The wheels of the carriage rumbled softly over the frost-bitten path as it pulled up to the grand Howlett estate. Mr. Howlett had insisted on traveling through the night, though his aging body protested every jolt and rattle of the ride. By the time they arrived, the first pale light of dawn had begun to creep over the horizon, casting long shadows across the sprawling manor grounds. The late autumn chill of Canada bit through the air with a cruel sharpness, and even wrapped in thick blankets, the old man shivered beneath the carriage's canopy.
The journey had taken its toll. Age and years of hardship had left Mr. Howlett's body frail, riddled with aches and pains that no doctor could fully remedy. He barely managed to step down onto the cobblestone drive when James, his grandson, emerged from the front of the manor.
The young man moved with a sense of urgency, his tall and powerful frame a stark contrast to his grandfather's hunched and weary form. His boots crunched against the frost-laced ground as he rushed forward, catching the old man just as his legs threatened to give out.
"Grandfather!" James called, steadying him effortlessly in his arms. He could feel how light the old man had become, how fragile. The realization sent a deep, unsettled feeling into his gut. Without another word, James guided him up the grand staircase and into his private chambers, ensuring he was eased into the warmth of his bed.
Mr. Howlett gave a weak smile, eyes glassy with exhaustion. "It's alright, boy. I'm alright." His voice was hoarse, but the way he looked at James was full of something unspoken—pride, perhaps, or regret.
The family's private doctor, Roddy, entered swiftly, already carrying his worn leather bag. He was an experienced man, one who had tended to Mr. Howlett for years and knew the toll that time had taken on him. James stood rigid by the bedside, watching intently as the doctor conducted his examination.
After a long pause, Roddy looked up.
"He's exhausted," he said carefully. "His body wasn't built to endure such harsh travel at his age. He'll need rest, but…" The doctor hesitated, his gaze flickering to James as if weighing his words.
James narrowed his eyes. "Speak plainly, Doctor Roddy."
Roddy sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mr. Howlett's health has been deteriorating for some time. The ailments of his youth have only compounded over the years. But what worries me most is not his body—it's his spirit. The weight he carries is unbearable, and if something doesn't change, I fear it will break him completely."
James remained silent, but he understood. He had known for a while now that his grandfather's days were numbered. What he didn't know was what had transpired at the Governor's Mansion that had led to this sudden collapse.
He stayed by his grandfather's side until the old man finally drifted into a restless sleep. Quietly, he slipped out of the room, finding the head maid, O'Hara, waiting just outside.
"Send for Mr. Wayne. Have him meet me in Grandfather's study." His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable weight behind it.
O'Hara hesitated for a brief second, as if seeing James in a new light. There was something about him at that moment—the calm authority, the quiet command—that was eerily reminiscent of Mr. Howlett himself.
She gave a quick nod. "Right away, Master James."
James turned without another word, striding down the long, candlelit corridor toward the study.
The Study of a Warrior
Mr. Howlett's study was not like those of other noblemen, who lined their walls with books to boast of their intellect. Instead, it was a warrior's room—lined with relics of battles past. Muskets and pistols rested on mounted plaques, bayonets gleamed in the firelight, and scimitars from distant lands stood proudly beside hunting knives and daggers.
The copper tones of the weapons cast a muted glow against the dark wooden shelves, giving the room a sense of both history and foreboding.
James sank into the high-backed leather chair behind the desk, draping one arm over the armrest while the other rested against his forehead. He closed his eyes, letting the silence settle.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.
"Enter."
Wayne, the longtime butler of the Howlett estate, stepped in. For a brief moment, the older man hesitated—struck by the heavy atmosphere in the room. The young master's presence was different now. There was an air of command about him, something unshakable.
James finally spoke. "Tell me what happened at the Governor's Mansion."
Wayne exhaled slowly. "The Governor wasn't hostile. In fact, he treated your grandfather with great respect. He released the detained herdsman without issue and even invited him to dinner."
James listened in silence. He knew there was more.
Wayne hesitated, his expression darkening. "But then… he asked about you. He wanted to know if you were the sole heir to the Howlett name. And then he made a request."
James finally looked up, his gaze sharp. "What request?"
Wayne clenched his fists. "He wants you to marry his niece."
For a long moment, James said nothing. He simply stared at the butler, unreadable.
Wayne had expected some kind of reaction—anger, disbelief, perhaps even defiance. But James only sighed, as if this was neither surprising nor particularly concerning.
"Is that all?" he finally asked.
The butler stiffened. "Master James! Do you understand what this means? Smith wants to sink his claws into this family. Your grandfather is too old to resist his influence. If he passes, and you're tied to the Governor by marriage, the Howlett name will be swallowed whole."
James raised a hand, silencing him. "I asked, is that all?"
Wayne deflated. "Yes… that's all."
James nodded. "Thank you, Mr. Wayne. For now, ensure my grandfather is not disturbed by any of this. Let him rest."
Wayne hesitated again but nodded. He left without another word.
James stood, crossing the room toward the grand terrace. The cool autumn wind rushed past him as he gazed out at the vast land stretching beyond the estate.
His eyes caught movement on the distant hillside—a deer, sleek and strong, leaping through the brush. Then, in a swift flash, a cougar pounced. There was a brief struggle, a moment of desperate resistance. But in the end, the predator always won.
James smirked slightly.
"This is still a wild and chaotic time," he murmured. "And some problems… are too simple to solve."
A Governor's Game
Governor Kevin Smith had spent half the night convincing his "niece" to see reason. In truth, she was no close relation—merely the daughter of a distant cousin who had sought favor when Smith rose to power. The girl had been sent to Canada under the guise of needing "discipline," but in reality, she was just another pawn in the Governor's ever-growing web of influence.
And now, he intended to use her to claim the Howlett fortune.
Little did he know, James Howlett was no mere pawn.
That night, as dark clouds choked the moon from the sky, James set out toward Yellowknife, the Governor's seat of power. He moved through the forests and hills with inhuman speed, his body built for the hunt.
By the time he reached the edge of the Governor's estate, he was already plotting his next move.
This was not a game he intended to lose.