The sun painted the cabin in amber hues as Kazi heaved the carcass of the Iron-Tusked Boar onto the butchering table. Blood matted his shirt sleeves, but his grin outshone the fading light.
Amari emerged from the smoke house, wiping his hands on his apron. "Hmph. Took you all day for one boar? At your age, I'd have cleared the woods of these by midsummer."
Kazi rolled his eyes. "Funny. Last winter you screamed like a startled hare when a pinecone fell on you."
Zola's laughter floated through the open kitchen window. "He's not wrong, dear."
Amari scowled but ruffled Kazi's sweat-damp hair. "Clean kill though. Straight through the eye." He inspected the beast's tusks. "These'll make fine dagger handles. Maybe even earn us some silver at the midsummer market."
As Kazi washed his hands in the water trough, Zola called them in for supper. The rich scent of rosemary stew and fresh bread wrapped around them like a blanket.
Kazi devoured his third helping as Zola studied him over the rim of her teacup. "So," she began casually, "any interesting encounters in the woods today? Besides your boar?"
Amari choked on his ale. "Woman, are you matchmaking again?"
"I'm simply curious about our son's social life," Zola said primly.
Kazi's spoon froze halfway to his mouth. "Social life? I was hunting. Alone. Like always."
Zola's eyes twinkled. "No pretty village girls 'accidentally' crossing your path?
Heat crept up Kazi's neck. "Lira helps everyone with their sacks.
Amari's booming laugh shook the table. "Gods above, boy, you're redder than your boar's blood!"
Kazi stabbed his stew with sudden intensity. "Can we not?"
Zola patted his hand. "I just wonder when you'll start noticing how the girls notice you."
"Or how you notice them noticing," Amari added with a wink.
Kazi groaned. "I'm going to bed."
Amari blocked his path, suddenly serious. "Before you go..." He reached into his vest and produced a folded parchment sealed with dark blue wax. An unfamiliar sigil - something resembling a wolf's head - was pressed into it.
Kazi frowned. "What's this?"
"Opportunity," Amari said, uncharacteristically solemn.
Zola came to stand beside her husband. "The Lycaros delegation that passed through last week? Their alpha has taken an interest in you."
Kazi's stomach dropped. "The werewolf nobles? Why would they—"
"Not just any Lycaros," Zola interrupted gently. "The alpha's own daughter. Adanna."
The name landed like a thunderclap. Kazi remembered her - beautiful with golden eyes that seemed to see straight through his bones. She'd watched him sharpen his knives by the smithy with an unreadable expression.
"You're joking." Kazi's voice cracked. "They're practically royalty. I'm a hunter's son."
Amari's calloused hand gripped his shoulder. "You're more than you know, boy."
A strange weight hung in those words. Kazi's skin prickled. "What does that mean?"
Zola smoothly intercepted. "It means you've caught the eye of an important family. This," she tapped the letter, "is a chance to court Adanna properly. With her father's blessing."
Kazi's mind reeled. "Court her? She barely spoke two words to me!"
"Lycaros choose carefully," Amari said.
Kazi stared at the letter like it might bite him. "This makes no sense. Why me?"
The fire popped loudly in the sudden silence. Zola and Amari shared a glance that spoke volumes yet revealed nothing.
"Perhaps," Zola said finally, "They sees what we've always seen in you."
Amari nudged the letter into Kazi's numb hands. "Read it. Sleep on it. No decisions tonight."
Meanwhile, beyond the chamber walls, in the shadowed corridors, spies stood before the king, their heads bowed in silent deference.
"Speak" King Ruzan said
First Spy :
"Your Majesty, the Lycaros have been sighted near the Blackfang Ridge villages. Their princess, Adanna, entered a hunter's cottage 2 nights ago and remained for hours."
Ruzan's fingers stilled on the armrest. "A hunter's cottage? Not a noble house?"
Second Spy
"The boy is no one, my liege. Nineteen winters old, decent with a bow, but… ordinary. His parents are Amari and Zola—woodland hunters who trade pelts for salt."
A log cracked in the hearth. The king's gaze darkened. "Then why would the Lycaros Alpha offer his prized daughter to a peasant?"
Third Spy
"He survived a White Maw attack last winter. No one survives those."
The pendant at Ruzan's throat flared hot.
Ruzan stood abruptly, his cloak sweeping behind him as he approached a mural of the old Umoja kingdom. He traced the faded sigil of their royal crest—a sun cradled in a wolf's maw.
"The Lycaros were Umoja's guardians," he murmured. "They would only break centuries of isolation for one reason."
His spymaster, Vareth, stepped forward. *
"You believe this boy is connected to the golden light ?"
Ruzan's smile was razor-thin. "Ordinary hunters' sons don't interest werewolf royalty. Send the ShadowBlades. Bring me the boy alive. Burn the rest."
Vareth lingered as the others departed. "My king, the Lycaros will retaliate if we attack one of their betrotheds."
Ruzan turned the Jade Pendant in his palm. "Which is why you'll make it look like bandits. And Vareth," His voice dropped to a whisper. "If the boy resists… a missing hand or eye won't hinder my questioning."
Vareth nodded and moved on to carry the order. Among the Silent blades he choose tho who are competed and they rode for Blackfang village without delay.
When they arrived at Blackfang village, Captain Dren observed the village through his scope as it slipped into its evening rhythms—women calling in children, men tending fires, the quiet routines of rural life.
"Twenty huts," he murmured to his second-in-command. "No more than forty capable fighters. But they're not soft—they're hunters, trappers. They'll put up a fight."
His lieutenant, a wiry man with a killer's grin, sneered. "Then don't give them the chance. Burn the northern huts first. They'll flee south—right into our crossbows."
Dren weighed the suggestion. King Ruzan's orders were clear: capture the boy alive and leave no witnesses. Fire was brutal—but efficient.
"What if the Lycaros intervene?" another Shadowblade asked, tension in his voice.
Dren's smile was thin, eyes cold. "Then we thank the gods. Ruzan's been itching for a reason to thin their numbers." He turned to his demolitions expert. "Ready the flameburst arrows. If those fur-clad bastards show themselves, I want them burning."
Dren checked his blade—its edge coated with a mild paralytic. Just enough to drop someone without killing them. The boy had to be delivered alive.
Just as they were about to move into position, a figure darted through the trees; however none of them registered the fleeting image