Chapter 8

The promise settled deep, terrifying and intoxicating. Eyrix looked out over the bloodstained stones, over the people who had bled for him, and understood that freedom came with a cost he could no longer escape.

As dawn crept pale over the horizon, Eyrix stood on the wall, the cold stone biting into his palms. Smoke drifted upward, carrying the night away in slow, gray ribbons. He felt changed, stretched thin between who he had been and who Ironclaw had tried to make him.

Ryder joined him without a word.

“I’m afraid,” Eyrix admitted.

Ryder nodded. “So am I.”

They stood together as the sun rose, knowing fear no longer meant surrender, and that the war for Eyrix’s freedom had only just begun.

For the first time, the future did not feel like a cage. It felt like a battlefield he had chosen, and that choice, fragile and fierce, was finally his.

He squared his shoulders, met Ryder’s steady gaze, and accepted the truth settling into his bones: whatever came next, he would face it standing, not as prey, but as fire.

That was the thought Eyrix held onto as the last embers of dawn faded from the sky.

By dusk, the air had changed.

Eyrix felt it long before the horns sounded. His skin prickled. His heart began to race for no reason his mind could explain.

Ironclaw never struck just once.

They waited.

The first scream split the night from the eastern watchtower.

Then the gates shook.

Eyrix spun toward the sound as the massive Blackfang gates groaned under impact, iron screaming against iron. Torches flared to life along the walls. Shadows surged below.

“Ironclaw!” someone roared.

The horns blared this time, long and furious.

Ryder was already moving.

He vaulted the steps two at a time, armor half-fastened, blade in hand, scars stark in torchlight. The Alpha who had held the hall like a throne now looked like what he truly was—a weapon unleashed.

“Form ranks!” Ryder bellowed. “Shield wall at the inner gate! Archers, burn the shadows!”

Blackfang answered with snarls and steel, warriors surging into formation, but Eyrix saw it immediately.

This was different.

Ironclaw didn’t crash blindly against the gates like beasts. They split. One group battered the gates with brutal precision while another scaled the walls with hooked chains, bodies moving in perfect, terrifying synchronization.

The gates buckled inward with a thunderous crack.

Ironclaw poured through like a living tide.

Ryder hit them head-on.

Eyrix watched him disappear into the crush of bodies, blade flashing, blood spraying dark and hot across stone.

Ryder fought savagely, without restraint, every strike lethal, every movement born of years of war. He tore through the first wave, sending Ironclaw warriors down in pieces.

But for every one that fell, two took its place.

Eyrix’s chest tightened as Blackfang Alphas began to go down around him.

A young Alpha, barely more than a boy, took a blade through the ribs and collapsed at Eyrix’s feet, eyes wide with shock.

Another was dragged screaming into the shadows, his cry cut short with sickening finality. Blood slicked the stones, turning the ground treacherous beneath Eyrix’s boots.

They’re dying for me.

The thought hit like a blade between his ribs.

“No,” Eyrix whispered, backing away as another Ironclaw unit breached the inner yard. “No, no, no”

A Blackfang Alpha slammed into him, shoving him aside as an Ironclaw spear whistled past where Eyrix’s head had been.

“Move!” the Alpha snarled. Get behind

The sentence ended in a wet choke as a blade opened his throat.

Eyrix screamed.

Something inside him snapped.

His blood burned.

Heat surged through his veins like liquid fire flooding his chest. His heart pounded so hard, each beat echoing in his skull. The world sharpened painfully sounds louder, smells overwhelming, colors bleeding into violent clarity.

Ironclaw scents slammed into him all at once.

Eyrix staggered, clutching his chest as the heat intensified, coiling low in his gut, ancient and furious. Memories that were not memories clawed at the edges of his mind—howls beneath a blood-red moon, power bending others to its will, a throne not carved of stone but fear.

“No,” he gasped. “Stop”

Another Blackfang Alpha fell. Then another.

Ryder was still standing, still killing, but even he was slowing, breath coming harder, movements just a fraction less precise. Ironclaw began to circle him, reading his rhythm, adapting.

They were hunting him.

Eyrix’s vision tunneled.

The fire inside him roared in agreement, he straightened.

The heat exploded outward.

Ironclaw warriors closest to him faltered mid-step, eyes snapping toward him in confusion and fear.

The air seemed to thicken, pressing down on them like an invisible weight. One dropped to a knee with a strangled cry. Another staggered, hands clawing at his chest as if he couldn’t breathe.

“What—” someone whispered.

Eyrix didn’t recognize his own voice when he spoke.

“Enough.”

The word rippled outward

Ironclaw froze.

Ryder turned, blade dripping, eyes locking onto Eyrix.

For a heartbeat, the world held still.

Then Ironclaw’s commander stepped forward from the shadows, tall and armored in blackened steel etched with the sigil of Eyrix’s bloodline.

“So,” the commander said calmly, even through the chaos. “It finally wakes up.”

Eyrix’s hands shook.

The commander smiled thinly. “You always were slow to accept what you are.”

Rage surged, hot and blinding. Eyrix took a step forward without realizing it. Ironclaw warriors recoiled instinctively, their formation breaking for the first time.

“Stay back!” Ryder barked, moving toward him. “Eyrix, this isn’t…….”

Another Ironclaw unit surged from the flank, blades raised, aiming straight for Ryder’s exposed side.

Eyrix didn’t think.

He reached and the fire obeyed.

The ground between Ryder and the attackers cracked with a thunderous boom, stone exploding upward as if struck by an invisible fist.

Ironclaw warriors were thrown back like broken dolls, bodies slamming into walls with bone-shattering force.

Ryder stared.

Eyrix stared at his own hands, blood roaring in his ears.

“What did I just do?” he whispered.

The Ironclaw commander laughed softly.

More Ironclaw rushed him then, desperate, snarling, trained fear breaking into blind obedience.

Eyrix felt them coming like pressure changes in the air, every movement telegraphed, every intention loud.

He moved again.

This time, it felt natural.

Eyrix stepped into the fray, power unfurling with terrifying ease. He didn’t need a blade. He twisted his wrist and sent an Ironclaw warrior flying into another.

He snarled and crushed the breath from a third without touching him. The fire bent to his will, ancient instincts guiding him with brutal precision.

Blackfang rallied behind him.

Ryder fought at his side now, a lethal blur of steel and fury, but Eyrix could feel it—the way Ryder’s presence anchored him, kept the power from consuming everything.

Together, they were devastating.

Ironclaw broke. They withdrew.

The commander met Eyrix’s gaze one last time from the shadows. “This changes nothing,” he called. “Ironclaw does not lose its own.” We will be back

Then he was gone.

The gates stood.

The yard was a grave.

Eyrix swayed as the fire receded, exhaustion crashing over him like a wave. Ryder caught him before he fell, arms locking around him with bruising force.

“You’re alive,” Ryder said hoarsely.

Eyrix laughed weakly, hysteria threading through it. “So are you.”

Ryder pulled back just enough to look at him, “What you did tonight,” he said quietly, “saved us.”

Eyrix shook his head, staring at the blood-soaked stones. “It cost you too much.”

Blackfang mourned. Bodies were laid out with reverent hands. Names were spoken softly, each one a wound carved into the night.

Eyrix felt every death like a brand.

“I won’t let this happen again,” he said, voice raw. “I won’t be the reason you bleed.”

Ryder’s grip tightened. “You’re not the reason,” he said.

Eyrix looked up at him, fear and power warring inside his chest. “I don’t know what I am.”

Ryder didn’t look away. “Then we’ll figure it out,” he said. “Together.”