The night was absolute.
No wind. No insects. No sound.
Inside the outpost, the earlier panic had vanished, replaced by something heavier—something forged under pressure. A cold, hardened resolve settled into every chest like iron poured and left to set.
After the equipment was distributed, Colin's voice broke the silence.
It wasn't loud.
But it reached everyone.
There were no speeches this time—only orders.
Clear. Precise.
Unwavering.
"Uncle Goff," Colin said, his eyes landing on the old hunter, "you, Anna, and Sarah take the south wall. You're our only archers. Arrows are limited—don't waste them."
Anna and Sarah, both newly trained, nodded firmly despite their nerves.
"Wait for my signal," Colin continued. "When they step into the clearing before the trench, I'll give a short wolf howl. That's your cue. First volley—target the one who looks like the officer."
Goff nodded.
Decapitate the command.
"Linna," Colin turned, "you and your group handle the logs."
She stood with three other women, eyes burning with restrained fury.
"You move only on my signal—two rapid howls. Not before. Even if they reach the wall, you hold."
Linna slammed her fist to her chest.
She understood.
That strike would decide everything.
"The rest of you—come with me."
Colin led them to the gate.
Three followed, gripping spears tightly.
"We hold here," he said. "Brace the door. If they ram it, you hold it with everything you have."
"If it breaks…"
He paused.
"I'll be first."
"You stand behind me. Strike anything that gets through."
He didn't send them away.
There was no safe place.
Better to fight than to wait helplessly.
Then, from his pocket, Colin took out two small crystal vials.
Healing potions.
All he had.
He handed one to Goff.
"Your arrows are our only range. You can't fall."
The second, he kept.
No one objected.
Everyone understood.
Survival demanded efficiency—not fairness.
The bitter scent of herbs filled the air.
Along with something else.
Trust.
Time stretched.
Slow.
Thick.
Waiting was torture.
Colin began his final inspection.
At the south wall, Anna trembled, her arrow nearly slipping.
Colin stepped beside her, adjusted her grip, and pressed her shoulder firmly.
"Breathe," he said quietly. "Just like practice."
She inhaled.
Steady.
The shaking eased.
At the battlements, Linna and her group stood ready beside the stacked logs.
Their eyes were no longer afraid.
They were fierce.
Like wolves guarding their young.
Colin gave a slight nod.
Linna returned it.
At the gate, Lina and Finney reinforced the barricade with stakes.
Behind them, the old werewolf shielded the children with his frail body.
Lina straightened when Colin approached.
Fear lingered—but her eyes were steady.
"Everything is ready," Colin said softly.
"Remember—three howls means retreat. Take the old and children. Use the hidden path. Don't hesitate."
Lina bit her lip and nodded.
Tears gathered—but did not fall.
"Colin…" she whispered, "you… you have to survive too."
He looked at her.
At how far she had come.
He reached out, gently touching the back of her cold hand.
"Live on."
That was all.
Then he turned.
Back to the wall.
Back to the fight.
At the highest point, Goff waited.
"Everything's set," the old hunter said, handing him a water skin.
Colin drank deeply.
Cool water steadied him.
"Boy," Goff said suddenly, staring into the darkness, "no matter what happens… you've surpassed your father. You're a born leader."
Colin was silent.
Then—
"I just want everyone to live."
Goff snorted softly.
"Living is the greatest hope there is."
His eyes hardened.
"But if they want us dead… they'll pay for it in blood."
They stood together.
Two wolves guarding their ground.
Watching the dark.
The forest held its breath.
No wind.
No sound.
Nothing.
Then—
Colin's ears twitched.
A sound.
Faint.
Out of place.
Metal… scraping against stone.
From the southeast.
Far.
But real.
Then another.
And another.
A muttered curse, quickly silenced.
Humans.
Careful.
But not silent enough.
Colin slowly raised his hand.
Across the outpost, every waking soul froze.
Breath held.
Hearts pounding.
They had arrived.
The moment of reckoning—
had begun.