A booming voice filled his ears. Rough and deep. Burning, but cold. "Well done, my son."

A young tod stood before his father's pedestal. His fur was the color of flame. There was meat on his bones. His legs were thick and muscled, and his chin stained with blood.

Colborn hardly recognized his brother. Dread rolled in his belly as a white-furred kit fell from Jakob's jaws.

"Thank you, Jarl," he said. His voice had lost its youthful pitch. Gone was the tongue of an innocent kit, replaced by one scorched with fire.

The roar of the monstrous crowd rang out. Countless Flameborn filled the space around them, praising his deeds like they had once cheered for Colborn.

"You have become a mighty Kriger," their father continued. "You have made me proud."

Jakob dipped his muzzle. He closed his eyes. Colborn expected tears to roll down his cheeks as his brother listened to the words he never got to hear––but those tears didn't come. His father's pride was never truly something Jakob yearned to have, because it came with a price.

He was living Colborn's life. One filled with hate and violence. Heartless killing.

"There's still one more trial." All eyes in the crowd were drawn to the Jarl. A glint of malice shone in his eyes. "You must kill your brother."

Panic took hold of Colborn with stinging claws. His gaze darted around the clearing, wondering if they knew he was really there. He tried to back away. He had to escape. But then Jakob turned, and their eyes met.

A roaring fire fueled the snarl in his throat. Colborn swallowed as his small, innocent brother stalked toward him. Maybe this was his chance to make things right.

He ran to Jakob, pressing his muzzle to him and allowing his own tears to fall.

"I'm so sorry, Jakob," he whispered. "I never should've let you stay. I'm sorry––"

A searing pain sparked in his cheek. He stumbled back, feeling the warm trickle of blood on his fur. His brows furrowed as he looked at Jakob, who'd tore into his face with silent fangs. His brother licked the blood from his chops and prowled closer.

"Your apologies mean nothing." The words were flat and emotionless, even more convincing than the show of hatred Colborn used to put on in front of the skulk. It seemed real. "You abandoned me, brother. You left me to take your place. To become a monster."

Colborn shook his head. That wasn't right. He never abandoned Jakob––he begged him to come too. To run away with him. To leave their responsibilities behind.

"No, Jakob," he said firmly, risking more pain to approach his brother. He touched his nose to his. "I love you. You have to believe that."

Colborn was shoved back again. This time, he couldn't get up. His brother's weight had doubled since the last time he'd seen him, and he pinned down the thinning Colborn without any resistance. Jakob glared into his eyes with a hollow look of pure, unadulterated destruction.

"I hate you."

Fangs dug into his throat, choking Colborn's scream before he could utter it. His vision grew blurry, stained with red. And then, as a wave of pain washed over him, his mind went dark.

His eyes snapped open. Colborn jerked himself to his paws and scanned his surroundings. He was back in the Rogue Territory, laying in the moonlight outside of Runa's den. There was no monster of a brother trying to kill him. That had all been a dream.

A nightmare that could all too easily be reality.

"Can't sleep?" A soothing voice pierced the silent air. Padding footfalls approached. The vixen sat down beside him, following his worried gaze to the horizon.

Colborn nodded. His eyes fell to the ground. Was it true? Did Jakob really think that he left him there? That he abandoned him? But he had a reason––he couldn't hurt him. He had to be selfish for once, to save himself and his brother.

How many more would be hurt in the process?

"Do you want to talk about it?" Runa placed a paw next to his. He looked up to find her gentle, caring gaze. It made him want to spill all his secrets, though he had the feeling she already knew them all.

He considered it for a moment, almost saying no. Because he knew what he had to do now. The only thing left was to figure out how.

Colborn raised his muzzle. A single question sat on his tongue. "What was he like? My uncle?"

–❈–

Nothing could slow her steps. Not even the thought of what the Leafborn might do to her when she told them the truth. She could already imagine the look of pain on Trygve's face as he realized that all along, she'd only been using him.

Maybe he would never forgive her. Maybe the elders would choose to punish her––to take her other eye or break a leg, something to ensure she wasn't a threat. Or better yet, they could just end her miserable existence.

She had to try. If she didn't stop the attack, the Leafborn would surely fall. Without her help, her real help, they'd have no chance of standing up to the Shadow Skulk.

A flash of tan caught her peripherals, skulking in the trees ahead. Skadi slowed her steps and approached with caution. Then the ground hummed beneath her paws, and claws crunched against dead leaves. Ducking forward and whirling around, she faced a tan vixen.

The green of her eyes was sharp. Skadi quickly recognized her as the friend of Trygve. She let her hackles fall and breathed a relieved sigh. "Dagny, right?"

Her glare didn't soften, even at Skadi's attempt to sound friendly. "What do you even see in him?"

Skadi held her tongue in her mouth, trying to comprehend with words. What did she mean? In Trygve? She didn't see anything, not in the way her tone was insinuating.

Dagny rolled her eyes. "You can't both be that oblivious."

Shaking her head, Skadi eyed her up and down. Envy was easy to recognize, especially when she'd spent her life trying to live up to something she could never be. It made foxes do things they would never do on their own, and it fueled delusions like the ones she spewed.

"To what?"

The vixen groaned in frustrated response. "No matter what you want to believe, just know that none of it is real." Dagny clenched her jaws as she spoke, and Skadi cocked her head in question. "Trygve never really cared about you," she said. "He was only using you to suck up to the elders."

Her brows furrowed. She pictured Trygve's innocent eyes and the way he'd easily fallen into her plan. She thought he was just that naive, but maybe it was too easy.

"He said the words himself." Dagny sneered. "And now, he's there at the Gathering, using the information you gave him to bask in their glory."

Skadi started to speak. She wanted to tell the vixen––to tell herself––that it was a plan with mutual benefit. One that she'd made up on the spot. Though Trygve never told her the real reason why he invited her into the skulk. Was that his plan all along? To use her? She didn't want to believe it, but she didn't truly know the foxes around her.

Suddenly, she was alone.

"Eventually, you'll become just another forgotten friend." Dagny's voice drew her back. Her tone grumbled with pain and regret. "As soon as someone with more to give him comes along."

She pointed up at Skadi with her nose. To the left side of her face where she couldn't even see the vixen.

"It won't take much," she growled.

Skadi watched her disappear through the trees. Just like everything she knew and was sure of. It was all gone. Nothing here was certain any longer, and she longed for the icy bitterness to refreeze her melted heart.

She was a fox who knew when to lick her wounds and turn tail. Thankfully, something more certain awaited her at home––certain to be painful, cold, and void of love. Even more so than rejection.

Maybe a success for her skulk would mean respect from the Queen. She would prove herself––it was what she had to do. Skadi could finally belong.

–❈–

"Foxen of the Leak Skulk," a loud voice began. Thridi's tone boomed from his place on the rock platform to the right of the crowd, because his title was no longer that of the third in the Council. The clay-furred tod––named Ormr, as Trygve had learned during his induction to the Council––was now Jafenhar.

Now centered on the center stone, Trygve finally had everything he wanted. But he couldn't quite bring himself to be happy.

The sandy-furred fox, the new Har now that Beste had retired, continued Ormr's thought. "Firstly, we would like to introduce our newest member of the Council." There were enough anxious foxes in the crowd to fill the whole clearing and spill beyond the trees. Many had heard that there was big news, history-making plans to be announced, and inhabitants of all three territories flocked to Hlodyn to hear them.

Trygve's stomach churned as a million eyes stared up at him. He felt sick, nervous, regretful. This was what he always yearned for: a place among the elders where he felt important. A title of his own.

"Welcome, Thridi." The Har gestured toward him with his nose, a smile stretched across his muzzle. It held the pride Trygve had hoped to see from his grandmother, but instead, her dying frown was burned into his vision. Cheerful yips jerked his mind back to the meeting, though he knew not one of those foxes truly meant it. They didn't have a choice in the election, not this time, and his great achievement suddenly seemed like cheating.

He only felt small.

The real reason the crowds had gathered was for the announcement that came next, as Ormr stepped forward on his pedestal and faced them with glinting teeth. "As you all know, Thridi here is the reason for our recent success against the Shadowborn. One of many to come." That wasn't true. It was all thanks to Skadi, who gained not a hair of recognition. In fact, Trygve hadn't hardly seen her this morning, too caught up in the flurry of excitement.

"We will finally have power, something to use against the Shadowborn." Ormr's tongue was sharp and the words were growled, like he too was finally getting something he always wanted. "We will no longer be weak and insignificant in this war, falling victim to the conflict only when we have to. The Leaf Skulk of the first war has passed––our peaceful ways will fail us no longer. Now, we will march forth with claws bared."

A deafening silence ensued, as each fox in the audience glanced at another. Never had their leaders encouraged bloodshed. But slowly, heads began to nod. Murmurs about how changes were needed, that times were different, filled the whispering breeze. A voice called out, "For the skulk!"

It spiraled into an echo, a chant, ringing in Trygve's ears and making his head ache. Beneath it all was a weak voice, wrapping thorned tendrils around his heart. His grandmother. You have to stop this. There is another way.

"For the skulk!" Ormr shouted with glowing eyes. Sharp and excited, dangerous and determined. Along with a thin smirk of deceit. "The Leafborn will be victorious!"

At that moment, Trygve knew he had lost. First his friend, and now his grandmother lying alone, waiting to die. He remembered the look of hesitance on Skadi's face, knowing that it was about more than just her home. It wasn't his place to say where she belonged, when she hadn't figured it out herself. Now, here he was, taking advantage of what she'd given him while she was left in the shadows. He wasn't making her feel welcome; he was only pushing her away. If he wasn't careful, he'd lose her too.

Just like he was losing his home, sending it off to a war that wouldn't help anyone.

"Right, Thridi?" The voice startled him. He looked up at a smiling Ormr. A knowing grin––an expecting grin. Trygve realized that he was being used too. This is where the serpent of a fox expected him to agree and give in, for helping him reach this point and pulling strings from the background all along. Ormr was the only reason Skadi had even been let into the skulk, the one milking her for information the entire time. He only wanted power.

At that moment, Trygve realized what he had to do. "No." He hopped off the rock; his legs buckled with nervousness. Looking up at the foxes who'd gathered from every corner of his skulk, he cleared his throat. "My name is Trygve. I'm no elder. I'm just a kit, elected by mistake." Trygve kept his voice loud and steady, no matter how much it yearned to tremble. "I don't know what I'm doing here. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve to have a say..." He paused to paw at the ground––then swallowed––trying to find the right words on his tongue. Like his grandmother would.

That was what he failed to see before. Beste was an amazing leader not because of her mind, but her heart. He just had to speak his.

"This isn't right," he told them. "Starting a war won't do anything but get more of us killed. So be it if they attack us. How are we any better than them––than the Shadowborn, than the Flameborn? The enemies, as we call them––if we retaliate? If we kill them too?"

"What is this?" Ormr snarled from behind him.

"We never even tried talking to them." Trygve's voice became pleading, both to the crowd and to the elders behind him. "We have to reconsider, and try to make peace before we resort to violence. There may be no other choice, but we should do everything in our power to avoid the stain of blood on our paws. To make things better, for every fox in Eventyr––not just give up on them."

It wasn't just the war he was speaking of. There were foxes he'd broken, ones he'd betrayed in his very home. And he had to make things better.

He paid no mind to the calls for order that rang out behind him as the crowd riled up with questions and demands, Ormr doing his best to quiet them. It may have been too late to salvage things, but he would do everything in his power to try.