Raven felt the shift before he saw it—the subtle change in rhythm, the way the world seemed to slow around him. The wolves’ strides shortened, their movements more deliberate as the sleigh’s runners whispered against the snow, sending up faint wisps of powder. A final jolt signaled their stop, his body swaying slightly with the last bit of motion.

  Stepping off the sleigh, the crisp northern air bit at his exposed skin. The sky was a pale, icy blue, streaked with the faint gold of the low-hanging autumn sun. The clearing was surrounded by towering, frost-laced pines, their dark green needles dusted with early snow.

  They arrived at the second rest stop on the way, which was much larger than the first.

  The scent of pine, packed earth, and distant smoke lingered in the air, carried by a biting but gentle breeze. Ahead, a well-worn yet sturdy cluster of buildings stood firm, built from thick timbers and reinforced stone foundations to withstand the region’s harsh winters.

  A wide clearing served as the sleigh stop, its wooden platform sturdy beneath Raven’s boots. Nearby, a covered shelter with benches offered a place to rest for those waiting on their next departure. To the side, the wolf teams were being unhitched and led into a covered, rune-heated feeding area. Some rolled in the snow, cooling down after the hard run. Aira cast them a brief glance—an automatic assessment—but her true destination lay ahead.

  A large wooden building with carved beams and a steeply pitched roof dominated the station, designed to shed the weight of heavy snowfall. Inside, the mess hall and kitchen filled the air with the inviting aroma of stew, fresh bread, and smoked meat. A separate hallway led to guest quarters, providing a place for knights, rangers, and travelers to rest between journeys.

  By the entrance, a small notice board displayed patrol schedules, weather warnings, and wolf training updates—or so Raven assumed, since the script was unfamiliar. Mary, likely feeling the fatigue of travel, excused herself to find the restrooms inside the lodge, leaving Raven and Aira to continue exploring.

  To their right, a sturdy warehouse stored wolf feed, travel rations, extra sleigh parts, and Magem supplies. Next to it, a workshop hummed softly with the glow of active Runearts—where damaged sleighs, harnesses, and gear were repaired. A dormant blacksmith’s forge stood attached, its lingering scent of charred metal and oil hinting at past work.

  As they walked through the rest stop, he turned to Aira. "So, where exactly are we headed?"

  She shot him a knowing smirk. "The training enclosure. We’re going to see the wolf pups—the cute, furry ones."

  He raised a brow. "You actually said that, or is Shadebinder making things sound extra fluffy?"

  Shadebinder’s voice chimed in, far too pleased.

  Oh no, she really said that. But I fully support the phrasing.

  Wolfking’s voice followed, deadpan as ever.

  Furry ones.

  Raven exhaled, shaking his head. "Still not used to having swords for translators..."

  Aira only smirked, picking up the pace as the enclosure came into view.

  By the time they arrived, a few of the wild-born dire wolves lingering near the fence perked up at Aira’s scent. Though untamed, they recognized her as one of the knights who cared for their kin.

  A grizzled, silver-furred beast—his pelt marked with battle scars—watched her with sharp, golden eyes. He sniffed the air, assessing her, then gave a single, deliberate huff before vanishing into the trees.

  Inside the enclosure, young wolves were deep in training, noses twitching as they followed an invisible scent trail through the snow. Their bodies tensed with concentration, ears flicking forward as they worked. Everything was going according to plan.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Then, Aira arrived.

  The moment they caught her scent, all discipline unraveled. Heads snapped up, ears perked, and within seconds, the entire pack abandoned their task, charging toward the entrance with boundless excitement.

  The trainers, faces set with resignation, turned toward Aira.

  A chorus of excited howls erupted as the pups reached her, their paws and tails tangling in a chaotic flurry. The trainers barely managed to step aside before Aira was swarmed, nearly buried under thick fur and oversized paws.

  She knelt slightly, bracing herself. She was used to this—these pups were as wild as they were affectionate, and she wasn’t about to let them knock her over.

  One particularly bold pup—a coal-black one with piercing ice-blue eyes—launched at her, nearly toppling her backward. He latched onto her gloved forearm, gnawing playfully, his tail wagging hard enough to send a spray of snow flying.

  "Careful!" Aira laughed, though her voice carried mild exasperation.

  As if emboldened, the others followed suit, shoving their wet noses into her face, licking her cheeks and jawline. She sighed as the black pup shoved his snout against her mouth.

  "Ugh, I’m not a wolf, you know," she muttered, turning her head but making no real effort to pull away.

  Behind her, Raven shifted uneasily. The thought of being mobbed by a dozen massive wolves wasn’t exactly comforting.

  "Aira... are you sure this is safe?" he asked, hesitating as he stepped closer. His gaze flickered between the eager nipping and Aira’s unbothered stance. "What if they get too rough? I mean, they’re wolves. You’re just letting them—"

  "They’re pups, Raven," she interjected with a smirk. "They don’t bite hard unless they mean it."

  Raven smirked. "Was that a ‘no, really, it’s fine,’ or a ‘please save me, they’re going to eat me’?"

  Aira chuckled, gently pushing the pups away. "You’re overthinking it. But if it makes you feel better," she added with a teasing grin, "I’ll take the worst of it so you don’t get mobbed."

  Eventually, the trainers managed to separate the pups, their disappointed whimpers filling the air as Aira finally pulled herself free.

  As Aira and Raven left the training grounds, the distant howls of dire wolves were quickly drowned out by a deep, resonant chime—a runecraft sound emitter mounted on the ranger tower. The outpost’s signal for an approaching sleigh.

  Raven glanced toward the snow-packed road leading to Ironholt. A fresh cloud of kicked-up frost signaled the arrival of another wolf-drawn carriage. Moments later, the sleigh from Ironholt emerged into view, its four dire wolves slowing as they neared the station. A ranger stepped forward to take their reins, guiding them toward the resting pens.

  The passenger door swung open. The first to step down moved with sharp, disciplined precision—a female knight, flanked by two male knights

  Raven’s gaze caught on the silver-threaded cloak she wore, marked with an unfamiliar emblem—a kite shield and a curved dagger. A personal crest? Or something more official? She carried herself with the cool confidence of someone very aware of her own presence.

  She was shorter than Aira but still taller than him, her short blonde hair tousled only slightly by the wind. Cold blue eyes swept across the outpost before settling on them.

  Then, a smile. Too light. Too practiced.

  "Lady Wintermane. How unexpected."

  Aira took her time. She rolled her shoulders, adjusting her gloves before brushing off a stray tuft of dire wolf fur. Only then did she lift her gaze.

  "Captain Frostbane." Her tone was smooth, just the faintest emphasis on Captain—a reminder. "Back from vacation? Were you in Snowfall?"

  Lyara’s smile didn’t falter, but the slight flare of her nostrils gave her away. "I had family matters to attend to. Some of us don’t have the luxury of staying in Stormhold year-round."

  She stepped past Aira with crisp precision. Her tone remained pleasant, but her movements were stiff. "Now, if you’ll excuse me."

  Raven watched her go, expression unreadable. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "Charming."

  Aira smirked, already heading toward their sleigh. "That was polite for Lyara."

  Shadebinder’s voice echoed in their heads, sharp and curious.

  Is there a reason behind the attitude?

  Aira sighed, glancing back at Lyara's retreating figure before responding. "She just angry, because I was at the right place at the right time."

  Mary arrived with three small bundle and a flask, glancing at Lyara’s retreating form. "Do I even want to ask?"

  "I’ll explain on the road," Aira said, stepping into the carriage.

  As they made their way toward the sleigh, Aira suddenly slowed, glancing at Raven. "Hold on... you understood Lyara just now? Shadebinder doesn’t even speak our language—she can’t translate unless she’s made direct contact."

  Raven shrugged. "It wasn’t Shadebinder. It was Wolfking."

  Aira blinked, surprise flickering across her face. "Wolfking? That’s... unusual for him."

  The sword’s voice resonated in their minds, calm and unwavering.

  Shadebinder insisted.

  Aira chuckled, shaking her head. "Figures."

  With that, the trio boarded their sleigh, ready for departure.