At the northern border of the Warwulf cn's territory, an Oruk warband marched southward through the narrowing pass of Twinfang Mountain. The warriors, cd in dark leather and iron ptes adorned with red tusks, carried the banner of the Irontusk cn.

  For two days they had marched now, and with each mile they crossed, the air grew warmer and warmer.

  Ahead of the column, Kragmar the bloodied, with his iron helm in the shape of a boar glistening under the moonlight, rode his boar-like war beast in great strides. A hulking brute even among the Oruks, one of his eyes burned with rage and fury, while the other was sealed shut with a jagged scar.

  The work of Borg Warwulf.

  To the chieftain's side rode his second in command and shaman to the Irontusk cn, Droval. His cloak, made with fur and bone talismans, fluttered with the wind as his bck eyes surveyed the horizon.

  "We draw close to Snowshade," he grunted as he gnced at his chieftain, "tomorrow, we'll reach the northern outpost of the Warwulf cn."

  "Indeed so." Kragmar answered as he reined in his beast. "The day of reckoning is almost upon us."

  The Irontusk cn and the Warwulf cn have been bitter rivals for centuries, even before the Great Famine War. When he heard that Borg had brought his most seasoned warriors south and left his two sons to command their Stronghold, he felt that now is the time to strike.

  "A small force, and two green whelps, no better opportunity could have presented itself."

  Kragmar's blood boiled at the thought of finally having his revenge against their sworn enemy. He raised a fist in the air, signaling his army.

  "We set up camp here," he bellowed as he turned to face his warband, "spread our forces, and make sure to build the fires as big as possible."

  A fatal mistake, conventionally speaking, big fires create big smokes, easily visible to enemies. But this was deliberate.

  A younger Oruk with a chipped tusk approached him as he dismounted his beast.

  "Do you think they'll take the bait, father?" He asked with a low voice.

  A cruel grin appeared on Kragmar's face. "Oh they'll come, Varruk," he growled as he bared his tusks, "the dogs will not ignore a warband this deep in their territory, even if they're not at full strength."

  Behind them, the warband—50 warriors strong—began carrying out the chieftain's orders. Tents were being built scattered around the perimeter, while campfires dotted all over.

  Though everything had gone according to pn so far, something cwed at the back of Kragmar's mind.

  "The only problem now is that Raruk." He thought to himself.

  Though he had heard that the first son of the chieftain was a great warrior, Kragmar was confident that his rger force would be enough to beat him. What worried him more was the infamous second son, Raruk.

  The st ever Oruk born on Orkungthar, some have said that he was cursed, a young Oruk, who's extremely cunning and deceptive, not afraid to toss aside his honor to achieve victory.

  "Let's see what you're made of, pup."

  "Chieftain."

  A call pulled him from his thoughts.

  "Your tent has been set up." Continued the Oruk as he bowed his head.

  Acknowledging the warrior, Kragmar turned around and faced his warband, "Finish the preparations! Tomorrow, we'll dye the soil of Orkungthar with wolf blood!"

  "Hoorahh!" Grunted the rest of the warband as they moved to carry out their tasks. The cng of weapons, the low growl of warbeasts, and the rustling of fur tents filled the narrow pass. Smoke began to rise—thick and bck against the moonlit sky—just as Kragmar wanted.

  Back in Dushkka'l, Gorik, one of the younger Warwulf warriors, close to Raruk’s age, cinched the st strap on his Direwolf's saddle. The beast growled low in its throat, eager for battle. Around him, twenty other warriors, handpicked by Raruk himself, finished their preparations in silence.

  Each one bore the crossed bck direwolf banner of the Warwulf cn. Though young, what with having little experience with actual combat, they had been forged under Raruk’s training, sharpened like bdes in the dark.

  Gorik gnced toward the gate where Raruk stood alone, eyes fixed toward the distant dark night. The moonlight cast a silver line across his brow, but his expression was unreadable.

  “We're riding out, Raruk.” Gorik decred as he approached.

  Raruk didn’t answer right away, in his hand rested his battle-axe.

  “Be careful out there, Gorik.” Raruk murmured. “Remember the pn, just hold them back.”

  “It will be done, Raruk,” Gorik said, half-grinning, half-growling. “You can trust me.”

  “I do trust you.” Raruk replied, hands tightening the grip on his axe. “Once they begin their assault on the outpost, I want you to light a fire, we'll know it's you.”

  He turned and faced the gathered warriors.

  “Once we destroy their main force, we'll move to reinforce you, hold out until then. We'll make them bleed for their audacity!”

  The warrior's eyes gleamed as they grunted in agreement.

  With a snap of reins and a howl from the Direwolves, Gorik and his twenty riders vanished into the cold night, their silhouettes swallowed by the forested slope towards the Northern outpost in Snowshade, their fires lighting the way, and also serving as a sign for the enemies.

  Raruk watched them go, his gaze fixed towards north. This will be his first real disadvantageous battle since coming into this world, and his Oruk blood boiled in anticipation. With the enemy's rger number, and the bulk of their forces away with his father, it would be an understatement to say that the odds were not in their favor.

  But Raruk did not care, he thirsted for battle. It took him all his might to restrain his Oruk nature to attack and face the enemy head-on, so he could only imagine what the rest of the warriors are feeling right now. But of course, he trusted that they would follow his pn.

  Such was another nature of Oruks. They did not lie, did not deceive. If an Oruk said he would do something, he would do it. If an Oruk said he'll be there, he'll be there.

  But Raruk was different. He had no qualms with fighting dishonorably if it meant securing their victory, and their enemy right now was also trying to do the same.

  Though the matter with Aleana still loomed at the back of his mind, what with the chance to start a new life for their cn on nds untouched by rot, he could not afford to be distracted, not right now.

  "Brother!"

  "!!"

  As Raruk was contempting, Boruk called out to him, somewhat startling him.

  With a big grin on his face, Boruk wrapped his arms around Raruk's shoulder. "Why do you look so glum, brother?" he asked teasingly, "This is our chance to prove ourselves, have faith in our warriors."

  "I do have faith," answered Raruk as he escaped from his brother, "My mind is just on other things."

  In response, Boruk brow visibly furrowed. "Is this about the creature again?" he asked with a low voice tinged with annoyance, "We have more pressing matters right now, Raruk. You need to focus."

  "I know, brother." Raruk answered as he broke away from Boruk, "I know that, you don't need to remind me."

  He then turned to the handful of warriors remaining beside him— forty veterans, grizzled and grim-eyed, left behind not because they were weak, but because they would be needed for the real blow. The strike that would end Kragmar’s ambition in a single night.

  “Get some rest, the enemy will most likely strike first thing tomorrow,” he commanded.

  While this was happening, inside the Direwolf nursery, another person was in turmoil.

  Aleana paced back and forth as she rubbed her hands in worry. Though the room was warm and comfortable, she could not help but feel the tension rising in the air.

  Raruk had left in a hurry, visibly looking worried. Though she could not understand their tongue, she knew that the other Oruk, Gorik he was called, brought bad news.

  Aleana hesitated only a moment before creeping toward the heavy wooden door of the nursery. The howling wind outside had grown louder, and she could hear the muffled cng of metal and the deep, guttural voices of Oruks echoing down the corridors. Curiosity—and worry—gnawed at her. Carefully, she untched the door just a crack and peeked into the courtyard.

  A cold draft rushed in, making her shiver. She leaned out a little farther, trying to glimpse anything that might tell her what was happening.

  That’s when she saw him.

  An old Oruk, one she hadn’t seen before, was just a few paces down. His skin was a deep gray-green, his tusks chipped, and one of his braids adorned with what looked like a bear’s cw. He was carrying a crate of pelts under one arm, but when he spotted her—a slight figure in strange clothes with wide eyes—he stopped in his tracks.

  They stared at each other.

  Aleana flinched and started to close the door, but it was too te.

  The Oruk blinked, then stepped forward slowly, curiosity lighting his face. “So it’s true,” he murmured in his tongue, setting the crate down with a thump. “The outsider creature... It's real.”

  He moved closer, his heavy boots thudding softly against the stone floor, eyes narrowed as if studying a rare beast.

  Aleana backed away instinctively.

  He brushed open the door and stepped in, eyes still firmly fixed on her. He reached a hand towards her—more in fascination than threat, causing her to shrink away, but the moment he almost touched her—

  "Droka.”

  Firm and menacing, the voice that rang out behind him froze the Oruk mid-step.

  Raruk stood there, battle-axe in one hand, eyes burning in fury.

  Aleana had never seen him like this—jaw clenched, shoulders squared, his very presence pressing down like a storm about to break.

  “I gave explicit orders,” Raruk growled, “no one enters this room.”

  Droka raised both hands, backing away slightly. “I meant no harm, Raruk,” he said hastily, “just wanted to see it."

  “She is not prey,” Raruk snarled, shoving Droka's chest hard enough to make him stumble. “Get back to your duties.”

  “Yes, Raruk.” Droka muttered, bowing his head low before retreating down the corridor.

  Raruk waited until the footsteps faded, then turned toward Aleana. His expression softened only a little.

  “You, alright?” he asked in her tongue, stepping inside and shutting the door firmly behind him.

  Aleana nodded, though her heart still pounded in her chest.

  He set his axe on the low table beside her bed, then sat on the fur-covered bench nearby with a heavy sigh.

  “Sorry, scare you.” he said quietly. “will not happen again, swear.”

  Aleana watched him, the flickering firelight dancing across his scarred features. Something unspoken passed between them—an understanding, perhaps. A fragile thread of trust, formed in a world on the edge of war.

  Raruk remained seated for a moment, listening to the crackle of the fire. His mind turned once more to the coming battle. Outside, the wind howled like some ancient beast, and the faint noise of armor being fastened and weapons checked reached his ears through the stone walls.

  Aleana hadn't moved. She stood by the bed, still visibly shaken. Her wide eyes followed him, uncertain but not afraid. Not anymore.

  “I go soon,” Raruk said, rising from the bench. “Need lead warriors.”

  Aleana’s lips parted, as if to speak—but what would she say? She didn’t understand his world, didn’t understand the war that loomed over it. And yet, something in her eyes said she understood him.

  He moved toward her, slowly, and crouched just enough to meet her gaze.

  “You stay. Safe here,” he said, tapping his chest with a closed fist.

  Without another word, Raruk grabbed his axe and strode to the door. Before stepping out, he cast one st gnce over his shoulder. Then he was gone, leaving Aleana alone once more with the firelight and the quiet.

  A few miles east of Dushkka'l, another force slithered about under the cover of the night, inching closer and closer to their goal. With their bck armor blending seamlessly against the forest floor, they lie in wait for the signal, eyes fixed upon their prize.

  "Tomorrow, Dushkka'l will fall." whispered their commander, his fingers tightening around the hilt of a jagged bde. Above them, not even the moon dared shine.