They traveled in silence toward the ruins that the shamans had claimed as their private den. It lacked any decoration, marked with just scent. A lone shaman stood outside, dressed in tattered rags and carrying no holy books, as she had memorized every scripture, prayer, and folktale. Sonya had once joked that it was easier to become a warlord than to reach a shaman's rank. Aranea heard the shaman conversing with the local elder, who had invited Janine. The shaman refused the meager offerings presented in thanks for performing the holy ritual, citing a law passed by the first generation of spiritual servants.

"Our labor is not done for pursuing profit," Lying One said, throwing a disapproving look at the nearby trench where the Wolfkins exchanged obscenities with engineers and locals. "It is our greatest joy to nurture the prosperity of our Tribe, the state we serve and foster your improvement, citizen. If repay you wish, take these baubles and use them for the sake of your people. And forgive our young. Their zeal is honest, if rude."

"Everything is fine," the elder assured her, hiding two bright silver bracelets. "You are nothing like the stories told to us about you. We expected ferocious beasts, capable of pursuing offenders to the other side of the world, not rescuers and kindred souls."

"Two statements can be true simultaneously," Lying One responded. "Visit me tomorrow, and I shall share our history, and we will learn our different customs." She bowed and left for the den.

The shamans took over a simple, two-story building that had been little more than smoking ruins the previous day. Its new occupants had repaired the cracks and roof and barred the windows, venerating the Spirits through manual labor. If it was anything like the prayer caves back in the village, then pitch-black darkness would reign inside, disturbed by the occasional lit spark produced when a claw scratched a bronze tablet to emphasize an important point during prayer. Aranea found such meetings calming.

"What are they doing?" Aranea whispered, nodding at the long trench.

"Restoring the water supply," Kaleb whispered back. "The engineers installed massive devices capable of producing and purifying water to replace the ones that were taken, and moisture traps had been set up beside the walls. See these rubber pipes? They are meant to carry water supply to the crucial areas. I guess the problem is implementing this system? Or are they making sure the pressure won't burst the tubes? Not sure."

"Hey, Kaleb!" Yuki, neck-deep in dirt, waved her paw to greet the Wolfkin. "They've let you out already? Who's your girlfriend? Is she from Martyshkina's pack or something?"

"Actually…" began Kaleb, but Aranea's chuckle interrupted him.

"I'll let this indignity slide, Yuki. Provided that you'll wash yourself before sleeping."

"Aranea?! No way! How in the Abyss are you so huge?!" Yuki gasped, blinking. A nearby local cursed, reeling back as one of the rubberized pipes cracked, shooting mud at the group.

"How is it looking out there? Is it water yet?" Aranea heard Sly's voice coming from the depths of a nearby collapsed building. A single tunnel had been excavated into its basement, and from it sounded noises of a working engine that had been pumping liquid through the pipes.

"It's mud. Muddy water!" Yuki sang, giggling and trying to evade the growing pool. "For the record, we're not drinking it, right, mates?" The workers' choir supported her. "And you said you'd wait until we lay them fully…"

"Can't sweat over every single detail! Now we know this filter is faulty and that this tube is unsuited for our task; we can replace both early. Let's test another…" A loud whistling and gurgling preceded the expansion of another rubber snake.

The mudflow stopped, much to Yuki's delight. A second later, a boil swelled on the pipe near her. It exploded, knocking her aside with a fierce torrent of crystal-clear water that sent the warrior headfirst into the widening pool. Several workers, Wolfkins and Normies, had been caught in the flow, grabbing the hands of their fellows to escape.

Aranea joined in to help, pulling people out, unable to contain her mirth at the scene.

"How about now? Is it clean water yet?" Sly inquired from the basement.

"Yes, you bastard! Now come on out so I can drown you in it!" Yuki yelled, refusing offered paws and hands. She took a step, slipped on the wet slope, broke a piece of concrete with her jaw during her fall, and got swept into the pool.

"I'll go on alone," Kaleb whispered, joining his laughter to Aranea's as they watched how Yuki resurfaced, like a fired torpedo, landing up and shaking off water from her fur. "Don't follow me."

"Is it safe?"

"It's the shamans," Kaleb said. He approached the den and knocked once on the featureless door, and Lying One, the current head shaman of the Janine Pack, opened up. He opened his mouth to speak, but the woman raised a single finger, motioning him to be silent. She placed a palm on his forehead, uttering the prayers to petition Spirits to bless him and thank the brave surgeons for Kaleb's treatment. Lying One stopped, noticing a slight shudder in his legs, and welcomed Kaleb in, speaking warmly. Deciding to trust Kaleb's judgment on the matter, Aranea headed out just as Yuki, screaming and fuming, dragged Sly by the nape from the basement to the crowd's encouraging cheers.

She made her way to the temporary command center, a place formerly used as a city hall. It wasn't much of a headquarters yet, just a place from which the warlords could contact Command to inform them of their progress and situation and to receive orders. A couple of yawning operators set up their equipment in the guest quarters and were monitoring the situation, sipping tea and watching displays. One Normie guard escorted Aranea to the warlords' room, where she found Martyshkina lying exhausted in an armchair and Jaine holding a windowsill to maintain balance on her wobbly legs. Martyshkina poured alcohol into a glass and noticed Aranea.

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"Oh. You really survived, girl. Congratulations!" She emptied the glass in one gulp. "And got all beefed up. Finally accepted your gift, I see. Wise, wise. Deserves a shot in celebration!" She poured in more booze, swallowing it. "Also a shot in memory of my dearest Sonya…" Once more she refilled and emptied the glass.

"You never even talked to Sonya," Janine noted calmly.

"Sonya is alive. She is currently in the hospital," Aranea said. "And I accepted nothing. I suppressed the power."

"Well, that deserves another shot of joy and one more of regret." Martyshkina poured more alcohol into her glass.

"Just drink the whole blasted bottle, will you?" Janine said with a hint of irritation. She let go of the window and faced the wolf hag. "Aranea, was she there… Of course not. Praise be to the winner, and swift recovery and better luck to the vanquished. I approve your promotion. Have a rest, don't overextend, and eat. Such a rapid change is bound to affect your body and mind. I'll send engineers later to adjust your armor. We are to stay put by order of …" Anger and hatred flashed in Janine's eyes, but she finished without raising her voice, "…our masters."

"By your will, Warlord." Aranea bowed. "Permission to speak?"

"Granted."

"I will stop dominations in my pack."

"Ah, plan to follow in the footsteps of Ka… the late Anji, I see?" Martyshkina hiccuped, raising a toast. "Why is she informing us?"

"No idea," Janine answered. "Your pack, your rules, Wolf Hag. So long as it doesn't endanger my troops, your authority is what guides them. You are to bring up serious matters to my attention, such as a lack of ammunition, improper gear, suspicion of an ambush, and advice. Don't pester me with banalities."

"Thank you, Warlord," Aranea said. "Are you two all right? I've never seen you so… so…"

"Don't dance around. Spit it out!" Martyshkina insisted.

"Vulnerable."

"Don't lie, you saw me thrashing around without my jaw," Janine snapped. "If you think me weak or unsuited to lead, challenge me. I'll teach you the meaning of power."

"She's baiting you. Don't listen to her, little one," Martyshkina belched, reaching for the next bottle. "Janine has always had a foul temper when it comes to her appearing fragile. She's just pissed off that the black and blue used us as pawns once again."

"Pawns?" Aranea asked. "I thought we acted independently."

"Our dear leaders just contacted us." Ironjaw turned to the window. "Tell me, have you ever met a wyrm? In person, I mean."

"No, my warlord."

"Enough with the titles. For the next ten minutes, you have my permission to speak freely and stand however you want. Take a bottle from Marty if you want a drink."

"I will fight to the death for my precious!" protested the second warlord, wrapping her arms around the bottles on a small table near her. "They are mine, all mine! None of you have any idea how difficult it is to procure proper vodka around here. The snacks I am willing to surrender."

Aranea took her on the offer. She sat on a chair and began tossing tasty, spiced slices of smoked lizard and cusack meat into her mouth.

"Wyrms can make you talk," Janine started explaining. "Not like 'talk-talk' or prying information using physical violence. These crude methods often don't provide precise information…"

"And torture is illegal nowadays," Martyshkina added.

"Hrm." Janine paused. "Wyrms look at you, and the glow of their eyes touches your retina. Truth be told, I don't know if they need to establish eye contact. Under the onslaught of their will, you can't help but try to appease them. We all sometimes forget certain details. Well, wyrms can drag it from your subconscious because, unless you have brain damage, deep down, you do remember it. This process is usually harmless."

"Usually," Aranea noted.

"Yes," Janine snorted. "Our adaptation plays against us. What doesn't kill us makes a Wolfkin stronger. Our brains resist on instinct, though there are limits, and we lose the clash, ending up in a mess. Tonight, they questioned us, thoroughly, about our encounter. Every single detail we saw, every thought we had." She clenched her fist. "And why do you think it happened?"

"They study our foe," Aranea said.

"True. Think deeper. Why were all three of them—black, blue, and gold—in Fort Uglo when we called to report? Do you think they were just hanging around the place all the time, even though the two of them hate each other's guts? We were used," Janine growled. "The wyrms needed information about the enemy. The blue knew that the black would never let our personnel die in vain, so the blue played me, knowing full well how I'd react to the news of the unprotected convoys and betting on me to not comprehend his full scheme. But the black read him and sent Marty to the area to provide support if anything went awry.

"And here we are; everyone has made a move without the wyrms ordering anything that might directly break the truce. The wyrms gained data; the Resistance proved to be unreliable, the raiding force responsible for the committed carnage is punished as the blue intended, and the Resistance contacted their spies in our lands, demanding to know what the hell happened, letting our agents track and neutralize them. A controlled engagement to let our side gauge the enemy's potential and adjust. And the cherry on top of that is that we have received a click on the nose, reminding us that regardless of what we'll choose, we remain pawns, simple to predict and control."

"To be fair, Wyrm Lord apologized to us. He too was kept in the dark about this," Martyshkina said. "He promised to compensate us for the disrespect…"

"Compensate!" Janine snarled in anger and lowered her voice to a passionate whisper. "Make up for permitting the black and blue to use us? Weakling-in-chief indeed, he is unable to rein in his minions. Screw him. I hate being used as a pawn; I hate it! Ravager and the Dynast never treated us like that. We were the storm back then; we were the death!"

"Come on, it's not all that bad." Martyshkina offered her a bottle, and Janine accepted. "Our losses are much smaller under the wyrms' leadership. We have better gear, and we no longer lag behind the First or the Second in receiving it. You told me: certain changes are needed. Abyss grab my ass, Wyrm Lord even persuaded the shamans to let the Wolfkins receive payments for side gigs. We are able to purchase all sorts of stuff." She smiled widely at Janine's flared nostrils.

"Trinkets. Trinkets for our honor. Our dignity," Janine exhaled, holding back her wrath. "I won't argue. The Tribe has become happier overall. I still chuckle about that milk incident. But we are growing soft, and the fact that our allies risk and sacrifice while we cower is not right. We were born for war, not them."

"Warlords, I have a question," Aranea said, unwilling to waste any more time hearing the pointless grumbles of her superior. She had more pressing matters to solve. Neither glanced at her, and the wolf hag quickly corrected herself. "Janine, Martyshkina, I need your help. One of my pack is nearing the age when he should go to the tent for the final send-off. I thought that perhaps there is a way to…"

"Yes, of course. Kostya." Janine ran a paw through her hair. "I'll issue a declaration to postpone the culling of our elderly until the war is over. I'll need the vote of another warlord for it. Marty?"

"You insult me by asking." The warlord saluted with a bottle. "You have it. I despise this stupid law, anyway."

"Laws and traditions exist for a reason," Ironjaw said quietly, but the second Wolfkin stuck out her tongue and then drank more. Janine hobbled past such undignified behavior and stopped near Aranea, snatching some lizard meat. "I'll call our sisters. Dragena and Fatima will support us. My troops will be safe until the end of the war. Afterwards, if he survives, he'll have to face his destiny. There are ways to prevent it. One is exile…" Janine examined Aranea's snout and nodded. "I see. No need to explain. I share his commitment. The second way is the ritual of declawing. Offer your claws for his life."

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