The first growl echoed across the damp fields, causing Eire’s golems to stiffen into position, their cores dimming to a steady glow. Shadows among the alders thickened, then separated and drifted apart.

  It wasn’t more drakes, but wolves.

  Nearly invisible, they slipped out of the treeline, their pelts soaking up rain, with eyes like obsidian shards. They were more numerous than the pack he’d culled a month ago, and much larger in size, too. They fanned out, barely disturbing the muck with their passage.

  [Shadow Wolf — Lesser Umbral Beast — D-rank]

  Lv 30–49 x34

  Mind: 12-39

  Attunement: 41-81

  Body: 20-32

  Traits: Umbral Hide [D]; Pack Sense [D]; Night Tread [D]

  Two larger shapes moved past the stragglers and halted shoulder to shoulder, showing no fear of the light in Eire’s hands or her golems.

  [Alpha of the Ash-Bend Pack — C-rank]

  Lv 81

  Mind: 121

  Attunement: 311

  Body: 188

  Traits: Umbral Hide [C]; Pack Bond [C]; Light’s Bane [C]

  [Second Fang of the Ash-Bend Pack — C-rank]

  Lv 78

  Mind: 137

  Attunement: 230

  Body: 110

  Traits: Umbral Hide [C]; Rake and Rend [C]; War Howl [D]

  Orion exhaled, his shoulders relaxing. This wasn’t a swarm of wyrmlings. Pauline alone could dismantle the pack, given enough time and space, though the numbers might make it uglier than the levels would suggest.

  “Pauline?” he asked.

  “I got it,” she answered, voice flat with concentration from the tail of the column. Shadows thickened around her, and the rain itself seemed to bend away from her cloak. “I’ll eliminate them in one blow before they can attack.”

  But the wolves didn’t attack. Instead, they spread wider, then moved past the flanks, slipping just beyond the golems without entering their range, disappearing behind the caravan in singles and pairs, then in entire file-lines, followed by the alphas.

  It took Orion a few seconds before he caught up. They’re running away.

  The realization was absurd. He’d never seen monsters place wagons between themselves and danger, and they certainly didn’t rely on human lines for protection… unless.

  He pivoted on his stone foot and lifted his head toward the trees across the road, but didn’t have the time to shout, as everyone sensed it immediately. The air drew in, the rain softening into a fine mist, and the Field itself clearing of the heavy water and wind.

  A shape appeared in the distance. Its coat shimmered with its own pale glow, each hair pristine even in the storm. It stepped out from under the canopy with a languid gait, clearly in no hurry.

  It was colossal, taller at the shoulder than the Iron Lizards pulling the lead carriage and longer than three men. A crescent of pure silver light gleamed on its brow, and its fur was the color of freshly fallen snow.

  The wolves behind the convoy—beasts that could easily tear men apart—pressed their bellies into the mud and slid their tails between their legs. A sound emerged from them that wasn’t quite a growl but rather an old instinct of submission to a greater power made vocal.

  People started to cry.

  Some knelt before the convoy had even fully stopped, hands clasped together, fingers intertwined, lips moving in prayer. The pilgrims pressed their foreheads to the wet boards, and even the few adventurers they’d gathered were on their knees, heads bowed.

  Orion almost hesitated to inspect it, but curiosity took over.

  [Guardian of the Meltwater — Moon Mother’s Blessed — A-rank]

  Lv 172

  Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.

  Traits: ??? [A-rank]; ??? [A-rank]; ??? [A-rank]; ??? [A-rank]

  “Oh,” he said softly. “Right.”

  The Guardian lifted its head and took a breath before releasing a howl that washed over them, making their breath rattle.

  When it reached the shadow wolves, they vanished like ash, erased from existence.

  As the howl faded, Orion realized he had been gripping the bench so tightly that his knuckles ached.

  The golems appeared smaller after that show of power, and Pauline’s shadows flowed back to her like water. Somewhere behind him, a pilgrim sobbed like a child, then laughed in the same breath.

  The Guardian’s head turned. Silver eyes looked past all of them, beyond the wagons, the muck, and the surviving beasts, along the road to the long streak of Last Thaw. It flicked an ear as if curious.

  Then it ran.

  One moment, it was among the fringe woods; the next, it was a faint mark along the floodplain; then it appeared as a streak under a low cloud; and eventually, it vanished, leaving the afterimage of silver hanging in Orion’s sight like a tiny speck.

  Far overhead, above Last Thaw’s walls, a silver arc rose toward the clouds. It collided with a dark, winged shape, which soon fell, joining many of its companions in death.

  Moving again took some time, but people felt motivated when it became clear the battle was nearly won.

  They traveled five miles without incident, then ten. The storm thinned into a cold sheet that didn’t hinder their passage, and with no dragons overhead, they were almost eager to arrive.

  The closer they got, the straighter the road became, and the more clearly the wards glowed. By the time the first watchtower loomed over them, the battle was over.

  Just outside bolt range, a figure glided down from the sky in a smooth silver line, landing on a gate ledge, and then stepped onto the road.

  Asteria didn’t look that tired despite having almost single-handedly saved Last Thaw, and kept her eyes on the massive wolf that had helped her hunt down the last wyrms so efficiently.

  Though no sounds escaped either of them, it was clear that they were having some kind of conversation. Then Asteria bowed, not deeply, but with sincerity. The Guardian howled once, a much gentler sound this time, turned around, and trotted back into the trees without looking at anyone else, its job apparently done.

  “Mother above,” someone whispered atop the wall.

  “Open the gates,” another called, and the runners scattered along the parapet to obey. The wards peeled back above the arch like a soap bubble, and the iron-bound doors creaked and parted.

  The escort that met them wasn’t just part of the town militia. Witches in dark gray robes stood shoulder to shoulder with men in patched lamellar armor and women in fisher jackets with harpoons on their backs.

  Though no one appeared injured, it was clear that being besieged hadn’t been a pleasant experience, judging by the grim looks they wore.

  Then the first person saw Asteria’s face clearly. One witch dropped to her knees and touched her forehead to the wet stones. Another followed, then a dozen more. Like a ripple, the kneeling moved through the crowd, as boots scraped against the ground, and pikes dipped.

  Asteria didn’t bask in their adoration. “Rise,” she said gently. “There is work to do.”

  They obeyed, not daring to refuse someone so clearly superior to them.

  Orion looked for the few familiar faces he would recognize in the city, knowing that both Margareth and Paul would be involved in any fighting, both because they were among the strongest and because their brief meeting had shown that neither would back down from a challenge.

  He didn’t see them, but he wasn’t worried. Last Thaw had a long wall; it was possible they were simply guarding other parts of it.

  Overall, the city looked better than he had feared, as the wards had done their job. Most roofs were intact, and the small amount of smoke rising was from cooking fires, not smoldering ruins.

  Yet the mood felt off. There was a somberness in the air, despite their total victory, that didn’t let Orion fully relax.

  Asteria didn’t slow down for any of the supplicants, apparently sensing the same thing. “To the temple,” she said.

  They led a procession down Last Thaw’s main street. No trumpets sounded behind them, nor was any banner unfurled, but people stepped out of their doorways and bowed their heads in prayer.

  Some reached out as if to touch Asteria’s sleeve, but then thought better of it; others touched the cloth dragging at her feet and gasped as if stung, only to smile through tears.

  The militia that had formed a tense line at the first tower reassembled at a respectful distance, more to maintain order than to provide protection.

  The temple sat where the road curved toward the river and the boatyards. Made of white and silver marble, in the same style as the inner temple of the Sanctum, but less grandiose. This was a fishing town, after all.

  The steps led up to doors taller than any house in the neighborhood, carved with moon phases and a stylized river that always looked like it was flowing.

  Asteria climbed, followed by the gray witches. Orion started up and only then noticed that his foot hesitated slightly when passing from gravel to sanded stone, so he had to readjust the mana intake to keep his gait smooth. Pauline caught his elbow without making a fuss, helping him avoid any stumbling.

  The great doors were closed, and a gentle glow emanated from underneath them, like the embers of a fading fire.

  “Open,” Asteria commanded.

  There was no flash of mana, no grand gesture. The seams between the leaves darkened into lines, then shifted, as the doors parted with a gentle sound that even Orion, standing ten paces away, barely heard.

  Gasps echoed, and it wasn’t just the spectacle that took their breath away, but what the open doors revealed.

  On the flagged floor, in two uneven lines, knelt a group of about a dozen witches dressed in gray. They had straight spines, their heads bowed, and their hands clasped in prayer, creating a picture-perfect scene of worship before the statue of the Moon Mother, which towered above them, from which the warm glow emanated.

  Yet, they were all dead.

  They hadn’t been struck by a serious illness, nor had they fallen into a trap. They had simply kept the wards active until there was nothing left to pour, ignoring their bodies' screams to stop, too absorbed in the religious worship and the desire to protect their city.

  A man stood at the front of the line. Paul Aconite looked distraught, as if weighed down by a heavy burden. His hair, long and grey before, had turned white and hung like a curtain around him.

  Tears carved clear streaks through the dirt on his cheeks and had dried in place as he carried out his duties, yet he stood straight, like a guard in a keep without a lord, with his harpoon—a weapon of wood and iron with a handle wrapped in old leather, just as Orion had seen when the man showed him how to coil and throw it—resting against his shoulder, ready to be unleashed.

  His eyes shifted toward Asteria, and he was the first whose gaze didn’t drop. He didn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. Every fiber of him screamed that he wouldn’t leave his post until his wife’s purpose was achieved.

  Margareth knelt in the front row's center. Her hair had been thick and iron-gray the last time Orion saw her; now it was thin as spider silk and draped over her shoulders like a cobweb. The lines on her face were finer, like cracks in glaze, and she looked fragile yet powerful at the same time, more than any dead centenarian should.

  Orion’s stomach clenched. He felt something prick the corner of his eyes, but kept them dry through sheer willpower.

  The murmurs behind them faded away. Even the rain finally stopped its relentless pitter-patter for a short while, as if the heavens themselves couldn’t bear to be distracted from the scene before them.

  Asteria moved forward slowly, as if approaching a nervous beast. She lowered her head in prayer, murmuring something, then lifted it again. When she did, her face looked carved out of stone, and her eyes burned with a fierce determination.

  “Close the doors,” she ordered, and the gates swung inward, meeting with a soft click.

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