Dawn came harsh and cold.
The sky shifted from deep gray to a pale, washed-out blue, as if the world held its breath before letting the sun rise fully. Mist clung low to the ground and slid between huts like restless spirits. Firsthaven stirred slowly beneath the chill, fires being coaxed awake, voices murmuring, hunters stretching stiff limbs.
Sophus sat cross-legged beside his hut, the new spear resting across his lap.
He had slept little again. His mind was calm, but his body felt heavier each morning, as if the world pressed down on him more with every passing day. He breathed slowly, letting the fresh air fill his lungs.
The spear felt different today.
Not alive.
Not powerful.
But present.
It carried a sense of waiting, as if it knew its purpose had not yet been fulfilled.
Sophus ran his thumb along the shaft, feeling the texture of hardened wood, the roughness of the resin bindings. He touched the edge of the crude spearhead. It was uneven, imperfect, but sharp enough to change fate.
Footsteps approached.
Polemos appeared first, stretching his arms wide. "Morning feel tense," he said. "Like something watching."
"It is," Sophus said without opening his eyes.
Polemos grinned uneasily. "You mean wolves again."
Sophus opened his eyes slowly. "Not only wolves."
Polemos blinked. "What you feel."
Sophus inhaled, tasting the air. The scent carried faint, unsettling notes. Something wild. Something that did not belong this close.
"Beasts gather," he said. "More than yesterday."
Polemos's grin faded. "Then we test your spear today."
Sophus stood. "Yes."
….
Training that morning was brief but focused.
Sophus walked among the hunters, adjusting grips and stances. He demonstrated how to brace the spear against a charging beast, how to thrust from the hips, how to keep distance without losing balance.
"Let weapon work for you," he said. "Not against you."
Valerius practiced thrusts, wincing slightly as his recovering injury pulled taut. Thalara moved with quiet determination, her strikes stiff at first, then gradually smoother. Aletheia mirrored Sophus's movements with surprising precision. Even Chronicus attempted a few thrusts, though his stance was a disaster.
Arete stood nearby, arms folded, watching the spear in motion with fierce attention. Every time Sophus struck air, her gaze tracked the vibration of the metal.
"It bend slightly," she murmured.
"It endure," Sophus replied.
"Good," she said.
But there was tension in her jaw. She wanted perfection. The world did not give her that yet.
….
By midday, the first signs appeared.
The hunters on the walls shifted nervously, gripping weapons tighter. Birds fell silent. Grass rippled with unnatural rhythm.
Sophus stepped onto the wall, spear in hand. Polemos and Valerius joined him.
The plains stretched wide beneath the sun. Nothing moved at first.
Then they saw it.
A line in the grass.
Then another.
Then two more.
Shapes slid forward, low and smooth.
"Wolves," Valerius said quietly.
"Not same as yesterday," Sophus replied.
The wolves approached slowly, not in single formation but in a wide arc, testing angles, searching for weaknesses in the tribe's defenses. Their eyes gleamed with intelligence.
One wolf stopped suddenly, raising its head.
Polemos inhaled sharply. "It bigger than others."
It was.
The wolf in front was large, nearly reaching Sophus's chest if they stood face to face. Its fur was thicker, darker, streaked with faint beams of silver that caught the light. Its gaze met Sophus's with clear understanding.
This was no ordinary beast.
This was the one that watched from afar.
The one that had sensed his growth.
Sophus tightened his grip on the spear.
Polemos whispered, "We fight it now."
"No," Sophus said. "Wait."
The wolves circled slowly. They did not lunge. They did not test the wall with snaps or charges. They simply watched.
"Why they not attack," Valerius murmured.
"They measure us," Sophus replied.
A shiver ran through Firsthaven's hunters.
Beasts that observed were more dangerous than beasts that attacked.
The lead wolf stepped closer, still calm, still silent. Its nose twitched. Its ears pricked. Then it turned its head slightly, as if signaling to the others.
Three wolves broke formation.
They moved toward the northern side of the wall.
Sophus reacted immediately.
"To the north," he called. "Move."
Hunters scrambled. Polemos leaped off the wall and sprinted across the village. Valerius followed close behind.
Sophus turned the spear in his hand. The wood felt steady beneath his grip.
The wolves darted forward.
This time, they attacked.
….
The clash happened fast.
Three wolves lunged at the north wall. One scaled the ramp of stones that had formed naturally over seasons of weather. The hunters there raised sticks and crude weapons, fear flashing in their eyes.
Sophus reached the wall in time to meet the first wolf.
The beast leaped.
Sophus planted his feet.
His body felt heavy but stable. His muscles tightened with late-stage forging density. His breath steadied.
He thrust the spear forward.
The spearhead struck the wolf's chest.
For a moment, everything slowed.
The metal penetrated.
Flesh resisted.
Bone scraped.
Then the spear sank deeper.
The wolf let out a choked yelp and collapsed, sliding off the spear's edge.
Blood splattered onto the stones.
Sophus exhaled slowly.
The spear had held.
Arete, watching from below, felt her breath catch. "It work," she whispered.
But two more wolves remained.
Polemos slammed into one with a roar, tackling it to the ground and driving his stick into its throat. The wolf thrashed wildly, biting into Polemos's arm, but he held firm, strength overpowering fury.
Valerius met the third wolf, pivoting aside with a quick sidestep and striking its ribs with his staff. The blow staggered the creature but did not drop it. The wolf lunged again.
Sophus moved.
He stepped between Valerius and the wolf, thrusting the spear downward in a sharp arc. The blade sliced into the wolf's shoulder. It snapped at him, teeth brushing the wood of the shaft. Sophus shoved forward, twisting his hips, driving the spear deeper.
The beast collapsed under the force.
Sophus withdrew the spear, breathing heavily.
Polemos threw his wolf aside, clutching his bleeding arm. "That all of them."
"No," Sophus said quietly.
The others looked toward the plains.
The large wolf was still there.
Watching.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
Polemos spat. "It wanted us to fight."
"Yes," Sophus said. "It study us."
Valerius scowled. "Why not attack."
Sophus lowered the spear. "It wait for something."
Thalara approached from behind, eyes sharp. "What something."
Sophus did not answer.
He did not know yet.
But the wolf's gaze lingered on him and on the spear.
It saw the change.
It saw the threat.
And it retreated.
Slowly. Calmly.
The other wolves followed.
The plains grew still again.
….
Firsthaven erupted with mixed emotions.
Some cheered the victory.
Some trembled with fear.
Some whispered that the beasts had grown smarter than ever.
Arete approached Sophus with urgency.
"Show me," she said, pointing to the spear.
Sophus handed it to her.
She inspected the metal closely. Her eyes narrowed. "It bent slightly near the point, but not enough to weaken. And it did not chip."
"It cut well," Sophus said.
Arete nodded. "Not perfect. But good start."
Sophus studied her expression. "You can make stronger."
Arete hesitated. Then she said, "Yes. But stronger metal require stronger fire."
"What needed," Sophus asked.
She thought for a moment. "Clay deeper. Stone tighter. Air faster. More heat."
Polemos overheard and grinned. "We make bigger fire."
Arete glared at him. "Bigger not equal better."
Polemos shrank back slightly.
Sophus placed a hand on her shoulder. "You do what must. Tribe help you."
Arete took a deep breath. "I will make better. This only first."
Sophus nodded. "Good."
….
Later that afternoon, Sophus cleaned the spear again. Blood stained the wood, seeping into the grain. He scrubbed it carefully, almost gently.
He felt something shift inside him.
Not power.
Not growth.
A realization.
This weapon was not just a tool for killing.
It was a statement.
A declaration that humanity would not remain prey.
Wisdom stirred.
Understanding brushed against his thoughts.
Tools extend flesh.
Flesh without purpose is weakness.
Purpose without tools is death.
Sophus ran his hand along the spear shaft again.
The name did not come.
Not yet.
First it had to survive more.
He had to survive more.
….
Night approached.
Sophus walked the perimeter of Firsthaven, spear in hand, body heavy but mind steady. The hunters nodded as he passed. Children watched him with wide admiration. Elders murmured prayers of gratitude or fear.
He stopped at the northern edge, where the wolves had attacked.
The ground still carried marks of struggle.
He crouched, touching the earth where blood had pooled and dried. The scent lingered faintly.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached.
Aletheia.
"You are not resting," she said quietly.
"No."
She stepped beside him. "You feel danger still."
"Yes."
She looked out at the plains. "The big wolf. It will come back."
Sophus nodded.
"Why," she asked.
Sophus tightened his grip on the spear. "Because world changing. And beasts feel it same as we."
Aletheia exhaled slowly. "Then we must change first."
Sophus looked at her.
She was right.
Change did not wait.
It hunted.
Sophus rose, holding the spear upright.
Tomorrow, the world would test him again.
Tomorrow, he would answer.
And one day soon, this weapon would earn its name.
But not yet.
Not until the world forced it.
Not until Sophus understood what it must become.
The night deepened.
And Firsthaven braced for what was coming.