The towering doors of the central building loomed before them, the carved wolf heads on their surface snarling silently at all who approached. Ulrik pushed them open with little effort, and the sound of creaking hinges echoed through the massive hall.
Logan stepped inside, Emery close behind him. His breath caught as his eyes swept across the interior. The hall resembled the one at the eastern war camp, but this was on an entirely different scale. Massive wooden beams supported a vaulted ceiling, and intricately woven tapestries depicting epic battles and ancient victories adorned the walls. Long tables filled the floor, though most were empty.
At the center of the room, on a raised platform, was a throne carved from black stone. It was not just a seat of power—it was a symbol of authority, radiating an oppressive presence. The arms of the throne were capped with carved wolf heads, their eyes gleaming with embedded gemstones. Behind it, a large wolf banner hung, its black-on-red design stark and commanding.
Ulrik led them forward, his boots echoing on the polished stone floor. "This is the heart of Vargshold," he said, his voice low and reverent. "The seat of the Elderman of the Wolf Clan."
Logan glanced around. The room felt vast and empty, yet he could sense the weight of history pressing down on him. This was where decisions that shaped the clan's future were made.
Ulrik didn't linger. He guided them past the throne and through a side door, down a narrow hallway lit by flickering torches. The scent of smoke and ale grew stronger as they approached another room.
Pushing open a smaller, but equally ornate door, Ulrik revealed a chamber filled with laughter and the clinking of tankards.
Four people sat around a heavy oak table, their postures relaxed but their presences anything but. Each of them radiated authority, their auras as distinct as their appearances.
At the head of the table sat a man who could only be Ragnar Wolfsworn, the Elderman of the Wolf Clan. His broad shoulders seemed to take up half the room, and his piercing blue eyes locked onto Ulrik the moment he entered. Ragnar had an air of command that was impossible to ignore. A massive sword leaned against the table beside him, its hilt engraved with runes that glowed faintly in the dim light.
"Ulrik Thorskald," Ragnar said, his voice deep and resonant, cutting through the room like a blade. "You've returned. And with company, it seems."
To Ragnar's left sat a giant of a man, even larger than Rorik or Hakon. His size was almost monstrous, his muscles straining against the fur-lined armor he wore. His face was as cold and unyielding as the northern winters, and his pale blue eyes regarded Ulrik with open hostility. A massive sword and shield rested within reach.
Logan felt his skin prickle under the man's glare. "Torvald Frostbane," Ulrik said, his tone neutral but laced with tension.
To Ragnar's right was a wiry man with sharp features and a bow slung across his back. His eyes, narrow and predatory, never lingered in one place for long, as if he were constantly assessing potential threats. He didn't look at Ulrik, instead choosing to sip from his tankard in silence.
"Alaric Veylor," Ulrik said, the lack of acknowledgment seeming not to bother him.
The last person at the table was a woman in an elegant magi's cloak, her silver hair framing a face that was both beautiful and marked by age. Her presence was serene, but there was a power beneath the surface that Logan could feel even from the doorway.
"Aria Silvervane," Ulrik said with a slight incline of his head. Unlike the others, Aria smiled warmly.
"Ulrik," she said, her voice melodic. "It's been too long."
"Not long enough for some," Torvald muttered, his voice a low growl.
Ulrik ignored the comment, stepping into the room and motioning for Logan and Emery to follow. "Ragnar, I've brought someone for you to meet."
Ragnar leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as they landed on Logan. "A boy?"
"Not just any boy," Ulrik said, his tone steady. He placed a firm hand on Logan's shoulder, urging him forward.
"This," Ulrik announced, "is Logan Grant, my disciple."
The room fell silent. Even Torvald stopped glaring, his expression shifting to one of surprise. Alaric finally turned his sharp gaze on Logan, studying him intently.
"He's not just my disciple," Ulrik continued, his voice carrying a weight that filled the room. "He's a Warlock."
The word hung in the air like a thunderclap. Ragnar's expression didn't change, but Logan could feel the intensity of his gaze increase. Aria's eyes widened slightly, and even Alaric looked momentarily taken aback.
Torvald snorted. "A Warlock? Another one of your ridiculous stories, Ulrik?"
"It's no story," Ulrik said firmly. "He has both Qi and Mana marks. Axe, Strength, Speed, Stamina, and Perception Qi. Fire, Blood, and Darkness Mana."
Logan noticed that Ulrik carefully left out his Death Mana affinity, just as he had done before. He also noted that Ulrik seemed to trust Vidal more then these people and was not worried about him keeping their life and death affinties a secret.
"And this," Ulrik continued, gesturing to Emery, "is Emery Carter. A Magi."
Aria's gaze softened as she looked at Emery, but the others remained focused on Logan.
Ulrik straightened, his tone shifting to one of command. "Logan and Emery are under my protection. Logan has trained with me until it's was time for him to join the academy. As for Emery, she was a lucky find."
Ragnar's expression remained unreadable, but he finally nodded. "Very well. We'll see what they're capable of."
Ulrik turned to Logan and Emery. "You've met the leaders of the Wolf Clan. Remember their names. They will shape the future of this land."
The weight of Ulrik's words settled heavily on Logan as he glanced around the room. This was a gathering of powerful individuals. And somehow, he had been thrust into their world.