Chapter 741: The Weight of Craft and the Dance of Wolves

The murmurs went up immediately, a low wave of sound that rippled through the people gathered. They exchanged glances, some frowning, others shifting their weight uneasily.

One of the craftsmen raised his hand. He was a broad-shouldered man with a weathered face and calloused hands.

Mary nodded at him. "Speak."

"Elder Mary," he began, his voice carrying across the crowd, "why are you saying two weeks? From what the Luna said at court, it was supposed to be four weeks. A month, right?"

Mary held his gaze, her expression unwavering. "That is what the Luna said. And I do not doubt her vision. But I will ask you this—what would happen if things happened before that month mark? What if Victoria’s army moves faster than we expect? What if the vision showed us the latest possible time, not the earliest?"

The carpenter opened his mouth, then closed it.

Mary continued, her voice sharp and clear. "Is that what you want? To be unprepared for what is to come? To stand at the walls with nothing in your hands but hope?"

No one answered. The silence that followed was heavier than any words could have been.

She let it settle for a moment, then spoke again. "I am certain all of you have noticed that the warriors have begun training. Everyone in this pack is trying to prepare for what is coming. And while we may not be warriors, we cannot simply sit idly by and do nothing."

She paused, her gaze sweeping across the crowd.

"We must pull our weight. And the best way we can do that is by producing weapons that will help us win this war. We have enough materials from the beasts of Nirvana to make that possible. Just like I used the fangs of a Skylur to create weapons for Sophia... the Luna, that is what we are going to do now. The weapons created from those materials are stronger, and they will last longer. They will give our warriors an edge that Victoria and the Enclave will not expect."

Another craftsman stepped forward, his brow furrowed. He was younger than the first, with a scar running along his jaw and a determined set to his shoulders. His feather earring was purple in colour—a smith.

"Elder Mary," he said carefully, "do you really think we’ll be able to finish everything in two weeks?"

Mary met his gaze, her expression honest. "I doubt it. The process of crafting weapons from materials like Skylur fangs takes longer than normal forging. Even though I have gotten the process down, it is still time-consuming."

She paused, letting the weight of her words settle.

"Which is why some of us will focus on creating weapons from the beasts, while others will work the normal way. We need both. We need quantity, and we need quality. And we need sturdy arrows and bows and every device anyone can think of that would help with this war. Even if it is as simple as a trap—every suggestion will be debated, and if it is viable, we will make it."

The crowd stirred again, but no one spoke.

Mary continued, her voice softening slightly. "I know this is going to be hard work for us. It is not going to be easy. But remember this: after this war, if we survive, things will be better. We must defeat Victoria and the Enclave, and that will only happen if every single one of us puts in the effort. We must do our best so that even Victoria and the Enclave will be surprised when they arrive."

She let the words hang in the air, her gaze sweeping across the faces before her.

"We must not lose this battle. And to ensure that, we must do our best. We may be sleeping in the smithy due to this, and that’s the truth. There is also the issue of the device Brynhild brought to us—we will need to study it, understand it, and see if we can replicate it. Things will be difficult, yes. But I hope that amidst it all, we give our best."

The craftspeople were quiet. The wind whistled softly through the gaps between the buildings, carrying snowflakes that settled on shoulders and hair.

Then, one by one, they nodded. 𝐟𝚛𝕖𝚎𝕨𝗲𝐛𝚗𝐨𝐯𝐞𝕝.𝐜𝗼𝗺

It was not a grand gesture. There were no cheers, no raised fists. Just the acknowledgement of men and women who knew what was at stake.

Mary allowed herself a small, grim smile.

---

Outside the pack, beyond the walls and the watchful eyes of the guards, the snow fell in soft, steady sheets. Two wolves stood staring at each other.

One was a massive, towering beast of silver and black fur. His coat was dark as shadow in some places, silver as moonlight in others, and his eyes burned with the fierce amber glow of a hunter. A crescent-shaped mark was etched into his forehead, pale against the dark fur. His muscles rippled beneath his pelt, each movement fluid and controlled.

The other wolf was equally large, though different in form. Her fur was pure white, untouched by any other colour, as if she had been carved from the snow itself. It seemed to glow faintly in the pale light, almost ethereal, her presence both powerful and graceful. Her eyes were the same shade of blue as the moon, bright and sharp. And on her forehead, a half-crescent moon shape was etched into her fur, the mirror of the mark on the other wolf’s head.

They circled each other slowly, paws pressing into the snow with barely a sound. Their breaths came in soft puffs of steam, visible in the cold air.

The white wolf moved first.

She lunged forward, her body a blur of motion, closing the distance between them in three powerful strides. The dark wolf sidestepped easily, and she swept past him, her claws raking through the snow where he had been.