The Eve of Battle

Training was brutal.

Every warrior in the pack had joined in, the training grounds filled with the sounds of clashing steel, heavy breathing, and the occasional grunt of pain. The snow had been churned into a muddy slush beneath the feet of countless warriors, and the cold air was thick with the scent of sweat and determination. It was a scene of controlled chaos, a symphony of combat that echoed across the compound.

Cat had improved significantly due to her training sessions with Daniel. Her movements were sharper now, more precise. She no longer relied solely on brute force; she had learned to read her opponents, to anticipate their movements before they made them. Her strikes were calculated, her defenses solid. She moved like someone who had finally found her rhythm.

Laia too had improved. Her shortswords moved with a fluidity that hadn’t been there before. She was faster, more confident, and her strikes carried a weight that spoke of hours of practice. Her footwork was cleaner, her transitions smoother. She no longer hesitated or second-guessed herself.

Honestly, everyone had improved.

Training lasted for hours, pushing every warrior to their limits and beyond. The sun climbed higher and then began its slow descent, casting long shadows across the training grounds. By the time it ended, the warriors were exhausted, their bodies aching, their muscles screaming for rest. But there was a satisfaction in their eyes that hadn’t been there before. A quiet pride that came from knowing they had given everything they had.

After training, everyone went home to wash up. The day had been long, and the night ahead would be even longer.

Soon after, armour and weapons were delivered to every warrior. The craftsmen had worked tirelessly, and it showed. The armour gleamed in the dim light, and the weapons were sharp and ready. Mary had personally overseen the distribution, her face lined with exhaustion but her eyes burning with pride. Every blade, every shield, every arrow had been crafted with care.

That night, the pack celebrated.

It wasn’t a grand celebration. There was no music, no dancing, no elaborate decorations. But there was food and drink, and the warmth of companionship. People gathered together, sharing meals and stories, laughing at old memories and creating new ones. The fires crackled in the hearths, and the aroma of roasted meat filled the air.

Orion had been right.

Ethan came back with news.

The scouts had returned, and Ethan reported exactly what they had seen. It was exactly as Sophia had seen in her visions. The Enclave warriors had almost reached Nirvana. They were close to the border between the West and the North.

But Ethan had also noticed something else.

Some warriors were moving from the South and East too. He suspected that all the armies would join together once they reached the border. The Enclave was consolidating its forces, gathering its strength for the final push.

The Enclave had not sent any scouts either, and Ethan suggested that perhaps they were waiting until they crossed the border. He also noted that they were confident, and that was another advantage the Nightshade Pack had.

Sophia had also tried to see more with her visions. She focused, reaching out with her gift, trying to see what was coming. But it was the same thing she had seen before. The Enclave was headed for them. There was no change. The vision was clear and unchanging.

People ate and drank. Laughter echoed through the compound, and stories were shared. But underneath it all, there was tension. It lingered beneath the surface, a constant reminder of what was coming. It was in the way people’s eyes drifted toward the gates, in the way their laughter was just a little too loud, and in the way they held each other just a little too tightly.

People joked about the future, about what they would do after everything was over. Some talked about travelling, others about settling down. Some spoke of children they wanted to have, of families they wanted to build. Others spoke of the simple things—a warm bed, a good meal, a quiet day without fear.

Caspian commented on how he would prefer to go and meet his husband after everything.

“I’m the oldest in this pack now,” he said with a dramatic sigh. “All my agemates are dead. It’s about time I went to meet him too.”

Laughter poured through the crowd, even as the tension remained. It was a release, a brief moment of lightness beneath the weight of what was to come.

Then morning came.

The whole pack was quiet. The snow fell even more than usual, as if preparing for the blizzard that would come the next day. The air was still and cold, and the silence was heavy. It was the kind of silence that preceded something monumental, something that would change everything.

Sophia and Orion helped each other change into their armour. It was a quiet moment, intimate in its simplicity. They moved around each other with practiced ease, adjusting straps and buckles, checking each other’s gear. Their eyes met, and words weren’t needed.

When they were done, they met with the other warriors who had already gathered.

Madam Tyler stood before them, flanked by the priests and priestesses. They gave their blessings from the goddess, their voices rising in a soft chant that seemed to settle over the warriors like a blanket. The words were ancient and comforting, a reminder that they were not alone.

For those who would be going back and forth between the battleground and the healers’ camp, they handed out enchanted whistles.

“Take good care of these,” Madam Tyler instructed. “Use them only in times of emergency. They will alert only those closest to you.”

Orion stepped forward then, his gaze sweeping across the gathered warriors.

“It’s as if I can taste the tension in the air,” he said.

Then he took a deep breath.