Dawn's pale light bled through the mist as Ryan and Hank stepped out of the weaponsmith's. The quiet was shattered by distant shouts and the pounding of boots on cobblestones. A dark blur darted down the street ahead—something small, fast, being pursued.
Ryan squinted as the shape resolved into a familiar silhouette.
"Sasha!"The name tore from his throat before he could stop it.
Sasha's ears flicked. She turned toward the voice, her eyes locking onto Ryan. A heartbeat later, she barreled toward him—a streak of matted fur and joy.Behind her, the pursuers' cries became clear:"Don't let it get away! Catch it!"
Then she hit him. Hard. Ryan staggered back as sixty pounds of ecstatic shadow-wolf crashed into his chest. "Whoa—easy, girl!"He laughed while Sasha wriggled against him, whining high in her throat, her tail a frenzied metronome. Her muzzle shoved under his arm as if checking he was real.
Ryan's ribs ached, but the weight in his chest vanished. She's alive.
Since the Second Crossing, he'd feared the worst. But now, she was here—real, solid, safe.
He dropped to his knees, his fingers sinking into the thick fur at her neck, brushing against the old scar behind her ear—still there, still hers. Her warmth, the familiar texture of her coat, the way she trembled with excitement—it was all real.
Ryan let out a breathless chuckle. "I thought I'd never see you again…"
Sasha whimpered softly, pressing her head harder against his chest, as if reassuring herself he was real too.
But the moment didn't last. The thunder of approaching boots crescendoed before skidding to an abrupt halt just feet away, kicking up gravel.
Ryan flinched as small stones scattered across the ground. He saw them first—not their faces, but their boots. Three pairs of black, steel-toed boots, scuffed and battle-worn, planted firmly in front of him.
"City Guard!" Hank hissed.
Ryan looked up. The figures loomed over them, their blackened steel armor catching the morning light, gleaming like beetle shells. Across their breastplates, a deep crimson flame twisted and curled—an emblem so dark it looked almost wet, like fresh blood.
Hank's breath hitched. His eyes fixed on the emblem, realization dawning. "That emblem... that's the Lord's Elite Guard."
The Lord's Elite Guard?
Ryan's mind raced.
The lead guard lunged without warning, gauntleted hand snapping toward Sasha's scruff—
Ryan's heart clenched. "Wait! What the hell are you doing?"He shot up from his crouch, arms snapping out to shield Sasha.
The dog shrank behind him, trembling, her tail tucked tight against her belly—a clear sign of distress at the rising tension around them.
"None of your damn business. Back off." The elite guard's voice was ice as he reached past Ryan's guard, gauntleted fingers curling toward Sasha's scruff.
"The hell it isn't! She's mine."Ryan didn't budge, shoulders squaring.
"Yours?" The elite guard scoffed. "That's the Young Mistress's Frostshadow Wolf."
"Enough talk. Take it."Another elite guard barked.
The men closed in. Their intent was clear—they were here to seize Sasha—by force.
Schiiing!
Steel hissed as Ryan drew his newly purchased sword in one swift motion.
A scoff. The lead guard smirked. "Drawing a blade? Against me?" His right hand shot out in a blur.
Clang!
White-hot pain shot up Ryan's arm. His fingers went numb—before he even registered the impact, his sword was already gone, wrenched from his grip and sent spinning through the air. It clattered onto the stone with a sharp ring. What—? He hadn't even seen the strike.
"H-Hold on, sirs! This is a misunderstanding!"Hank rushed forward, hands raised in placation. He turned to Ryan, voice tight with urgency. "give them the Young Mistress's beast!—now!"
Ryan's jaw clenched. "She's mine." His stance was unyielding, a living shield between Sasha and the elite guards, muscles taut as bowstrings.
Hank's face twisted in frustration. Ryan wasn't backing down, and the elite guards were growing restless—he could see it in the way their fingers tightened around their hilts, in the simmering impatience etched across their faces.
Then—thunder.
The sharp clatter of hooves shattered the tense silence, rattling through the stone-paved street like a war drum. From the far end of the road, a group of domesticated beasts, resembling horses, surged through the mist, their iron-shod hooves striking sparks against the cobbles.