Viktor's Wrath

Breath came out in faint clouds as the group pressed deeper into the forest. The path, if it could be called that, was no more than an uneven trail of compacted frost winding through black-barked trees.

Light flickered in broken patterns through the thick canopy above.

The only sound was the crunch of snow underfoot and the occasional low murmur between themselves.

Viktor glanced up from time to time, studying the tight line of shoulders ahead, everybody alert, each movement deliberate. Even Gavril, despite his usual complaints, hadn't said much since they left Branwyke. His axe was strapped to his back, eyes constantly scanning the treeline.

Joren led at a steady pace, eyes scanning the shadows between the trees. His steps were sure, practiced. The terrain was uneven and wild, with little to mark it as a path at all.

Behind him, Kaavi walked, composed and measured. His raven flew overhead now and then, vanishing into the high branches, returning only to whisper its thoughts to Kaavi before vanishing again.

Viktor followed just behind, absorbing everything…every movement. Gavril was at his side, grumbling beneath his breath about frozen toes, though he kept pace without any real complaint.

The Hallow Swords moved behind them in staggered formation. Tannic kept an eye on the ridgelines above. Corren adjusted the clasp on his cloak, silent and alert. Liran swept his gaze through the trees with subtle precision, while Veyl stayed near the centre…close, but not crowding anyone. His short swords were crossed over his back, and a small knife strapped to his thigh.

Viktor slowed a little, falling into step beside him.

"You doing alright?" he asked quietly, his voice low enough not to carry.

Veyl glanced over without breaking stride. "Yeah, but this cold's starting to bite through the leather."

"Thought you liked the cold."

"I like it," Veyl said, his eyes flicking up toward a branch above them where a squirrel darted away. "But that doesn't mean I like frostbite."

Viktor gave a short chuckle. "Fair enough."

After an hour, they paused in a narrow clearing lined with stone outcrops. Joren crouched beside a frozen tree root, brushing snow away with a gloved hand.

"We keep following this path, it'll curve west around the ridge," he said. "Should keep us clear of any patrol routes."

Gavril muttered something under his breath about cursed hills, but nodded. "Good, beats running into a damn checkpoint."

Tannic looked over to Kaavi. "You sense anything?"

Kaavi remained silent for a moment, glancing toward the trees before shaking his head slowly. "No, no movement. Nothing to worry about."

Viktor looked up. "Why this path?" he asked. "I thought there were old roads heading north."

"There are," Joren said. "But they're patrolled. Watched, if not guarded outright. This path…" He glanced at Kaavi. "Not many are foolish enough to use it. Steep, cold, and the wolves don't take kindly to trespassers."

Veyl adjusted his gloves. "I've heard about them; they are much bigger than normal wolves and also aggressive."

"Yes, and they're very territorial," Joren added. "No solid trails, and they hunt in silence. Ambushes, mostly. Hard to see coming."

"Sounds delightful," Gavril muttered.

"But with Kaavi here," Joren went on, "I figured we might not have to worry about them."

He didn't elaborate. He knew Kaavi could do something…he'd seen signs, understood just enough to trust his instincts. But he didn't ask questions, and Kaavi didn't offer answers.

Kaavi said nothing, only nodded once.

They moved again as the sun began to sink toward the treetops, the sky behind them painted in streaks of amber and grey.

By the time darkness fell, they had reached a hollow in the forest, shielded by rocks and low-hanging pine. It was a natural shelter, and Joren motioned for them to set up camp.

Viktor leaned toward Gavril. "You think the wolves will come?"

"They live here, boy. Why wouldn't they, now stop wasting time and let's set up our tent" Gavril said quietly.

They worked quickly. No fire. Just a canvas tent, and careful silence. Corren and Liran took first watch near the outer edges of the glade. Viktor lay near the centre of camp, his back to a fallen log, his eyes on the tree canopy above.

Kaavi sat cross-legged at the far end, still and quiet. His raven had returned once at dusk, then vanished again into the black sky.

No one spoke much. The forest didn't invite conversation.

Eventually, the watches rotated, and the others drifted to uneasy sleep. Even Gavril, despite his usual grumbling, was out cold before long, arms crossed beneath his head.

The camp was still. Wind hissed lightly through the trees.

And then…they came.

No growls. No snapping branches. Just quiet presence.

From the treeline, shadows moved…fluid and silent. One by one, wolves emerged from the dark, larger than common hounds, their bodies rippling with power, their eyes glowing faintly in the moonlight.

They moved like smoke. Low, quiet, coordinated.

Ambush hunters.

They circled the sleeping camp, noses low to the snow, claws crunching softly. A normal group would've been caught off guard. By the time a cry was raised, it would be too late.

But Kaavi was awake.

He rose slowly from where he sat, calm and unhurried. The wolves froze. Heads lifted. Eyes locked on him.

Kaavi stepped forward…barefoot on the snow now, cloak trailing behind him and stopped just outside the tent circle.

The leader appeared then: taller than the rest, his silver-grey fur catching the faintest glimmer of moonlight. He stepped in front of the others, watching Kaavi with the sharp alertness of a wild beast sensing something.

Kaavi didn't raise his hands. He didn't threaten. He simply looked at the great wolf, and bowed his head slightly.

"We ask passage, old one," he murmured. "Let us walk your woods in peace."

The wolf did not move.

Then, slowly, it tilted its head…not in confusion, but curiosity. The air seemed to still around them.

From his bedroll, Gavril stirred slightly. One eye cracked open and he saw Kaavi, standing out there like a shadow talking to... wolves?

He blinked, then stared harder.

Kaavi hadn't raised his voice. He wasn't commanding anything. He was just... speaking. Calm. Casual. Like this happened every other Tuesday.

Gavril let his head fall back down onto his rolled-up cloak. Now he's talking to wolves. Wonderful. He sighed internally. Sure. Why not.

He shut his eyes again without saying a word.

Out in the dark, the wolf held Kaavi's gaze for a long moment. Then without warning it lowered its head, just slightly.

The rest followed, and within seconds, the pack turned. One by one, they melted back into the trees, quiet as ghosts.

Kaavi didn't watch them go. He just turned and sat back down, folding his legs beneath him once more as though nothing at all had happened.

The night passed without further sound.

The forest returned to stillness. No one stirred…save for the wind through the trees and a lone raven circling above.

When morning came, no tracks remained.

But Viktor would later find faint paw prints near Kaavi's resting place…too large to be a dog.

And though no one spoke of it, the air felt different that day.