The heavy gates of Vanguard Imperial loomed ahead, the ancient metal creaking softly as they opened, revealing the sprawling barracks inside. Arren's shoulders relaxed slightly, the weight of his journey pressing less heavily now that he was back among familiar walls. The pup in his arms, now a small, unassuming stray dog, wriggled and sniffed at the air, its fur blending into the dusty streets of the barracks. No one would suspect it—no one could know what it truly was. It had become a part of his secret, one he would guard with the same ferocity as his own life.
As he approached the gate, Arren glanced down at the small, now entirely mundane dog. It wagged its tail, oblivious to the world's threats, and he felt a pang of affection. His gaze hardened, however, as he neared the heavy metal gates, his mind still reeling from the encounter with the shadow wolves. The thought of the encounter being reported to Captain Velrik stirred his anger—there was no telling what the captain would do with such information, but for now, there was nothing Arren could do to stop it.
Before entering the barracks, Arren reached into the magical pouch slung over his shoulder and pulled out two massive boars, their forms flickering slightly before solidifying in his hands. He could feel the weight of their bodies even through the pouch's enchantment. He carried the carcasses with ease toward the storeroom, the pungent smell of fresh kill trailing behind him. The ancient winter dragon was still a secret only known to him. Its eggs, and their potential, remained locked in his mind as a silent promise—one that he wouldn't break unless the time came. But that was not today.
He reached the storeroom without incident, swiftly depositing the boars. With a sigh, Arren turned toward the barracks building, a familiar building of stone and wood, where warmth and the steady rhythm of the day's activities awaited. Inside, the hum of comrades discussing reports and training filled the air, but it was the cold stone basin near the back that drew him in.
The bath was large, deep, and private—perfect for moments like this, when the tension of battle and the weight of secrets pressed on him. Arren sank into the steaming water, the heat soothing his aching muscles. The dog, now curled up on a nearby stone ledge, kept watch with alert eyes.
As Arren leaned back and let the water wash over him, his thoughts turned inward. He reached into his mind, recalling the strange events of the past days—the encounter with the thunder wolves, the strange visions, and the unrelenting pull toward something greater. And there, amidst the flashes of memory, was the egg—hidden, protected by ancient magics. It pulsed with an energy he could not yet fully comprehend.
"Fri," Arren whispered softly to the dog, his voice almost a whisper as the name formed in his mind. The dog's head turned slightly, its amber eyes locking with his. Arren chuckled under his breath. "You'll be Fri, then. Not just a stray, but something more, something... better."
The dog gave a soft bark of agreement, its tail thumping against the stone.
After his bath, refreshed and ready to face the world once more, Arren stepped into the Knights' dining hall. The warm fire crackled, casting light over the long table where his companions sat, waiting for him.
First to greet him was Noor, the ever-calm strategist, who studied him for a moment before offering a polite smile. "You've been gone for quite some time," Noor said with a hint of amusement. "I trust your trip was fruitful?"
Arren grunted in response, taking a seat beside him. "More trouble than it's worth, but it's done." He met Noor's gaze. "The reports came in, did they?"
Noor nodded, unrolling a scroll. "Velrik has already been briefed on the shadow wolves, as expected. It seems there are rumors swirling about dark forces gathering near the edge of the northern territories. I'd be cautious, Arren. These things rarely bode well."
Mira, the healer, smiled gently as she passed him a bowl of soup. "You should eat, Arren. You look like you've barely slept."
He offered her a grateful nod. "You're right. And I'll get some rest soon." His gaze flickered to Brynn, the sharp-eyed archer, who sat with her legs casually crossed, a knowing smirk on her face.
"You've got that look again," she teased, her voice light but sharp. "What's troubling you this time?"
Arren glanced between his friends—his family. He owed them honesty, but he also owed them protection. "The dark forces are moving again," he said slowly, his voice quiet but heavy. "But it's not just the shadow wolves. I have reason to believe that the Ashen Order is involved."
At his words, the conversation around the table stopped. Brynn's smile faded, and Torren, the blacksmith, leaned forward.
"The Ashen Order?" Torren muttered. "That's not something to take lightly, Arren. They've been silent for too long. If they're truly involved, then this is only the beginning."
Arren nodded grimly. He had no illusions about the Ashen Order's power or their ultimate goals. Whatever they were planning, it would not bode well for any of them.
Noor's voice broke the silence. "And what of your... companion?" His eyes flickered to where Fri lay at Arren's feet, now fully transformed back into a nondescript dog.
Arren's lips twitched into a small, amused smile. "His name is Fri. A stray for now, but with more purpose than any of us can know."
"Fri?" Brynn raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained. "And you thought that would be a fitting name?"
"I'm not sure it matters," Arren replied with a smirk of his own. "But it'll do for now."
As the conversation continued, Arren's thoughts remained firmly fixed on the Ashen Order, and the growing sense that the dark forces, which Lyara had hinted at, were already moving closer to their doorstep.