(The waters connecting the New and the Old world)

The shipping vessel cut through the water like a blade drawn slowly across the vast expanse of blue, with the Blackmoon flag soaring to glory.

The sea seemed especially restless tonight.

Waves rose and fell in uneven rhythms, slapping hard against the reinforced hull, spray bursting upward in cold sheets before shattering back into foam. The wind carried the scent of salt and a strange forlorn, sharp enough to sting the lungs. Dark clouds loomed low,dragging shadows across the rolling blue beneath them.

And at the very bow of the vessel, Autumn stood unmoving.

Her boots were braced against the slick metal, coat snapping softly behind her, strands of pale hair plastered to her cheek by the mist. She leaned forward slightly, fingers curled around the railing, eyes fixed on the water below where blue met blue...her gaze so perfectly matched to the sea that, for a moment, it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began.

"The illusion of calm," she scoffed, staring at the distance. "You always liked pretending you were calm..."

The ocean roared beneath her, wild and unsettled, yet her expression remained eerily serene. The chaos belonged to the world around her...not inside her. Not anymore.

Inside, everything had already burned and then there was a new clarity, that rose like a Phoenix. She could see what others couldn’t.

Behind her, the deck was divided as cleanly as a blade line.

To port, Dax stood with a handful of his men...the best of Blackmoon wolves hardened by years of pack warfare, their stances tight, restrained, eyes constantly tracking movement. Hands hovered too close to weapons. Muscles stayed coiled, ready. They watched the opposite side with open distrust, nostrils flaring as unfamiliar scents mixed with sea air.

To starboard, the Skarthheim warriors stood in absolute contrast.

They did not shift.

They did not fidget.

They did not posture.

Their armor bore no pack markings...only old,etched runes dulled by age and salt,pulled out from some forgotten underground wardrobe,their metal dark and matte like it drank light rather than reflected it. They stood in perfect stillness, feet planted wide, hands resting calmly at their sides or folded behind their backs. Their gazes were cold, assessing, unreadable.Their skin still bore prominent marks of humiliating bondage.Rage that was restrained.Grievance that they buried because Autumn’s words that lit something new in them.

Hope!!!

The impossible yet obvious reassurance that Alpha Thorgar lived. The legend wasn’t dead. The Skartheims were no longer fatherless. Their God was going to come back. They could not be certain of that fact.

They believed Autumn. Trusted her narrative. Agreed to follow her lead. Offered a helping hand even though they were still basically bleeding.

Yet their eyes looked proud, defiant.

They were not watching the Blackmoons though.

They were watching Autumn.

She felt it without turning.A thousand questions... with answers they expect only from her father... Not her.

"They see me," she realized with much sadness,but it was the truth. "...as a variable."

A dangerous one.

The tension between the two groups crackled like a live wire stretched too thin. One wrong movement. One misplaced breath. The sea itself seemed to sense it, waves slamming harder, the vessel creaking in protest as if warning them all.

Autumn exhaled slowly.

These men, ironically, shared the same status quo... and possibly the same outcome of fate.

Their Alphas trapped.

Their heirs were in danger. The future of both packs looked very... very uncertain.

And yet here they were...men ready to kill each other before they had even reached the real battlefield.

"Such ridiculous mockery," she thought. "We don’t have the luxury of pride."

She straightened slightly, chin lifting as another wave shattered against the bow, cold spray dusting her face. The salt stung her lips. She welcomed it. Pain grounded her. Reminded her she was still there for a reason. Still standing for all of them.

For now at least.And she wasn’t going to go down easily.

"Storm outside," she mused. "Storm behind me. Storm ahead."

Her calm wasn’t peaceful.

It was a decision.

Behind her, Dax shifted his weight, boots scraping softly against the deck. His eyes flicked between the Skarthheim warriors and Autumn’s rigid silhouette at the bow.

"This better be the right decision,Alpha." He thought grimly. "Because you know I don’t like gambling. But right now I am playing Martingale... "

The wind howled louder, whipping Autumn’s coat higher, the ship pitching as it drove forward into the restless waters.

Autumn did not turn. Her face was still pale. Her strength wasn’t completely back. But her resolve was resolute.

She let the storm rage.

She let the men glare.

She let fate tighten its grip.

Because this voyage wasn’t about unity.

It was about what came after they arrived.

The sea carried them all towards Calareth, whether they were ready for it or not.

The moment stretched.

The ship surged forward, hull groaning as another wave struck hard enough to shudder through the deck. The men swayed instinctively with it...but Autumn remained still, a fixed point... the North Star as the shores drew near.

Behind her Dax cleared his throat.

The sound was deliberate. Measured. It cut through the wind just enough to pull attention without demanding it.

"All of you," he said, voice carrying low but firm over the sea. He was addressing his men. "Listen."

The Blackmoon wolves straightened at once.

Spines aligned. Shoulders squared. Their instincts recognized the shift instantly...this wasn’t conversation anymore. This was command... their Beta taking position.

Dax stepped forward half a pace, boots planting wide to counter the roll of the ship. His gaze swept his men first, slow and assessing, who stood in perfect attention.

"We are crossing into disputed waters," he continued. "Not just Council controlled territory...this region is watched by many. Every port, every patrol, every spell marker along Calareth’s perimeter will be alert once we show up in their radar."

A wave crashed as if in agreement. Spray burst over the rail.

Dax didn’t flinch.

"They won’t welcome us even though we are an honourable pack ," he said. "They will question our authority. They will demand explanations. And if they don’t like the answers..."

His jaw tightened.

"...they will try to detain us...straight away..."

One of the Blackmoon warriors muttered under his breath, "Or worse."

Dax nodded once. "Exactly."

He lifted a hand slightly, palm down steady.

"So...no one draws first," he ordered. "No provocation. No posturing. The Council thrives on reaction. They will look for an excuse to brand us aggressors..."

His eyes flicked briefly towards Autumn’s back, still turned, still silent before returning to his men.

"If they attempt to block our path," he went on, "I speak. If they threaten seizure of the vessel, I respond. You do nothing unless I give the word."

The sea rolled again, slower this time, like a held breath.

"And if they try to take Lady Autumn?" someone asked quietly.

Dax’s voice dropped.

"Then," he said, "they will learn exactly how far Blackmoon patience stretches."

A ripple of restrained approval moved through his men...tight nods, clenched jaws, hands flexing once before stilling again.

That was when it happened.

A dry chuckle drifted in from the starboard.

Subtle.

Unbothered.

Mocking.

One of the Skarthheim warriors shifted just enough for the runes along his armor to catch the dim light. His head tilted slightly, lips curling as he spoke...voice rough, edged with old contempt.

"The Council, aye?" he scoffed. "Please. Those robed carrion wouldn’t dare touch her...can’t say the same about you, little hairless mates..."

Several heads snapped in his direction.

He went on anyway, unhurried.

"They prefer their enemies chained, bleeding, mutilated,aye? Or buried beneath paperwork," he added lazily. "Much cleaner than war. Less mess on their snooty floors,mates!" He cracked into laughter.

A few of the Skarthheim warriors exhaled something close to amusement.

That was a mistake.

Blackmoon bodies tensed as one.

Growls rippled low...instinctive...barely restrained. One wolf took a step forward before catching himself. Another’s hand closed fully around his weapon hilt.

Dax’s eyes hardened.

"Watch your mouth," he warned, tone cold as steel.

The Skarthheim warrior turned his head at last, meeting Dax’s stare with lazy defiance.

"Oh?" he replied. "Was I wrong, Beta? Or did I miss the part where the Council grew spines?Or the New landers for that matter..."

The air snapped...

It was subtle...but deadly.

Like ice fracturing beneath weight.

A Blackmoon wolf snarled outright now. Another shifted his stance, shoulders rolling, teeth flashing just enough to be seen.

Dax stepped forward firmly. "Enough."

But the damage was already done.

The Skarthheim warrior’s smile widened...slow, taunting.

"We’ve seen them beg," he said. "Seen your lot hide behind..."

"Shut. Up." Dax growled.

The sea surged violently at that exact moment, the ship lurching hard to one side, forcing both groups to adjust or stumble.

For half a heartbeat...

It looked like someone wouldn’t.

Hands tightened. Muscles coiled. Wolves leaned forward.

The fragile peace...so thin it had never truly existed...stretched to its breaking point.

And at the bow...

Autumn’s fingers tightened around the railing.

Not turning.

Not yet.

The storm roared louder.

And the moment teetered...balanced on the edge of violence.