The crisp winter air carried the scent of pine and distant smoke, heralding the approach of Christmas. The Howlett estate, usually silent and imposing, had begun to stir with the subtle hum of seasonal preparations. Servants bustled about, ensuring every candle was lit, every garland hung with care. Yet amidst this cheer, James remained contemplative, his mind preoccupied with matters far beyond the holiday festivities.
Despite the urgency of his long-term plans, he refrained from pressing Mr. Daniel about their proposed journey to Africa. There was time yet, and the seasoned traveler needed his rest before undertaking another grueling expedition. Preparation was key, and James was nothing if not meticulous.
Meanwhile, his focus shifted to a different kind of conquest—industry. The northern regions of the United States had piqued his interest during his recent travels, revealing opportunities ripe for the taking. The Howlett family had long prospered in agriculture and livestock, their wealth deeply rooted in fertile lands and well-bred stock. But the industrial sector remained an untouched frontier for them. That was about to change.
James envisioned a partnership—one that would intertwine his fate with that of Herbert Fernon and Tom Wedell, men with influence and expertise in engineering and manufacturing. The looming specter of war cast a long shadow over America, and he estimated that in four or five years, conflict would erupt into full-scale bloodshed. The Civil War was inevitable.
Before the cannons fired and battle lines were drawn, he needed to establish a foothold in the industrial sector. Iron, steel, and machinery would be the lifeblood of war, and those who controlled their supply would wield immense power. By aligning himself with the North, he would not only accumulate wealth but also earn political favor—capital far more valuable than gold.
However, one concern remained at the forefront of his thoughts: Victor Logan.
Victor had always been different. The mutation in his blood had shaped him from childhood, sharpening his instincts, feeding his violent tendencies. James observed his half-brother closely, noting the primal edge to his demeanor. He was fearsome in his solitude, a force of nature that few dared to approach.
It was not just his physical prowess that unsettled James—it was the way the wilderness called to him, how he seemed to find solace in the hunt, his thirst for blood never quite quenched. If left unchecked, Victor would become more beast than man. And that would be dangerous.
James needed an ally, not a predator with no sense of restraint.
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Forging Alliances
Herbert Fernon emerged from a dusty construction site, his once-pristine attire now streaked with grime and sweat. When James broached the subject of opening a factory, the older man's expression shifted from mild surprise to outright incredulity.
"You want to set up a factory in the United States?" Herbert asked, wiping his brow. "Do you have any idea what you're getting into, lad? That country is on the verge of tearing itself apart! One wrong move, and everything you invest could be lost overnight."
His skepticism was evident, his voice laced with the frustration of a man who had seen too many young dreamers squander their fortunes on reckless ventures.
James, however, was undeterred. "Yes, Mr. Fernon," he affirmed. "I intend to establish an industrial presence there. The details are still in discussion, but I see an opportunity. Your family has an unmatched foundation in engineering. I was hoping you might consider joining me in this endeavor."
Herbert narrowed his eyes. He was no fool—James was calculating, resourceful, and clearly had a vision. But throwing money into an unstable nation on the brink of war? That was a gamble he was unwilling to take.
"I'm not interested in buying into the venture," Herbert admitted. "But I'll tell you what—I can offer my services. I'll provide factory construction and technical support as long as you're willing to pay for it. And I promise you, lad, I'll give you a better deal than any American contractor would."
James smirked. He had anticipated as much. "That's all I needed to hear, Mr. Fernon. Consider it a deal."
Herbert chuckled, his small eyes twinkling with amusement. He might not be willing to risk his own wealth, but he was more than happy to profit from the ambitions of a young aristocrat.
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The Hunt in the Wild
Deep within the heart of Lager Forest, Victor Logan crouched over his latest kill. A fully grown coyote lay lifeless beneath his grasp, its fur matted with blood where his claws had pierced its throat. Its final whimpers had faded into silence, and now, all that remained was the lingering scent of death.
Victor exhaled, satisfied. Prey like deer and antelope no longer provided the thrill he craved. He sought out creatures that could fight back, predators whose flesh was marked by battle. The moment of struggle, the surge of power coursing through his veins as he overpowered his opponent—that was what he lived for.
The forest around him was eerily still. But as he made his way back toward the manor, something unusual caught his attention. Broken tree trunks, scattered debris—signs of a battle not waged by ordinary animals.
Victor ran his hand along the splintered bark, noting deep claw marks, larger than any bear's. His fingers traced the cracks running through massive boulders, resembling the aftermath of a titanic force colliding with stone. In the center of one rock face, nearly indistinguishable, was the imprint of a fist.
He inhaled deeply, searching for a scent, but the forest and recent rainfall had erased any lingering traces.
His lips curled slightly, excitement flickering in his eyes. He was not alone.
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The Partnership of Progress
Back in the Howlett estate, James sat across from Tom Wedell, the seasoned owner of a machinery factory specializing in forging training equipment. Unlike Fernon, Wedell seemed eager to take a leap of faith.
"I assume, Mr. Howlett, that you wouldn't object if I were to invest in this endeavor myself?" Tom asked carefully. His voice was steady, but there was an undeniable eagerness in his tone.
James studied him, intrigued. "You'd be willing to invest? That's a rare stance, Mr. Wedell. May I ask why?"
The older man leaned forward. "I've spent my whole life in Edmond. I knew your grandfather—he was a man of great influence. And I've heard about you since you were a child, how intelligent you are. But more than that… the designs you've brought me, the blueprints—they aren't ordinary. I may not fully understand their purpose, but I can tell they're revolutionary."
James smiled, extending his hand. "Then let's discuss the specifics. If you commit to this, I promise you—it'll be a decision your family will thank you for, generations from now."
As they finalized their agreement, James returned to his study, standing before a massive map of North America. His fingers traced the outlines of key cities, marking them with red circles.
Time was slipping away, and the future was riddled with challenges. No single warrior could face what lay ahead alone.
A wolf was strongest when it hunted with its pack.
And James was ready to build his.
---
A Christmas of Reflection
Despite the weight of his ambitions, James allowed himself a brief respite. Christmas at the Howlett estate was a quiet affair, tinged with both nostalgia and sorrow.
His grandfather, frail and barely able to speak, would not likely see another holiday. His mother, Elizabeth, lost in her own grief, still insisted on reserving places for John and Tony at the dinner table—ghosts of the past she could not let go.
Yet amidst the somber atmosphere, Mr. Daniel regaled O'Hara with tales of his travels, filling the room with laughter. For a fleeting moment, as James gazed at the snow-covered Rocky Mountains, he allowed himself to wonder—what if life could always be this peaceful?
But he knew better.
The world was changing, and so was he.