses, gunfire—and then silence.
William heard four sets of footsteps. He knew these men were not here for him. But rage rose in him—rage that they had shattered his peace.
With a signal, Beta crouched low.
The first man rushed past. William moved like a shadow, seizing the fourth man from behind. His dagger slid into the soldier's chest, then his throat. The body slumped silently into the snow.
Swiftly, William closed on the third. His blade tore into the man's spine; a scream burst out, then died.
The second man spun, cursing in Russian. His finger tightened on the trigger—
But Beta struck first. With a mighty leap, the wolf's jaws clamped around his neck, ripping it apart. The man's gun sprayed bullets into the air before he collapsed in silence.
Only one sound remained—the harsh, labored breaths of the fallen girl.
William approached. Beneath him lay Yelena, her white clothes crimson with blood, chest heaving faintly.
He murmured:
— Looks like this is about saving, not killing.
He had always believed: no girl, no woman was truly guilty. If she had fallen, it was because some cruel man had driven her there.
Lifting her gently, he sprinted back toward the cabin. Beta dragged his own bloody kill toward his mother's grave, paying no attention.
Inside, William laid Yelena by the fireplace on a bear pelt. He fetched the first aid kit, cutting away her blood-soaked clothing with sharp steel scissors. Her pale skin was revealed, marred with deep and shallow wounds.
The bullet in her side was lodged deep. With sterilized forceps, he pulled it free. Blood gushed, but he pressed hard with cloth until it slowed. Then, with steady hands, he stitched the wound shut.
Another bullet had passed clean through her shoulder—he stitched that too. The smaller cuts he cleaned with alcohol and sealed with bandages. He reset her broken finger, splinting it with cloth and wood, then injected a dose of antibiotics.
At last, he wiped her body clean of blood. He looked upon her fragile, battered form and allowed himself a faint smile—both for God's creation and for his own hard work.
He carried her to the large bed, covered her with a thick bearskin, and stepped quietly outside.
Through the window he saw Beta lying guard at the door, watchful as ever. William drew a deep breath, strapped his weapons across his back, and strode into the snowy night.
Beta remained, waiting for the moment their uninvited guest would awaken.