A few days had passed since breakfast with Aira and the Highlord. Now, Raven stood outside the Gatehouse of Stormhold, gazing out at the vast Wintermane Forest from ground level for the first time.

  Aira and Mary had arranged a trip for him—to Ironholt, where a tailor awaited to fit him for proper clothes. Lilia, ever critical, had finally complained that it hurt her eyes to see him in an ill-fitting knight’s uniform.

  The three of them gathered near the Sleigh Lodge, a sturdy and spacious structure. Inside, four sleighs rested on reinforced runners, while harnesses and repair tools lined the walls. Soft, blue-white Runecraft lights illuminated the lodge from above.

  Two types of sleighs were housed within the structure, their forms stark against the dim interior. Two were built for carrying supplies—sturdy and functional, with wooden frames reinforced with iron to endure the rough terrain. The other two blended elegance with practicality, a seamless cross between a noble’s carriage and a sleigh. Polished wood gleamed beneath the lantern light, and their curved runners were designed for both speed and comfort.

  A stable hand moved between them, running a practiced eye over the sleighs’ condition, pausing to tighten a strap here and smooth down a fur-lined seat there. Another attendant crouched beside the great wolves, his hands checking their harnesses, fingers brushing through thick fur as he murmured to them in low, soothing tones. The wolves, well-trained and accustomed to such treatment, stood patiently, though their ears flicked at the sounds of preparation, and their powerful bodies tensed with anticipation.

  Aira took the opportunity to pet the massive creatures, her touch earning pleased whines from them. The great wolves, thick-furred and powerful, leaned into her hands, their tails giving short, eager wags. She murmured something to them—perhaps an old command or a quiet reassurance—and Raven noted how easily they responded. No hesitation, no wariness, only trust.

  The sleigh creaked as the wolves were harnessed, the leather straps tightening around their broad chests. They snorted, their breath curling in the cold air like smoke, and with a low command from the handler, they pulled the sleigh into position with effortless strength.

  Raven stepped aboard, settling into place as the wood shifted beneath them. Aira followed, giving one last pat to the lead wolf before taking her seat.

  Inside, the carriage was well-padded, its interior designed for both comfort and endurance. Thick furs lined the seats, their warmth a welcome contrast to the biting cold outside. The windows, reinforced with sturdy glass, barely trembled against the wind’s force. A Runecraft light glowed softly overhead, casting a gentle golden hue across the space, while an embedded heating rune pulsed with quiet energy, keeping the chill at bay.

  Aira reached behind her seat, fingers finding the hidden latch with practiced ease. With a soft click, a wooden plank shifted forward, revealing folding legs beneath—an optional table, cleverly tucked away until needed. She tested its stability before nodding in approval, then leaned back into her seat, exhaling as she adjusted her cloak.

  Outside, the call of the handler signaled the start of their journey. A brief moment of stillness, then the sleigh lurched forward, runners cutting smoothly across the snow. The motion settled into an effortless glide, the world beyond the windows shifting as they left the stables behind and entered the vast expanse of the winter-clad forest.

  The steady rhythm of the wolves’ strides set the pace, their breath misting in the cold as they pulled the sleigh deeper into the waiting trees.

  The sleigh carved thin tracks into the snow-packed path as towering pines loomed on either side. Their ice-laden branches glistened like shards of crystal in the dim morning light. Every so often, a gust of wind dislodged a flurry of powdered snow from above, swirling it into ghostly wisps before it settled once more.

  As they traveled, Raven’s curiosity grew about Wolfking, Aira’s soul-bound weapon. Unlike Shadebinder, he had never spoken to it before.

  Raven turned to Mary. "Can I speak with Wolfking?"

  Mary conveyed his request, and Aira paused, likely waiting for Wolfking’s response. After a moment, she nodded and placed the sword on the table between them.

  The long black blade barely reflected the carriage lantern’s glow, absorbing light rather than catching it. Its golden crossguard curved subtly, its three-pronged shape reminiscent of a crown—regal, yet not ostentatious. The pommel, shaped like a wolf’s head, carried a presence beyond mere steel and gold.

  Shadebinder, resting at Raven’s side, was a stark contrast. Her black blade was shorter, curving slightly at the tip for swift, fluid strikes. A silver guard wrapped around the hand, protective yet elegant, while a deep green fabric-wrapped hilt provided a familiar grip. The pommel, a crescent moon of cool silver, gleamed playfully in the dim light.

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  Raven placed his hand on Wolfking’s hilt, and a stoic male voice resonated in his mind.

  Greetings.

  Raven responded, "Nice to meet you."

  Wolfking simply replied,

  Likewise.

  A short silence followed until a cheerful voice interrupted their thoughts.

  Shadebinder bounced eagerly, her voice light with excitement.

  Me! Me! Aira, let me speak with Wolfking too! I don’t want to be left out!

  After Aira checked with Wolfking, who gave a neutral response, Raven raised an eyebrow.

  But how do we do that?

  Shadebinder giggled, practically bouncing in place.

  Just touch me against him, that’s all!

  Raven followed the instructions, pressing Shadebinder’s hilt against Wolfking’s.

  Shadebinder’s voice filled their minds with enthusiasm.

  Salutations, my brother! How goes the world from your side?

  Wolfking’s voice came through in a calm, distant tone, as if it were coming from deep within a cavern.

  Greetings... I am well.

  Shadebinder couldn’t hold back a little teasing edge.

  Say... haven’t we met before?

  Wolfking's response was slow, contemplative.

  I would need more details.

  Shadebinder hummed as she probed her memories.

  Hmm, I remember an army—shadowy wolves summoned by someone. A lot of blood, too much snow... But you looked like you knew how to fight back.

  Wolfking paused for a moment.

  Hmm... What is your sorcery again?

  Shadebinder answered with pride.

  I create shadowy strings and weave them into objects.

  There was a long pause before Wolfking replied, his tone sharpening, though still measured.

  Ah. Yes. I remember. The shadow ropes. You... were quite swift. You led them well against my tribe, a nuisance I could never quite reach in time.

  Shadebinder cringed slightly at the memory, but a sense of regret filtered through her voice.

  Yeah... sorry about that. At the time, I truly believed I was helping. The empire told us they were bringing progress to the tribes. I thought we were liberating them, that I was on the right side. But I never saw what they really did... until it was too late.

  Wolfking’s response softened, almost contemplative.

  Well, we cannot change the past... and I doubt you volunteered to become what you are now.

  A long silence followed, and for a while, everyone simply watched the snowy landscape pass by.

  Then, without a word, Aira reached into her coat and pulled out a deck of cards. She set them on the table with a soft thud, the sound breaking the stillness like a stone dropped into still water. She tilted her head slightly, giving Raven a questioning look, as if to ask whether he knew the game.

  Shadebinder giggled, an idea forming.

  Hey, Wolfking! How about we provide our voices to Raven and Aira?

  Everyone looked at her, puzzled.

  Shadebinder’s voice echoed with enthusiasm.

  It’s simple! When Aira speaks, I’ll translate for Raven, and when Raven speaks, Wolfking will do the same for Aira!

  Aira tested it first, speaking aloud. Shadebinder eagerly translated:

  This is an amazing idea from one of the greatest swords of all time!

  Raven chuckled. "Alright, great idea—just tone down the self-congratulation."

  Aira playfully frowned. "Hey, don’t misuse my words."

  Aira explained the game. "This deck has 32 cards, with four suits. The values go in this order: I, II, III, IIII, Under, Over, Warden, and Fort."

  She shuffled the deck with practiced ease, the cards flowing between her hands in a seamless motion before she dealt five to each player. The rules were simple: players could discard and draw new cards to improve their hand, making the best possible combination.

  During the first few games, Raven studied his cards—beautifully illustrated, each marked with one of the four suits: Wolf, Gem, Leaf, and Anchor. The Fort cards stood out the most, depicting grand settlements—a snow-covered fortress, a mountain city, a bountiful farmland, and a bustling port by the sea.

  But as the matches continued, something started to nag at him.

  Whenever Aira dealt, she had uncanny luck. Too uncanny.

  At first, Raven brushed it off. But as he watched her hands work—deft, quick, almost too smooth—he began to notice small things. The way her fingers barely hesitated when drawing a card. The way she placed the deck after shuffling, her movements precise, deliberate.

  Then came the next deal.

  Aira flicked the cards across the table, each landing neatly in front of its player. Raven didn't pick his up. Instead, he kept his gaze on her hands. A subtle shift. A slight hesitation.

  "Aira..." he said slowly, "are you not dealing from the top of the deck?"

  Aira’s hand stilled for just a fraction of a second. A blink-and-you-miss-it pause.

  Mary, caught off guard, looked between them. "Wait, what?"

  Raven leaned back, crossing his arms. "Not just that. When you shuffle, you’re careful about where certain cards slide in. You do it fast, but you’re placing them exactly where you want them."

  Aira raised an eyebrow, her smirk unmistakable.

  Mary glanced at her own cards, realization dawning. "Hold on... are you cheating?"

  Raven tilted his head. "Like you did with the coin toss against Cedric?"

  That got a reaction. Aira grinned, setting the deck down with an easy confidence. "Well, well. Either you have sharp eyes, or I’m getting rusty."

  Mary let out a disbelieving laugh. "I didn’t even notice... or think to check."

  Raven, unimpressed, shook his head. "Why?"

  Aira shrugged, completely unbothered. "Just practicing. You never know when it’ll come in handy."

  Mary, still chuckling, gathered up the cards. "Then how about we switch to dice instead? Less... ‘practicing’ involved."

  Aira’s grin didn’t fade as she leaned back in her seat. "Sure."

  She tucked the deck away as Mary retrieved a set of dice and a wooden cup from a compartment in the sleigh. Clearly, entertainment had been prepared for the journey.

  They began a new game, the sleigh continuing its smooth glide through the Wintermane Forest.