Wolves and Graves

The snowstorm thickened, blanketing the forest in heavy white silence. Every breath left a ghost in the frigid air. Richard wiped the frost from his eyelashes and studied the footprints behind them — too many now, too close.

Nag was hunting them. And he was getting closer.

They couldn't outrun him forever.

Richard stopped abruptly, motioning for the group to halt. Around him, the last loyal guards of House Sureva formed a tight circle, their cloaks pulled close, their faces grim.

"We can't keep going like this," Richard said quietly. "Not all together. They'll catch us within the hour."

Luenor tightened his grip on Hera's small hand. He didn't say anything — he knew it too.

Paul, Richard's second-in-command, leaned close. "You have a plan, sir?"

Richard nodded grimly. "We split. Most of us head east. Loud, noisy, leave a false trail. One man stays behind with the Young Lord and Young Lady. Heads north — quiet and fast."

There was no debate. Every man knew what that meant.

It meant death.

"I'll stay," one young knight volunteered immediately.

"No," Richard said. His voice softened. "I'll pick."

He turned, choosing one of the quieter, younger guards — a boy no older than sixteen, but with sharp instincts.

"You, Arwin. You stay with them. Protect them with your life. Get them to Fort Gelran."

Arwin's eyes widened, but he slammed his fist over his heart. "I swear it."

Richard placed a hand on Luenor's shoulder, kneeling so they were eye-to-eye.

"You are the future of the Surevas now, Young Lord," Richard said, voice thick with emotion. "Your father believed in you. So do we. You must live."

"I..." Luenor's throat was dry. "I will."

Richard smiled — sad, tired — and ruffled the boy's hair one last time. Then he stood, pulling his blade free.

"Move."

The group burst into action. Richard, Paul, and the others charged eastward, deliberately smashing through the underbrush, leaving deep trails in the snow — obvious, clumsy tracks meant to be followed.

And Nag... he took the bait.

Nag grinned when he saw the broken trail, the signs of frantic flight.

"Fools," he muttered. "Running makes it worse."

He and his hunters surged east, following the obvious trail. Branches cracked overhead, footprints dug deep into the fresh snow — easy prey, sloppy.

Too easy.

Nag's instincts prickled, but pride dulled them. He pressed on through the thick woods, faster, hungrier.

That was when he heard it — the faint click beneath his boots.

He barely had time to curse before the trap sprang.

A series of thin wires hidden under the snow snapped taut, and the trees around the clearing came alive — dozens of sharpened stakes, enchanted with explosive mana, launched inward toward the center.

Nag leapt back just in time, but two of his hunters weren't so lucky. They were skewered where they stood, impaled by ice-coated spikes.

Nag landed hard, rolling in the snow. His eyes burned with rage.

"Ambush!" one of his men shouted.

"No," Nag snarled, spitting blood. "Deception."

He spotted them — Richard and his men — standing at the edge of the clearing, swords drawn, breathing hard from the sprint.

Richard pointed his sword straight at Nag.

"This is for Duke Sureva!" he roared.

Nag's rage boiled over.

"You want to die screaming?" he hissed.

He charged, cutting down the first knight with a savage blow. Another tried to parry, but Nag twisted under the swing and gutted him from waist to chest.

Blood sprayed across the snow, turning it crimson.

Richard fought like a cornered lion, his blade flashing in the storm — but Nag was too fast, too brutal. He drove his dagger into Richard's thigh, forcing him to a knee.

The last knights rallied around Richard, even as their bodies failed. They fought — not for victory, but for honor.

Nag cut them down one by one, savoring it, making each death slow.

"You think loyalty will save you?" Nag snarled, ripping his blade from Paul's chest. "You die for a lost cause!"

Richard coughed blood, laughing even as he bled onto the frozen ground.

"We... didn't come here to win."

Nag's eyes narrowed.

He noticed it too late — the glimmer of a mana circuit etched into the snow, the faint hum of unstable energy gathering around Richard's body.

The knights' last defiance.

Mana bombs, rigged to blow.

"Fall back!" Nag shouted.

But it was too late.

With a final, defiant grin, Richard whispered: "For the Path of Fire."

The clearing exploded in a violent burst of blue and white light, the shockwave flattening trees and hurling snow and splinters into the sky. The firestorm roared against the heavens, and when it finally died down, only a crater remained — smoldering, broken, and empty.

Nag rose shakily from behind a fallen log, bleeding from dozens of cuts, armor scorched black.

He stared at the smoking ruin with a twisted snarl.

"Fine," he rasped. "Let the rats die brave deaths."

He wiped the blood from his eyes, seething.

"But the boy... the boy I'll kill slow."

Far ahead, Luenor and Hera pushed deeper into the northern woods, the ruins of Fort Gelran just beyond the next ridge.

They didn't look back.

They couldn't.

The sacrifice had bought them precious time.But Nag was still coming.

And he was angrier than ever.