Amanda couldn’t sleep.
She sat on a thick branch of an enormous oak that had grown into the rock — the spot Mia had chosen for her rest. The bonfires had burned down to embers, the songs had faded, and the Forest Clan’s camp had sunk into a heavy, sated silence. The beastfolk slept wherever exhaustion had claimed them: in their treehouses, in shelters at the base of the trunks, or simply on the ground.
She waited.
She waited until the last voice fell silent, until the last watchful gaze dimmed, until the moon hid behind the dense canopy and only rare fireflies disturbed the darkness with their cold, flickering lights.
“Torglin,” she whispered.
“I’m here, girl.”
“Is the camp asleep?”
The dwarf paused, listening carefully. His sensitive ears caught every sound within a hundred paces.
“They’re sleeping,” he said at last. “All of them. Even the sentries on the northern trail are nodding off. It was one hell of a feast.”
“Leo?”
“I’m here, my lady.”
“Are you ready?”
“Always,” Torglin replied. “But, girl… are you sure?”
Amanda gazed into the darkness. Somewhere out there, in a smaller house, Mia slept curled up with her tail covering her nose.
“I have to find Caelan,” she said, pushing away the troubling thoughts. “I can’t stay here.”
“And the she-wolf?” Leo asked quietly.
Amanda froze.
“I can’t be the person she sees in me. I’m not a warrior… and most importantly, I’m not a man. I’m an actress. The longer I stay here, the higher the chance that they’ll discover the truth.”
She dropped silently from the branch, landing on the soft moss. The black armor made no sound — mithril alloyed with orichalcum swallowed every noise. Her horse waited for her by the trail, already saddled and loaded with full saddlebags of provisions that Leo had prepared earlier.
Amanda took the reins.
“Forward. Quietly.”
She took one step. Then a second. Then a third.
“Are you leaving?”
The voice was quiet, yet in the silence of the night it struck like thunder.
Amanda froze. Her heart skipped a beat.
She slowly raised her head.
Mia was sitting on a branch ten paces above the trail. Her long legs, clad in soft leather, were crossed at the ankles and dangled casually, swaying in time with an invisible breeze. Her silver hair flowed over her shoulders, catching the moonlight and turning it into molten silver. Her wolf ears stood upright, catching every sound, while her tail swayed slowly from side to side — calm, confident, with a faint hint of superiority.
She was smiling. Not the sly, wolfish grin Amanda had seen before, but another — mocking and indulgent, as if she had known this moment would come from the very beginning and had simply been waiting for the Reaper to make a foolish mistake.
“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” Mia asked, tilting her head. “That I’d be sleeping while my Reaper tries to sneak away? Like a naughty pup.”
“Mia…” Amanda’s voice sounded muffled from beneath the helmet.
“You didn’t even say goodbye,” she said without any real hurt — rather with surprised amusement at such naivety. “You were just going to vanish. Like a shadow. Like a ghost. Did you really think I wouldn’t hear your footsteps? Wouldn’t catch your scent?”
“I have to go. I need to find Caelan.”
“You will,” Mia nodded, not moving from her perch. Her legs continued to swing gently. “But not alone. And not in secret.”
She lifted her head toward the sky and called out:
“Come out! Our Reaper has decided we’re not worthy of him! Let’s show him how the Forest Clan bids farewell to its own!”
The fireflies Amanda had mistaken for nocturnal insects turned out to be torches. They ignited everywhere — on branches, on bridges, beside houses. Dozens of flames flared up in the darkness, illuminating hundreds of figures.
The Forest Clan had not been sleeping.
They sat on branches, stood on trails, and lay on rooftops — beastfolk of every kind, from small badger cubs to massive bears. They watched the black figure holding the horse’s reins, and there was no anger in their eyes.
Only amusement. Anticipation. As if they had been waiting for this very spectacle all along.
Amanda gripped the hilt of her sword tighter. Real fear gripped her for the first time.
“You thought we didn’t know?” Björn asked, stepping out of the shadows. The chieftain wore no armor, only a simple tunic, yet it did nothing to make him look any less massive. His bear ears twitched, catching every sound. “You thought I didn’t see how you were studying the trails? How you asked about the road to Kara-Shahar?”
Amanda remained silent. She had nothing to say.
“You’re looking for Caelan,” Björn continued. “You want to join the rebellion. That’s commendable. But you tried to leave like a coward. In secret. Without saying goodbye. Without accepting the challenge.”
“What challenge?” Amanda asked, her voice strained.
“The challenge of the Forest Clan,” the chieftain’s voice grew harder. “You became my brother. You became part of us. And no one who is part of the clan can simply walk away. If you wish to leave us — you must prove that you are worthy of walking your own path.”
“And how do I prove that?”
“A fight,” Björn said. “One on one. Against the best warrior the clan chooses.”
“If I win — I can leave?” Amanda clarified. She needed a clear condition.
Björn smirked. Something strange flickered in his eyes — mockery, confidence, anticipation.
“If you win — you will receive what you deserve,” he answered evasively. “Our law is just. The victor receives his reward.”
“I don’t need a reward. I need freedom.”
“Freedom is also a reward,” the chieftain remarked philosophically. “But it must be earned.”
“I accept the fight,” Amanda said. She had no choice.
“Good,” Björn nodded. “Tor!”
From the crowd stepped the bear.
The very same one — enormous, with arms thick as logs, small rounded ears, and deep-set eyes burning with fire. He shrugged off his cloak, revealing a mountain of muscle covered in thick dark fur. In his hands he held a massive two-handed axe, its blade as wide as a man’s palm.
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“You wanted to test his strength,” Björn said. “Now you have your chance. Show the clan who deserves to be called a warrior.”
Tor bared his fangs in a savage grin.
“I’ll break him, chieftain.”
“We’ll see,” Björn smirked.
Mia dropped from the branch and walked over to her father. Her tail had gone still, her ears stood straight up, but her face wore an expression Amanda couldn’t quite read. Confidence. A cruel, absolute confidence.
“Reaper,” Mia said as she passed him. Her voice was quiet, yet rang with steel. “You will lose.”
“I won’t lose,” Amanda replied, even as everything inside her tightened.
“You will,” Mia repeated, and something new appeared in her smile. Something predatory. “And then you’ll stay. Forever.”
She stepped back to the edge of the circle, crossed her arms over her chest, crossed her long legs at the ankles, and stood motionless like a statue. Her eyes never left the black figure.
Amanda felt sick. Something was wrong here. Something she didn’t understand.
“Torglin,” she whispered as Tor stepped into the center of the circle.
“I’m here, girl.”
“This bear is going to crush me. I can’t handle him alone.”
“What happened to fighting fair?” the dwarf’s voice was tense.
“Are you kidding me? We’re not in a storybook. Just help me. But make sure no one notices. If they expose me now — it’s all over.”
“Understood,” Torglin’s tone instantly became businesslike. “Leo, you take the right. I’ll take the left. We work as a team. No sound. No flash. Clean work only. Girl, you have to make it look like you’re the one cutting him. Swing your sword, make noise. We’ll do the rest.”
“Got it,” Leo replied.
Amanda took a deep breath and stepped into the circle.
The fight began.
Tor moved first. Massive as a boulder, he brought his axe down on Amanda with terrifying force, making the ground itself tremble beneath their feet. She barely managed to dodge to the side, and the blade whistled past her helmet by less than an inch.
“Now!” she shouted, rolling away.
Her sword traced a wide arc — and at that exact moment, the invisible Torglin slashed the bear’s arm with an unseen dagger. It was only a shallow cut, but Tor roared and instinctively recoiled. Blood welled up through his dark fur.
“You…” He stared at his bleeding arm, then at the black figure. “How did you…”
“I am the Reaper,” Amanda declared in a cold, metallic voice, forcing it to sound confident and emotionless. “I bring death. Surrender before I bring it to you.”
“Never!” Tor bellowed and charged again, raising the axe for a crushing overhead strike.
Amanda stepped forward to meet him. Her sword drew another circle — and in that instant, the invisible Leo swept the bear’s leg from underneath him. Tor stumbled and dropped heavily onto one knee. In the same heartbeat, the Reaper’s black blade was already pressed against his throat.
It was only Amanda’s sword. The real threat — the daggers held by Torglin and Leo, hovering at his kidneys and neck — he couldn’t feel at all.
“Surrender,” Amanda repeated. “Last chance.”
Tor looked up at her from below, breathing heavily. Fire burned in his eyes — rage, humiliation, fury. But he understood. He hadn’t seen how it happened. He couldn’t comprehend how she moved so fast, how her strikes found their mark before he could even think. All he saw was the black figure, the black sword, and the red lenses staring down at him without a single trace of emotion.
“I surrender,” he growled, hatred dripping from every word.
Amanda withdrew her sword.
She straightened up and turned to Björn.
“I have won.”
Silence. Then — a thunderous roar from the crowd.
The beastfolk had not seen what truly happened. They had only seen a black warrior moving faster than lightning, whose strikes found their mark before the enemy could even blink. They had watched the enormous Tor — the clan’s greatest warrior — fall to his knees before the Reaper. They had seen the blood on his arm and the fear in his eyes.
Some rushed to help Tor to his feet, others slapped the Reaper on the shoulder, and some simply stared in open admiration.
Amanda stood in the center of the circle, breathing heavily, feeling her heart hammering wildly beneath the Reaper’s armor.
“Torglin,” she whispered.
“Yes, girl.”
“We did it.”
“We did,” the dwarf’s voice carried a smirk. “But next time you want to fight a bear alone, remind me to retire.”
“Deal.”
She turned back to Björn.
“I have won. Now I can leave.”
Björn looked at her. Tiny flames danced in his eyes.
“You may,” he said. “But first, receive your reward.”
“I don’t need any reward. I just want to leave.”
“The law is the law,” Björn raised his hand, and the crowd fell silent. “The victor in a fair fight receives what he has earned. You defeated the clan’s greatest warrior. You proved your strength. You proved your honor.”
He turned to his daughter.
“Mia.”
The girl stepped forward. Her tail swayed gently, her ears stood straight up, and she wore a smile that made everything inside Amanda turn to ice. It was a smile of triumph — predatory, unrelenting triumph.
“By the custom of the Forest Clan,” Björn’s voice boomed across the clearing, “there is one fight whose reward is decided in advance. The fight for the hand of the chieftain’s daughter.”
Amanda froze.
“My daughter has reached the age when she may choose a husband,” Björn continued. “She has chosen you. She declared that whoever wins this fight will become her husband. You accepted the challenge. You won.”
He smirked, looking at the frozen black figure.
“Congratulations, Reaper. Now you are her husband.”
A deafening roar erupted from the camp. Hundreds of voices shouted, howled, and cheered for the new warrior and his bride.
Amanda didn’t move. She stared at Mia, who stood opposite her with arms crossed over her chest, smiling. Smiling as if she had just successfully sprung a trap on her prey.
“NO!” Amanda cried out before she could stop herself.
Silence fell. Hundreds of eyes locked onto her.
“I didn’t know,” she said, her voice trembling. “I thought I was fighting for the right to leave. I didn’t know about the marriage. You didn’t tell me. This isn’t fair.”
She turned to Björn.
“I demand—”
“What do you demand, Reaper?” the chieftain interrupted. “A refusal? You accepted the challenge. You won. The reward was set. That is the law. If you refuse now — you will shame the entire clan. You will shame me. You will shame Mia.”
“I can’t,” Amanda clenched her fists. “I can’t become her husband.”
“Why?” Mia’s voice sounded right beside her.
Amanda turned around. The she-wolf stood just one step away from her. Her beautiful eyes stared straight into the red lenses with the same expression Amanda had only ever seen in the eyes of predators cornering their prey.
“Say it,” Mia tilted her head. “Say that you hate me. Say that you despise me. Say it — and I will let you go. The law allows it.”
“I…” Amanda opened her mouth.
“But remember,” Mia interrupted, and her voice gained a sharp, metallic edge, “if you say it, you will be a liar. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve felt your heart racing every time I touched you. You don’t want to leave.”
She took one step closer. Now there was less than an arm’s length between them.
“You want to stay,” she said, her voice filled with absolute certainty that allowed no argument. “You’re simply afraid. Afraid of what you feel. Afraid that I’ll discover who you really are under that helmet.”
Amanda remained silent. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t think. Mia was so close that her scent — steppe grass, wormwood, something wild and warm — filled the air around them.
“You are mine, Reaper,” Mia touched his pauldron. Not asking. Not doubting. Simply claiming what she considered hers. “You have been mine from the moment you emerged from the steppe and saved me. You just didn’t know it yet. Now you do.”
She lowered her hand.
“So say you hate me,” she continued, and a new note appeared in her voice — the magnanimity of a victor. “Go on?”
Amanda stayed silent. Mia smiled.
“Father, we set out at dawn. The Reaper will lead us to Caelan. As my husband. As the future chieftain. As my equal.”
Björn nodded.
The chieftain raised his hand, and the crowd erupted in cheers once again. Amanda stood in the center of this chaos, feeling the world collapse and rebuild itself anew, unable to utter a single word.
She didn’t want any of this. She didn’t want to become the she-wolf’s husband. She didn’t want to be the future chieftain. She didn’t want anything that had just happened.
But she couldn’t say “no.” Because saying “no” would bring dangerous consequences, and quarreling with such a powerful clan in the middle of a war was the last thing she needed. She hated herself for it.
Mia took her hand. Firmly. Possessively. The she-wolf’s fingers tightened around the black gauntlet, and Amanda understood — this was not a gesture of love. It was a gesture of ownership.
“Come,” Mia said, pulling her along. “You haven’t slept all night. You need to rest before the journey, my husband.”
“I’m not tired,” Amanda tried to resist.
“Don’t argue,” Mia smirked, and there was something in her voice that made Amanda obey without thinking. “I said come.”
She led her through the camp, and the beastfolk parted before them, bowing and whispering congratulations. Amanda walked on, feeling hundreds of eyes on her, and realized that she had just lost control over her own life.
Mia brought her to a house built high in a tree — her own home, Amanda realized. She climbed the stairs, opened the door, and pushed the Reaper inside.
“You will sleep here,” she said, closing the door behind them. “With me.”
“Mia…”
“Don’t argue,” she stepped closer, and in the dim light of the room her eyes glowed with amber fire. “You are my husband. A husband sleeps with his wife. That is the custom.”
She stepped close, took his hands, and pulled him toward the bedding covered with soft furs.
“I can’t remove my armor,” Amanda said, desperately searching for any excuse.
“Don’t remove it,” Mia pushed him onto the furs. “Sleep in it. I don’t care.”
She settled beside him, pressing her back against his chest, and her tail coiled around his leg like a chain.
“Now you’re mine,” she whispered, making herself comfortable. “And you’re not going anywhere.”
Amanda lay motionless, feeling her heart hammering in her throat, feeling the she-wolf press against her, feeling that tail tighten around her leg, refusing to let her move.
“Torglin,” she whispered once Mia’s breathing became steady and even.
“I’m here, girl,” the dwarf’s voice came from somewhere outside the tent, quiet and tense.
“Did you see that?”
“I saw.”
“What do I do?”
“No idea,” the dwarf answered honestly. “But it looks like you’re married now. Or wedded. Or whatever you call it when a she-wolf decides to claim you.”
“Ehh?!”
“Shutting up, shutting up,” he paused. “But, girl… she’s not going to let you go. You realize that, right?”
Amanda looked at the silver hair spilled across the furs, at the tail wrapped tightly around her leg, at the ears that twitched slightly in sleep, catching every breath she took.
“I know,” she said.
And in those two words was everything — fear, despair, and something else. Something she refused to name.
At dawn, the caravan set out.