"Finished checking, Wolf Hag?" asked Quartermaster Mikheikin.

"Not yet," Aranea answered, disassembling a shardgun. She grunted with approval at the ease with which the details fit together as she reassembled the weapon to its original shape.

Over the past couple of days, there had been an influx of people into Habitation Zone C-6721, as Captain Ivar had dubbed the place, or Brave Frontier, as everyone else called it. Military convoys drove in day and night, delivering much-needed soldiers and workers to secure and reinvigorate the violated city. Refugees arrived from the nearby areas, settling within the safety of Brave Frontier's walls, and the noises of construction reached even here.

Engineers of the Reclamation Army had established their camp in the south, near the road leading into Fort Uglo, in case of an unexpected need to retreat. Among them stood the arsenals belonging to the packs, situated in square mobile vehicles that served as storage and manufacturing facilities. Several power armors hung, suspended by manipulators at the ceiling, in anticipation of being repaired. The suit that the greenie had pierced was also here; its user rested in a special medical capsule in Martyshkina's armory, preparing to have part of her spine replaced. Aranea had attended to her once when the doctor woke the warrior to ask permission for cyberization.

"No complaints." Aranea placed the shardgun back in the crate and ran her finger along the curves of a suit that had just been repaired. Not even a notch was left. "Everything in order. Beautiful."

"Expected anything less?" Mikheikin, a rosy-cheeked, sixty-eight-year-old Normie, motioned, and two of his assistants, Kostya and a mutant, wheeled the ammunition away.

"Never," Aranea said, tugging on the collar of her leather officer's coat. "How's our volunteer doing?"

"Knows his way around and doesn't buy scouts' bullshit." With a sigh, Mikheikin heaved a laser rifle onto his table and began loading it. "Wouldn't mind having him here on a more permanent basis."

"Thank you." Aranea smiled.

Don't know anything besides war, eh, Kostya? Prepare to be disappointed. The weight on her soul eased a little. Her trick hadn't been in vain. Let him get a taste of what he was capable of. She put on a cap, saluted the soldiers, and exited the vehicle through a narrow door instead of the long ramp.

"Watch out, Aranea." Janine's warning stopped her from ending up amidst the flesh river.

Cusacks, omnivorous and docile creatures that had been created in the Old World for space colonization, streaked on the main road. They didn't grunt or utter any wary noises as they passed by a sentry tower under construction, undaunted. A motley crowd of young and old farmers escorted the herd of over three hundred into the city.

"Purchase delivered, Khatun." A tubby New Breed approached the warlord, carrying a terminal in his hand, unprotected by any heat suit. "Need your signature for confirmation."

"Not until we confirm the beasts are dairy-type. I don't need any dry duds around here," Janine said, snapping the happy former elder out of his stupor. He and two shamans hurried to the beasts.

"Have we ever tricked you in a business deal, O Gate Holder?"

"No. I would not have vouched for you to the commander if that were the case. Did we ever skip checking your beasts?"

"Also no."

"Then there is no reason to disregard the ritual."

Milk. Though cusacks were famous for their simple and undemanding breeding conditions, three hundred specimens were nowhere near enough to feed an entire settlement long-term. Their true value lay in another quality. Both the males and females produced green, safe, sandy, and rough-tasting milk in abundance. No reasonable village ever skipped having a herd or two of these beasts.

"Pardon the formalities, friend," Roch addressed the caravan master. "Let my assistants treat you to a glass of cold wine to smooth over the rough welcome and show our appreciation of your efforts."

"The khatun is as wise as she is indomitable. It is prudent to confirm the quality of one's purchase." The New Breed loomed over the smaller mutant. Even his yellow robes, held by golden pins, did little to hide his massive bulk. He removed the helmet from his bald head. "I'll gladly partake in your hospitality to seal our prosperous pact and appraise taverns of the north."

"There's another matter requiring your attention," Roch said to Janine as one of his assistants led the New Breed toward a tavern opened by a local. "We need your permission to set up mushroom farms…"

"Why are you asking me?" Janine said.

"You're the leader."

"I don't recall claiming this place."

"We had a vote." Roch shrugged. "So, about the farms..."

Aranea walked past them, heading to the shooting range. With the state's borders reaching here, the Wolfkins had little to do. The regulars took over the honor of garrisoning the city, militias formed from locals and refugees policed the streets and underwent drills, and the Free World aided Olesya in watching over the orphans.

Brave Frontier was abuzz with the sounds of hammering, sawing, drilling, welding, and creaking cranes. It never ceased, not even at night. Traders set up stands next to government and civilian advertisements petitioning for aid with various tasks. Aranea stopped to buy two sodas. Strict agents questioned survivors from various regions, meticulously adding to the list of accusations leveled at King and overseeing the distribution of humanitarian aid. Kaleb waved to Aranea on his way to deliver food to the elderly, then resumed his small talk with a musician, inquiring of the man how to master the flute.

Captain Ivar sought to transform the city into a fortress poised to unleash and supply advancing forces, as well as an example of the Reclamation Army's efficiency. No expense was spared in achieving this goal. The unusual lack of insectoid activity around the city and other similar settlements was viewed as a divine blessing.

"Why is it called squeezing?" Aranea overheard Sly ask when she entered the submerged quarter of the city.

A group of people comprised of locals, Roch's scavengers, and Wolfkins had gathered near a wide black line on the ground. Construction machines hadn't touched this area yet, and the remains of ancient skyscrapers and melted city blocks made it difficult for Normies to traverse the rubble. The wolf hag stopped, curious about the presence of her troops here.

"Because the ruins stretch for several kilometers in the depths," explained a woman with a missing eye. She took off her anti-heat suit, ending up staying in a skin-tight outfit covered in hooks, hammers, chisels, an oxygen tank, and long coils of rope. "There are occasional wide chambers full of incredible loot. For the most part, though, we will need to wedge ourselves between narrow passages. If you are at risk of panicking in tight spaces, I recommend sitting this one out."

"I want to see what the Old World was like in person," Sly said. "And the diving glasses?"

"They protect your eyes from splinters of stone or dust," answered a scavenger with an avian head. He clicked his beak, examining a map spread on the ground. "I see you mapped half a kilometer already. Excellent, it'll make our job easier. What did you use to locate the dead ends?"

"We crawled in," the woman answered. "When a roof collapsed on us, we used hammers and chisels to free ourselves."

"You… crawled." The scavenger repeated, turning his head to the side and looking at the local with his round, black eye. The feather crest atop his head shook. "What did I expect? Amateurs. I'm amazed the insectoids haven't dined on you yet."

"We've made steady progress into the ruins." The woman frowned.

"Sure you did. But let's use a less suicidal approach today." He tossed a silvery sphere up, catching it with a normal human hand. "Anyone knows what it is?"

"A sound emitter," Sly said.

"Bingo! We'll use echolocation on our expedition today. This useful little device can emit sound into the tunnels. When the sound reflects off a surface, it's returned to the sender, processed, and…" He tapped at the portable terminal at his belt. "We get an idea of what's ahead. Not to infringe on your expertise, Lis…"

"Beat it," the woman chuckled. "Anything to keep us from breaking any more bones. What's your plan, George?"

"Keep doing what you did," George said. "The bosses want to know what's below us, so let's oblige. Today we'll travel as far as possible, using portable cameras to film everything."

"What if we stumble upon ancient tech?" Sly asked.

"We will extract it, but not today. You see, we don't yet know what could potentially serve as a support pillar in the tunnels. I trust no one wants to be squashed?" The group voiced their agreement. "Me neither. Don't take any risks. Pearls are useless if you're dead. First, we'll brainstorm the dangers, and then we will get our… I mean, the state's share of treasures and be rewarded!"

Aranea left the instructor educating the crew about the dangers and sharing equipment and proceeded to the shooting range in the north of the city, hearing the loud barking of the shardguns. The Wolf Tribe trained their youth to wield ranged weapons since birth, and the cubs assigned to protect cusack herds wielded machine guns to scare away insectoids and alert the nearest warriors to the situation.

However, the recoil of standard guns and shardguns differed greatly, and Kate took on the duty of teaching the teens assigned to Janine's and Martyshkina's packs. With their snouts not yet elongated by the reward and their predatory instincts in control, these youngsters resembled the Normies the most. Aranea had even overheard a child ask a cub if he was wearing a costume.

Forty-eight cubs lay in the prepared depressions, firing their shardguns at the tied-together empty barrels moved by Yuki using ropes. They groaned and cursed at the frequent misses or let out a howl of satisfaction when they tore a chunk from the makeshift dummies. A boy landed a shot square in the construction, and it fell apart, leaving a single barrel dangling from a rope. He laughed and stood at his full height, aiming his weapon at the barrel with one arm.

He pulled the trigger, and the recoil sent the shards far to the side, while the weapon itself, no longer secured against a stone plate, flew into his face. A paw caught it ahead of Aranea's, saving the boy from having his nose broken.

"It was my fault, Scout…" the cub began.

Kate spun the shardgun in her paw, turning it into a blur, then aimed and shot without turning her head. The spread of shards shredded the target to the cheers of the little ones. "Want to be as skilled?"

"Yep!" he nodded.

"Then master the basics." She switched the safety on, returned the weapon, and snapped her fingers to stop the training. "See this?" She touched a small bump on her nose. "It's where my first shardgun bludgeoned me. Couldn't sneeze for a week. That." She opened her mouth and touched a missing fang with her tongue. "From the butt kicking me when I tried to wield it one-handed. We don't force you to fire from a prone position for fun. It's boring for you and us."

"Then why do it?" a girl asked.

"To teach you to be careful," Kate answered. "It's a wild predator you're holding. Respect it, learn from my mistakes, and you'll be just as awesome as the grown-ups one day, and as a bonus, keep your bones intact. Which one of you wants to waltz around with holes in their smiles?" She grinned, hearing no answer. "These trainings are not meaningless. Already you begin to notice the shards' trajectory, and your strained limbs will soon be filled with vigor, enabling you to hold any weapons steady. Then the real fun begins when you run mobile exercises and fire at dummies on the move."

"I'd wish it would come sooner," the boy sighed, shuddering when Kate approached him.

She wore a tight turtleneck, hiding the stitched and bandaged trace Aranea's claw left on her. With a paw longer than the cub's head, she patted him.

"Since you've been an obedient pack today, that can be done," she said. "We'll be using stunners, heading up and down the mountainside. Yuki, can your pack play the role of moving targets?"

"I planned to take a nap."

"Capital. We rely on you. Whoever grazes Scout Yuki gets a triple ration."

"Hey!"

We weren't half as enthusiastic during our training. Aranea noted as the cheering cubs streamed past her to the arsenal. Since Kate took over these drills, there have been no serious injuries, just the occasional dislocation that can be fixed on the field. A field medic showed up yesterday, suspicious of the lack of slashes and bruises to treat. He expressed his pleasure about the implemented changes.

Aranea made sure to pass that praise to Janine.

"Excellent performance, champ," Aranea said.

"Wolf hag." Kate knelt, baring her throat in submission.

"Drop the ranks, Kate. I've brought you something to refresh your throat." She produced the can of soda from her coat and offered it to the scout.

"There is no need for it, wolf hag. Water is more to my liking."

"I wanted to discuss a party in celebration of your birthday."

"Please don't concern yourself with it." Kate stood up, getting the cue that Aranea wasn't planning to bite her. "With your permission, I have a training to oversee."

Don't be too pushy. She recalled the advice and nodded, stepping aside. Yuki raised her eyebrows, and Aranea shrugged, tossing her one of the soda cans as she passed by. Her mood soured. Not at Kate, but rather at her inability to rekindle the trust she once had with her comrade. The scout remained professional, never overstepping her bounds and even stopping her banter with the rest of the pack. Not normal. My fault. My responsibility.

"Came to check up on my squeakers, too?" A paw gripped her shoulder, and the wolf hag shook.

By the Spirits, she is so quiet! Martyshkina's keen eyes scanned her from head to toe, and she hugged the wolf hag closer. She motioned for the cubs to hurry up as they tried to prostrate themselves in veneration.

"Something like that, yeah."

"I'll miss them, but what can you do? It's safer that way. Keeping cubs close to the front never ends well."

"Then the higher-ups accepted your suggestion?"

"Accepted?" Martyshkina snorted. "They grabbed it with both paws! Every Wolfkin younger than sixteen is being relocated to the south to complete their training in Pack Fatima. Oh, I wish I could see Sis' snout when a horde of youngsters appears in her village. The drama, the mischief, first boy, first girl… I miss being young. Want to hear me yapping about my past in a tavern, Aranea?"

"I'll have to decline. I have a Janine to overcome." Aranea said.

****

Names held weight in the Wolf Tribe. They served as honorary mentions of impressive achievements of the past, and it wasn't unusual for a warlord to have over a hundred honorifics. Ironjaw, Gate Holder, Brood Lord's Woe, Steel Crusher, Devourer of Thousands, Unkillable, Resolute, Eternal, and so many more. Wolfkins often took certain earned titles as their family or first names. Inspired by the great deeds of their ancestors, the younger generation named their offspring after them, hoping that the Spirits would bestow the same divinity upon them.

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

This caused some confusion for the Reclaimers' bureaucrats, who had to calculate salaries for five Janines in Aranea's home village. One such blunder occurred when Captain Osero ordered Janine the Scout to lead Janine the Warlord's entire pack on a routine patrol. The original intent had been to send a small party to investigate rumors about bandits, but a mistake by a junior officer put the stressed youngster in charge of her chuckling, ancient mistress. Weary of the officials' cursing and complaints, the warlord called her namesakes, and they added random family names to help differentiate themselves.

Janine Forty-Seventh awaited Aranea outside the training grounds, arms folded, in the company of Lying One, who sat on an empty wooden crate. The wolf hag had a compact, bulky build and stood shorter than Aranea by half a head. Her sleeveless jacket and shorts did little to hide the extent of the damage accumulated on her skin over the years, but she cracked her neck with ease and closed the distance to the second wolf hag unhindered by any of that.

"You refuse." Janine's voice resembled a crowbar grating over a rusty floor, a result of mangled vocal cords.

"Yes. I claim the right to answer calls first." Aranea raised a paw, stopping the wave of muscles passing on the other woman's arms toward her claws. "It isn't wise to start a domination match over it."

"Doubt our ways, Halfbreed?"

"Sonya named me as kin." Aranea leaned in, dropping her voice and pushing back the urge to plant a fist into Janine's throat. "I won't stand by and let you insult her by calling me an outsider."

"There are more crates to sit on." Janine pointed at the shaman with a thumb. Aranea refused to back down, and the woman growled in approval. "At least you have a backbone. Explain your reasoning."

"Any domination match deprives us of a soldier," Aranea maintained ice in her tone, sizing up the woman. Is this going to be a constant thing with me now? Dad, give me strength. I want to tear a chunk out of her.

"It elevated you."

"And placed Sonya in the infirmary. She needs help to swallow food. What level of participation in combat do you expect from her? We're in luck. There's no major fighting happening yet, but don't assume her absence from the battlefield won't endanger our troops." Aranea stabbed a hole in the soda can and took a sip. "Warlord Martyshkina wisely evacuated our future to safety. That should hint to us how perilous the coming war is. Is it not our duty to fall in line and take the load off the warlords' shoulders?"

"Did you call me to resolve a challenge or to preach those pussy sermons about non-violence to me?" Janine smirked.

"Both," without batting an eye, stated Aranea. "Your venom is noted. Will it sustain you if you lose soldiers because of injuries incurred during a domination?"

Janine Forty-Seventh gritted her fangs. "Ranking matches must stay."

"Agreed. Are you with me and Olesya about pulling back on dominations?"

"Maybe. We still have our matter to resolve." Janine turned her look to her claws, exposing her neck to Aranea's smile.

She pulled a token out of her pocket. "Let's make it quick. The first person to catch it wins. No complaints or second takes."

"That's it?" Janine asked.

"Yes," Aranea confirmed. "A simple contest of brains and physiques. Unless you are backing off." She emptied the can into her mouth.

Janine nodded, and Aranea hurled the token into the air. Her perception heightened, letting the wolf hag notice how the coin spun above, lowering as if it was a falling feather. The crimson eye shifted, focusing on the other wolf hag, tracing the movement of her rising snout, bending knees, and amber eyes burning in anticipation. They locked at the target.

Aranea spewed the soda in a stream, splashing it into the wolf hag's eyes. To her credit, Janine squinted, refusing to be startled. Her arm shot out as she jumped, cracking the ground. But she hesitated. The splash distracted Janine long enough for Aranea to jump and use her height advantage to snatch the coveted token right from the closing fingers of the disappointed woman.

"Cheat!" Janine roared, closing her fists. "Trickster! Filthy, cowardly spawn of the snow… sand! You knew you had no chance in an honest competition and…"

"Sister." Lying One's voice stopped the outburst. "You were warned. It was the contest of brains and physiques."

Janine Forty-Seventh opened her mouth, closed it, raised a finger, and then grabbed the empty can from her rival's paw. She crumpled and devoured it, nodding once in admission of defeat. Aranea offered her the token, and the wolf hag took it, cursing under her breath about the younger generations.

"Congratulations, sister." Lying One clapped without haste. "Your win is recorded and acknowledged." She stood up. "Indulge my curiosity. Strike at me."

"I did not challenge you." Aranea said, frowning.

Lying One's eyes were set too close together, and a tapestry of scars covered her face, often parting her fur. She stood head and shoulders taller than Aranea, dressed in a stitched-together robe made of leather from predators, discarded cloth donated by civilians, and trophies taken in battle. Lean for her size and without an abundance of muscle, she smiled and invited the woman with a single paw.

"Who said anything about a challenge?" Lying One placed an arm behind her back. "Your arguments resonated with me, Wolf Hag Aranea. It would be unwise to deprive your pack of your invaluable potential. Have no fear. I have no intention of harming you. Land a punch or kick at my torso if you can."

Aranea needed no further invitation. She pounced on the woman, hearing the pebbles kicked by her feet ricochet off the crates. Her attack came in an upward swing aimed at the shaman's belly. At the last second, she stopped the blow and launched a sudden uppercut with her other hand.

The palm caught Aranea's fist, enveloping it without force, like a blanket, and stopping the impact. It pushed the fist right back, moving fast enough to block a jab and then shove the fist aside. Aranea grunted, unzipped her coat, and pretended to drop it before tossing it in the shaman's face. Lying One swatted the coat to the crates, preventing the leather from touching the dust, and blocked three rapid punches with ease.

Smiling, Aranea came at the impassable wall with everything she had, feeling the adrenaline spread through her veins. She sensed no hostility from the shaman. Lying One's expression remained calm and serene, and if not for her moving arm and darting eyes, she could have passed for a statue. This further fueled the wolf hag's desire to win.

She kicked and punched, feinting before making contact, turning a punch into an elbow blow and a kick into a knee strike. Nothing passed through. The shaman never fell for any tricks, deflecting blows with her forearm or catching them with her paw. Her body was like iron to Aranea's fleshy fingers. However, there was no purposeful cruelty in her movements, and Lying One avoided inflicting any pain.

It was a game. Aranea brought in a hurricane of blows, filling everything before the shaman with blurred motions, whistles of surprised workers nearby, and the grunts of a second wolf hag. Lying One handled it no differently than calming a little one's fit, pushing and shoving back the wolf hag with one arm.

When she stepped in, Aranea blinked, realizing the vast difference in speed between them. Her legs were swept out from under her, and she fell face down, still trying to strike. A palm caught her by the chest, preventing her from touching the ground with her nose as Lying One leaned back, standing on her ankles and feet alone.

"Tricks have value on a battlefield," the shaman said. She stood up, pulling Aranea up with her. "But never forget that Ygrite remains the weakest warlord." She wiped the paw over her rags and walked away, turning her back at the wolf hag.

I heard no bell. Aranea's nostrils flared, and she heard a bloodthirsty snarl in the back of her head. Halfbreed, wiping paws after touching me. I am not cursed, damn it! She grabbed the crate Lying One had been sitting on and hurled it at the woman's head, diving after it with an intent on getting a solid strike at the legs while the shaman was distracted.

The crate exploded from the immense air pressure as the whirling woman's fist sliced through it, heading toward Aranea's head with the force of a fired rocket. She raised her paws in defense, preparing to be crushed, when the fist stopped short of her eye. It parted the broken rubble with wind pressure, rustling the fur around her eye.

"Your concern about the troops is endearing," Lying One said. "Follow through with the implications of your advice. Accept your legacy. Rage is not a thing to be afraid of. Master it. Let the red and amber work in tandem."

****

Aranea nodded, charging forward and splintering the stones under her feet. Once more, they were late. A caravan of free traders was already under attack. The convoy consisted of one small, rusted metal truck and a buggy with eight people in total. They had run into twelve green creatures on the wide-open plains of yellow sand. The engagement area was flat, except for a small hill nearby. Nowhere to run or hide, and a taloned limb caught a screaming trader, dragging him from under the truck.

These attackers were of the same kind as those involved in the attack on the Reclamation Army weeks ago. These monsters started appearing in recent days, hunting neutral traders passing between the Resistance and the Reclamation Army. An autopsy performed by state doctors discovered a shocking lack of brain matter in the green filth. The revelation sparked confusion, given that the creatures displayed a certain level of intellect, coordination, and communication in their onslaught. One thing was undeniable. They were capable of planning. The Wolfkins named them 'greenies.'

Unknown factors could wait. The wolf hag darted on all fours as the taloned hand raised to end the injured trader. She closed the distance before the limb went down and the claws slipped from her fingers, screaming through the air as they bit into the green hide, rending sinew and muscles. She rammed the thing with her entire weight, sending the tattered pieces far across the desert.

The desire to believe herself to be invincible was intoxicating. Before the green prey matched her in speed, but after the transformation their movements resembled that of a sleepy person slumping on their feet. A snarl in the back of her mind unleashed an adrenaline rush, further heightening her perception.

She embraced the gift without giving in to the call for butchery. The buggy was reduced to a steaming wreck, smelling of acrid smoke, and both traders in it were dead. Torn apart, burned by acid, but not eaten. Murder, not a hunt. Bleeding holes on the greenies' hides indicated the traders had tried to resist, but the attack had come too fast. How come? Her eyes picked up scattered sand some distance away. Ah. She heard noises of the survivors inside the truck, and another one crawled away from her, mistaking Aranea for another beast. Understandable, given the circumstances. His colleague had tried to escape the cabin via a window and got bisected prior to her arrival.

"Surrender or perish," Aranea told the greenies. As she expected, they ignored her. Some opened their mouths in preparation to spit at the door, and the rest swarmed her. Yet she had to do it.

Ever since she snapped and mauled Kate, she held herself to a higher standard. Never again will she let herself fail. Not in the presence of friends or enemies.

A step brought her to the nearest two attackers, and she grabbed them by the throats. Aranea clenched her fists, tearing the flesh and muscle, finding no bones inside. She sliced off their necks and carried the carnage further, finding the situation weird. Some greenies had bones inside them, while others had thick muscles filling that role.

In the end, it was unimportant. Boneless or not, they were going to die.

As her claws sheared through the limbs as if they were mere sheets of paper, leaving a bloody trail in her wake, Aranea understood Ice Fangs' enamoring obsession with melee weapons. It was simpler to end lives with her bare paws, unencumbered by the need to worry about friendly fire. A slash of her claws left a stump in place of a hand on the greenie's wrist. It stumbled back, opening its mouth, and received a stab through its chest.

So simple. A cut beheaded two more things. The thought scared her. Humans shouldn't experience a drunken elation from killing. She shook her head, looking at the last greenie. It turned and ran.

Is it capable of experiencing fear? Aranea wondered, shortening the distance between the escapee and herself with a simple stroll. It rushed toward the hill. Doubtful. They didn't hesitate to sacrifice themselves in combat. There are at least two reasons to run. Either it is self-preservation or you're leading me into a trap. She caught a fresh smell—a faint scent of burning plastic—and heard a soft click followed by the shifting of a body. Clever beastie. But! She smiled as a red laser ray streaked from the wastelands, finding its target on the hill. The greenie stopped, confused, then turned and spat at the wolf hag. She sidestepped the glob of acid and slit him open from belly to head.

"I have a very reliable ally," Aranea said.

"Target eliminated, Wolf Hag." Kate's voice sounded from Aranea's gorget. A note of apology was in her tone. "I failed to take the bastard alive. He had you in his scope and was ready to…"

"No explanation necessary, Kate. Wonderful job as usual." Aranea tried to cheer her up on the way back to the truck.

After her promotion, she kept Kate in her position, giving her an actual pack to lead. She also forced Yuki to accept a promotion to fill up the role of the lost scout. Sonya had been confined to a hospital bed for the past few weeks, and Aranea had advised her to read books about anger management and had ordered the cessation of any domination in her pack. She was unsure if a fresh perspective could change Sonya for the better, but the scout was loyal to the bone.

Yuki had to be repeatedly pushed in the right direction. Never before had Aranea met a Wolfkin, or anyone for that matter, who turned down a promotion simply because it would require more work. Yuki was strong enough to become a wolf hag one day, but by the Spirits, she was so lazy!

It wasn't all bad, though. The scout utilized her laziness to complete tasks with the minimum required effort. When Aranea assigned her the duty of locating greenies, Yuki had hired a decoy convoy and had spent the time playing cards with her pack inside a truck. When the greenies appeared, well… the deed had been done. She had tricked the logistics team into carrying out the assignment of a supply delivery and had spent the day relaxing in the tavern. Though unorthodox, her methods motivated the pack to train and excel without violence. Since the tasks were completed, Aranea forbade Yuki to step down when she petitioned to be demoted. She wouldn't let that stubborn buffoon waste her future on booze and cards.

This left Kate. Aranea had real problems here, as any attempts to make amends for her behavior were ignored, and the scout obeyed any assignment without question. Kate refused to disclose the price of the beads and declined any compensation.

Her birthday happened a week ago, and the scout had previously invited the packs to celebrate together, insisting on handing gifts to them rather than receiving them. It was odd, but no one complained and gifted the weirdo a present in return on their birthday. This time, however, Kate had been missing, even though Aranea had provided her leave and asked Olesya to help prepare the party.

And Kate insisted on addressing Aranea by her title. It bothered her more than it had any right to, considering that the situation was her fault. She had grown so accustomed to Kate's grumbling and bickering that, without it, she was on edge. She needed to make peace and restore unity. If Aranea couldn't heal this wound, what chance will she have at changing the Tribe?

To prove her trust, she took Kate on today's mission.

Step one: invite her to a place where you both feel comfortable. Step two: ask for forgiveness. Aranea recalled the summary of the advice she had received as she stopped near the iron door. The rescued man sat nearby, still in shock. She handed him a flask of water and knocked on the door.

"Horizon clear. You can come out. No one will hurt you anymore." The wolf hag tried to sound as soothing as possible.

"Are they gone?" asked a voice from the inside. "What about…" There was a murmur.

"Yes, the enemies are disposed of, ma'am." Aranea waited. It wouldn't be difficult to rip the doors open, but the poor souls were terrified as it was. Soon, the doors opened and four caravanners stepped outside.

"The Regulators told us that the route was safe." A young woman pulled down her hood, looking around with wide eyes. "And the Reclamation Army confirmed it… and look at it." She pressed a hand to her mouth at the sight of the bodies in the buggy.

"My deepest condolences for your loss." Aranea bowed. The dead stirred nothing in her; every concern was directed toward the living. Olesya and her unexpected assistant were doing their best to humanize her, but a part of her refused to be reformed. "I and my partner." She motioned to the hill where Kate was checking the corpse. "Have already alerted the authorities. Vehicles will be here in half an hour."

"You'll stay with us until help arrives, right?" asked one of the men.

"Severin!" the woman hushed. "Don't bother… them."

"Don't eat our comrades." Swallowed the man with the flask of water. "My brother… my brother…"

"Everything's fine," Aranea assured the gasping woman. "We are not cannibals. Please request any aid you need from us. We are staying."

She waited for Kate by the truck. Over her armor, the scout draped a sand-colored camouflage cloak, and on her back were a shardgun and a folded laser rifle. In the past, the motley ranks of the Third, formed by barbaric tribes and former criminals, were given high-tech equipment last because Command feared they would sell it. Ravager had been content with this situation, turning the tide of any engagement with her pure might alone.

However, Wyrm Lord changed everything upon taking the mantle of command. He personally petitioned the Dynast for the best gear and engaged in trading activities, bringing exotic gear from the Oathtakers and Iterna. Warlord Ironjaw accepted this change and ordered her scouts to undergo rigorous training to master the new weapons.

"Wolf hag. I checked the body. A silver mask. He injected himself with stimulants to boost his reaction time. A Normie at first glance, but intel will find out for sure." Kate saluted, the helmet moving on her back and chest.

"Excellent work, Kate." Aranea smiled. "While we are waiting, you have my permission to act and speak freely." She noticed the paw twitch toward the inner pocket of her armor, then stop. Kaleb had given Kate a new set of prayer beads, which she kept hidden in the presence of her superior.

"Kate, I swear by all the Spirits that you may use your beads however you want. I won't break them or take them away." Aranea tried to follow the therapist's advice and spoke without letting frustration and worry creep into her calm voice. "I'm sorry about what happened. I should never have harmed you or your things that day. If you want to, kick the shit out of me right now; I won't resist." The last part wasn't part of the advice, yet Aranea considered it to be fitting.

"Wolf hag, please… I don't hold a grudge over the pain. I am sturdy enough to endure any punishment you deem necessary. You were right to punish me for my disrespectful actions. I should be the one apologizing," the scout replied, sitting down and taking out her beads, rolling them over her knuckles.

Small, but progress. Aranea decided, before continuing, "Listen, the entire pack worries about you. Kostya hasn't heard an insult from you in weeks. Yuki is concerned about your sobriety. Sly said that you no longer ask him to teach you mechanical skills, and Kaleb…" She spotted Kate shiver. "…Told me you are ghosting him. You don't lead his extra training personally anymore, nor talk with him…"

"Serves him right." Finally, a hint of emotion appeared in Kate's voice, a glint of her old anger. "He had no right to disclose this secret. It just shows that you can't trust anyone. Everyone will betray you eventually. This was my fucking problem. Not his. Not anyone else's. Mine."

"Kate, the pack can't act as a team if you refuse to speak with us."

"I would give my life for any of you."

"It's not about sacrifice, Kate."

"What, gonna throw me out, then?" The scout glanced at her, stopping rolling the beads.

"Gonna get through to you and fix things. We're here for you, Kate. Prepared to listen and help. Step out of your shell when you are ready."

"Thank you for the trouble," Kate said, shaking her head. "Wolf hag, my behavior was unworthy. I apologize for causing any trouble for the pack."

"What is happening with you?" Aranea asked with genuine concern, sitting next to her. "Was it because you killed humans on that night?" Kate laughed at the suggestion.

"Not my first kill. I don't feel anything about killing bastards. They never gave a shit about trampling weaponless traders. Why should we? Wait. Aranea. Is it haunting you?"

"No."

"Okay. But if it is pestering you, talk to Janine. The warlord never judges."

"Don't change the subject. Was it because I crushed your beads? I already told you that if you describe the ones you lost to me, I will get you replacements that look exactly like the ones you lost. We can even put Sly on this task. Spirits know we need to keep him away from tinkering with the energy weapons unless we want an explosion. Please, Kate, just tell me what is going on? What can I do to set things right?" She was getting pushy. The therapist had recommended avoiding confrontation, but the situation unnerved her. Kate was the indomitable pillar. No matter the loss or setback, she never let it sour her mood and kept trying. Aranea understood how much she missed and valued that attitude of hers and how much Kate's sulking frightened her.

"I am no cub in need of coddling, Wolf Hag," the scout replied. "I simply grew up as a person in accordance with your command. I swear I won't be a burden to the pack."

Aranea felt the urge to grab Kate by the shoulder, either to demand explanations or to beg forgiveness. Anything to improve things. She hated the deserved guilt and that the unity of her former pack had been shattered and this sense of helplessness. She had grown strong, discarding the weakling she used to be. Yet it was that very strength that had left scars on the ones she cared about.

She had thought that changing the Tribe would be easy, that she'd outsmart the warlords and the shamans and wave her paw, commanding everyone to be happy and banishing the outdated traditions. And look at me right now. One step forward, another backward. So much for my way. I must be better.

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