Leaving the Tangled, Kael felt more exhausted than he had after their little mission in the Smog District.

  Wendy had said Yuri had returned, so he’d be hearing about his side of the plan soon enough.

  As Kael, Kavari, and Runt approached the boathouse, he noticed something different.

  The yellow flowers—those strange, creeping blooms—were spreading out from the boathouse, curling over stones and wooden beams, spilling further into the Iron District like quiet fire.

  Kael smiled. Wendy must have talked to Oliver.

  Then his gaze drifted to Kavari, just as she stepped through the doorway behind Runt.

  She wasn’t serious about the sleep thing... was she?

  As they reached the second floor, Oliver stepped out into the hallway wearing loose nightclothes and blinking through sleep.

  He stared at the trio, trying to process the situation.

  “What is she doing here?” he asked, eyes landing on Kavari.

  She ignored him completely and turned to say something to Runt.

  Kael just looked at Oliver and shrugged. Then he pointed toward his room.

  Inside, the place was as cluttered as ever—maps, books, and ledgers scattered across every surface, some spilling onto the floor in haphazard stacks.

  Kael scanned the mess, then turned to Oliver.

  “I wanted to thank you.”

  Oliver adjusted his glasses and navigated between books, lifting a half-empty bottle off a chair.

  Kael shook his head.

  Oliver took a drink, then asked, “For what?”

  “For the book. For setting up the meeting with the Ash Claws. I don’t know how you pulled it off—or how it’ll all play out—but it’s opening new doors. For me. For us.”

  Oliver looked thoughtful. “I didn’t think you’d bring her here,” he admitted, voice low. “But I’m assuming your plan with Grum worked?”

  Kael nodded. “Yeah. Some things changed at the end. She was a big help. The Blister Rats are with us now.”

  “Good.” Oliver set the bottle down. “We’ve got a rough idea of which intersections to block. Yuri stopped by—said he got the locations you asked for. Really, Kael… this is going to bring down a lot of heat.”

  Kael leaned against the wall, thoughtful.

  Ah, what the hell. Fuck the mask.

  “It will. Most likely. But it’ll accomplish multiple things. It'll get the Pikeys off our backs, pull the Imperial Vanguard's attention away—and it’ll be bloodless. That was the hardest part, convincing Grum to agree to that. But once I laid it all out, he understood.”

  He looked up, voice steady. “The heat will fall on me. The eyes will be on me. But the district? It won’t get dragged into this—unless I’ve miscalculated badly.”

  Oliver studied him. Sharp mind turning over each word, as if looking for layers, for lies. But there weren’t any.

  Kael was being honest. Open.

  Oliver nodded slowly. “Yeah. Lucien and Frank are set. We’ve got watchers on the main routes. Yuri tagged the targets. You locked down the Blister Rats. And I set the meeting with the Copper Teeth enforcers. They think we’re making a massive deposit tomorrow.”

  Kael gave a tired nod. “Everything’s set. The show’s about to start.”

  He looked up at Oliver, serious.

  “Thank you. I couldn’t do this without you.”

  Oliver looked down. Exhaled softly.

  Then he met Kael’s eyes and said, quietly—

  “You’re wrong, Kael.

  We couldn’t do this without you.”

  Kael turned to leave the room when something caught his eye—a flash of deep blue. A book sat by the hallway door, its elegant gold script glinting faintly on the cover. It rested atop a precarious tower of other volumes stacked on the floor.

  He stepped toward it.

  “Aha,” Oliver said behind him, voice tinged with pride. “Have you heard of The Chains of Dominion? Written by a revolutionary, diplomat, philosopher... banned in every realm.”

  Kael raised an eyebrow, fingers brushing the spine.

  “It’s a framework for revolution,” Oliver continued. “A guide for those looking to upend the system. The author believed humanity’s fractured dominion could only be restored through unity—not just among ourselves, but with the beast kin too. Said the real enemy wasn’t bloodlines or claws. It was the machine. The system. The chains that keep us fighting over scraps while the crowns and guilds hoard power. Written by…”

  Kael’s voice was quiet but firm. “Maximus Varn Halek. I’ve heard of the book. Never seen a copy firsthand. These were burned.”

  Oliver looked up sharply, surprised. “I pulled every string I could to get that copy. It’s a first edition.”

  Kael gently lifted the book and opened the cover. His eyes moved over the inscription inside, written in the same neat, flowing black script—a personal message from the author.

  To the one who held me when I fell,

  My anchor when the tempests swelled.

  Through stormy seas, you were my guide,

  With you, I’ve never felt the tide.

  My rock, my light, my dearest friend,

  Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.

  My love, my heart, until the end.

  Without you, I’d be lost, adrift,

  For you, for us—my heart’s true gift.

  Kael exhaled and closed the book. “I’d love to read it when you’re done.”

  Oliver lit up. “Of course! I’ll let you know the moment I finish.”

  “Thanks, Oliver,” Kael said with a faint smile. “Have a good night.”

  “You too, Kael.”

  As Kael stepped out into the hallway, he heard Kavari’s voice echoing down the corridor—sharp, commanding. She was dressing down Runt like a senior Battle-Born schooling a whelp. He smiled to himself and followed the sound.

  “Ah, so you speak Beast kin,” Kavari said, circling slowly. Kael heard the low growls in the deep, rolling cadence of the old tongue. “But you're unrefined. You weren’t raised in a pride. You grew up here, in the city. And if you say the wrong things… or do the wrong things… it will scream. And there will be blood.”

  Runt’s aura flared in response.

  Kael froze.

  He hadn’t realized—hadn’t truly understood—the purpose behind the scars. Their deeper meaning.

  Here he was, thinking he knew more than most… only to realize he was still in the shallows, and the Sea of Sorrows lay just beyond his reach.

  Kavari narrowed her eyes. “That’s a challenge, Runt. Blasting your feeble little aura at me like that? It makes me angry. And if you do that at the Ash Claws' tribal tents, they’ll be angry too.”

  She lowered her voice, but the edge in it remained.

  “Don’t push your battle-rage without cause. Not for pride. Not for posturing.

  An enemy? Sure. In a fight? Always.

  But not like this. Not just anywhere.”

  Her voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “If you anger the Ash Claws… I fear what they’ll do.”

  Then she looked at Kael, something raw flickering in her eyes.

  “No. I fear what Kael will do to them.”

  Runt looked chastised, brows furrowed in thought as she followed them upstairs toward the third floor.

  Kavari glanced back. “Runt, I need to speak to Kael. About our situation. Not tonight.”

  Runt shifted, looking between them with big eyes. “But you’re going. I wanna go too.”

  She pouted, arms crossed.

  Kavari looked at Kael, clearly unsure what to do.

  Kael smiled and crouched slightly to meet Runt’s eye.

  “Runt, tomorrow Kavari will take you to the Pit. She’ll show you how to use a big sword—like you did with Frank today. You’ll get even stronger.”

  Runt lit up instantly. “Really?! And we can get sweet rolls after?”

  “Yep,” Kael replied without hesitation.

  Kavari gave him a sidelong glance as Runt squealed and ran off to her room.

  “I can’t wait!”

  Kavari stared after her, then turned to Kael as they continued upstairs to the office.

  Inside, she paused. Breathed in.

  The soft scent of rosewood lingered in the air. Three tall windows cast long shadows across the floor. The door to his private quarters stood slightly ajar.

  She stepped in—and immediately tensed.

  “Ancestors…” she whispered.

  Her voice was reverent, almost hushed. “Kael… this room is full of your scent. It’s so strong here.”

  She turned slowly in place, eyes wide.

  “Here, it smells like battle. Like purpose. Like you.”

  Kael silently shrugged off his coat, hanging it in the wardrobe. He emptied his pockets—odds and ends placed carefully on the desk—then pulled off his shirt and sank into the chair with a quiet sigh.

  No snark.

  No flirtation.

  Just tired silence.

  Kavari continued to spin slowly, arms wrapped around herself, taking in the room like a memory being carved into her bones.

  There was awe on her face.

  Finally, she turned to him, eyes still wide.

  “Mystery for another time,” she whispered.

  Her eyes traced his scars and tattoos—not with hunger, but with thought. Quietly. Measured. No heat in her gaze, only reflection.

  Then she looked up at him and asked, voice low,

  “I think I get why Runt follows you around. But… how did you get her alone? Away from her pride?”

  Kael felt the weight of years pressing down. Tired—not just from the day, but from everything. The years of quiet work. The unrelenting purpose. The sense that the end was drawing near.

  No mask, no deflection. Just the truth.

  “I took the district,” he said. “Killed the man who lived here. Four, almost five years ago.”

  He paused. Let the words settle before continuing.

  “He was a bad man. I chose him for that reason. The Iron District was choking—dying. Beggars on every corner. War vets left to rot. Brothels, gambling dens. Vice and cruelty behind every hungry face.”

  His eyes darkened as the memories returned.

  “It was during Fadefall. A calculated risk. Each year, the Beater Lord here used the people as fodder to keep the monsters away from his own. Sacrificed them while he hid in one of the old vaults—the ones we use now to shelter the young and the sick.”

  “I tracked him for weeks. Learned everything I could without being in his head. When he went to his vault, I was already there.”

  Kael’s voice was steady. Cold.

  “He didn’t leave.”

  A beat passed. Then—

  “I had to kill more. More than I wanted. To bring the rest into line. The district was weak. The people were weaker. So I gave them something strong to hold on to.”

  “I gave them me.”

  “I performed acts that became legends. I brought them together. Gave them purpose. But their eyes always said the same thing—you’re temporary. Someone else will come. Replace you.”

  “I showed them I was untouchable. Ruthless. That nothing could move me.”

  Kavari nodded slowly, as if she’d already knew this part.

  Kael’s voice dropped.

  “And around that time, there was an attack. A small village to the south. I still don’t know how the battle born or what pride they were got past the border.”

  He shook his head, voice growing distant.

  “I took the first of the Toughs. Went south. Saved the town. Killed the First Fang who led the raid.”

  Kavari froze, breath catching in her throat.

  “You killed Leorak? First Fang of the Bloodmanes?”

  She stared at him, stunned. “He was feared across half the Pridelands. Aura like fire. Covered in scars. Respected by all… feared by most.”

  She looked away, troubled.

  “Runt probably didn’t have a good upbringing there. The Bloodmanes were cruel to whelps—harsher than most. I don’t even want to think about what she went through…”

  Kael didn’t respond right away.

  But in her words, something clicked.

  A hole he hadn’t realized was there… suddenly filled.

  He understood Runt in a way he hadn’t before.

  Kael continued, voice quiet but firm.

  “We broke them.”

  He stared ahead, remembering.

  “I know Battle-Born. Fought more than I could count. Big battles. Small ones. It didn’t matter.”

  He looked at her, but it wasn’t her he was seeing.

  “I broke Leorak. In front of his pride.”

  His voice darkened, tinged with regret and something colder.

  “They scattered.”

  A pause.

  “Runt was left behind. The village was in shambles. Typical Battle-Born raid.”

  He gave a humorless smile.

  “She followed me. Quiet. Malnourished. Lost.”

  A pause.

  “I let her.”

  Kavari was hanging on every word now, drinking them in.

  “But… why?” she asked. “Why not just kill her? You’d killed so many—what was one more Battle-Born? You had to know she might grow up feral. So why let her stay?”

  Kael didn’t hesitate. Didn’t need to think.

  “I started young. In the Border Wars.”

  His tone shifted. He wasn’t talking to her so much as remembering aloud.

  “It was senseless. Violent. Easy to hate. Easier to fear what you don’t understand.”

  He took a breath, slower now.

  “But I lived long enough to start asking questions. Why the war? Why the hate? What are the Battle-Born? Why do they fight? Why do they live in war—revel in it?”

  “I didn’t find all the answers. But I started to understand.”

  He glanced at her. There was no pride in his voice, just quiet truth.

  “I learned the language. Spent time with them. Even traveled with some of the progressive tribes for a while.”

  Kavari’s eyes widened.

  “You… what?”

  “I wanted to understand them,” he said. “And through that… understand myself.”

  “You’re not what I expected,” she said.

  And Kael, weary but honest, replied, “Neither was she.”

  Kavari looked at him, searching his eyes.

  Then, quietly—almost a whisper—

  “She?”

  Kael was being honest. But not about that. Not now.

  That topic sat in a place too deep, too fragile.

  He couldn't bear to break. Not yet. He was close—he could feel it—so close to unraveling.

  He had to hold it together a little longer.

  Kael shook his head.

  His steel-gray eyes were filled with sadness.

  Loneliness.

  Grief that refused to fade, no matter how many years passed.

  Kavari moved closer, shifting forward on the bed.

  She reached out and took his hand—quiet, steady, comforting.

  He looked into her eyes.

  “You’re planning on staying here, aren’t you?” he asked softly.

  Kavari didn’t hesitate. She squeezed his hand.

  “Yes. I can’t ignore the High Shaman. It’s part of the pride. You serve the highest authority—she’s at the top.”

  She looked down, conflicted. “I’m sorry, but… I have to stay close.”

  Kael nodded, squeezing her hand back gently.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “But I should tell you—”

  His voice faltered, just for a breath.

  “I have very bad dreams. And a worse nightmare that comes… if I sleep.”

  “Then don’t sleep alone.” Came the soft reply.

  “Anchor,” and it can be found on PoetrySoup. I tend to gravitate toward free verse and lyrical styles, and I’ve even worked with a local band on song lyrics. Small creative projects like that mean a lot to me, and when something fits naturally into the story, I like to include it.