Lahat ng Kabanata ng THE LAST BREEDER, CLAIMED BY FOUR: Kabanata 141 - Kabanata 150

EZRAThe spiral stairwell leading to the high tower was a vertical wind tunnel. Cold, mountain air rushed down the narrow granite shaft, carrying the acrid stench of burning pine pitch, black powder, and sharp, metallic blood.Every step up the uneven stone stairs was pure friction. My lower back throbbed with a deep, dull ache, and my inner thighs burned under my leather trousers, every movement reminding me of the heavy, unforgiving weight Korr, Rylan, and Tarek had driven into my skin hours before. I gripped the cold stone wall with my left hand to steady my trembling knees, my right hand tightly holding my unstrung yew longbow.Above me, another heavy thud rattled the stone structure—a iron-headed battering ram striking the reinforced oak doors of the high tower’s lower foyer."Step lively, little wolf!" Brody’s voice boomed down from the landing above.The veteran archer was leaning over the stone parapet, a quiver of heavy, broadhead arrows strapped to his thigh, his gray-bearde

EZRAThe sharp, metallic scent of burned copper and fresh blood hung suspended under the heavy timber ceiling, so thick it coated the back of my throat.I didn't move an inch. My arms remained locked around Tarek’s upper chest, holding his heavy, muscular frame flat against the oak workbench while his breathing came in shallow, ragged hitches.His reddish-copper hair was soaked through with cold sweat, plastered against his pale forehead. The jagged, black-and-red line of cooked skin along his left flank was completely still now, sealed tight by Korr's brutal iron, but the sheer heat radiating off the wound burned against my bare forearms."Keep his upper body still, Ezra," Rylan rumbled low, his deep voice dragging out like heavy stones grinding together in the subterranean quiet.The massive warrior dropped onto his knees beside the workbench, the stone floorboards creaking under his weight. Sweat ran down his broad, scar-laced chest, mixing with the dark spatters of Tarek’s blood t

EDALThe subterranean corridors beneath the high keep grew colder with every flight of stone steps, dropping deep into the living slate of the mountain where the air smelled of damp earth, rust, and salt.Upstairs, the high solar was quiet, but down here in the iron ring, the weight of the mountain pressed flat against the stone walls. Torchlight flickered weakly in the iron brackets, casting long, dancing shadows across the damp flagstones.I reached the bottom landing, my heavy silver-lined boots making crisp, deliberate clicks against the stone.Standing outside the heavy iron-grated cell door was Tarek.His bare chest was wrapped tightly in clean linen bandages, the dark mark of the iron burn still visible beneath the cloth where it swept around his left flank. Though his skin retained the pale, drawn tightness of a man who had barely broken a violent fever two nights prior, his posture was straight, his reddish-copper hair neatly combed back from his face. In his hands, he held a

EZRAThe high solar was freezing. Snow blew through the narrow slit windows in thin, glittering wisps, dusting the long oak council table where six clan elders sat huddled in heavy bear-fur cloaks.At the far end of the chamber, Edal stood near the hearth, her silver leather armor gleaming in the firelight. In front of her knelt the Southern Council’s messenger—a thin, shivering man wearing the crimson tunic of the coastal lords, his boots caked in frozen slush.Korr, Rylan, and Tarek flanked the central table like three pillars of dark iron. I stood half a step behind Korr’s broad shoulder, my yew longbow resting against my hip, my dark wool cloak drawn tight over my tunic."The High Council demands the release of the forty mercenaries taken at the western gate," the messenger rasped, his teeth chattering as he held up a rolled parchment sealed with red wax. "And they demand the custody of Helena to face trial in the southern courts."Edal didn't reach for the scroll. She didn't even

EDALThe lower corridors of the high keep did not catch the warmth of the hearth fires above. Here, beneath the mountain’s granite foundation, the walls sweated cold moisture that smelled of rust, old limestone, and damp earth.Every flight of slate stairs spiraled deeper into the living rock, cutting off the noise of the main hall until the only sound remaining was the dull, rhythmic thud of my silver-lined leather boots against the flagstones.I reached the bottom landing, where the iron ring held the keep’s deepest cells. The single torch mounted to the wall flickered weakly in the damp draught, casting long, jagged shadows over the iron-reinforced doors.Tarek stood outside the central cell, his back straight despite the stark white linen bandages wrapped tightly around his midsection. His reddish-copper hair was combed back neatly, and his skin bore the pale, drawn tightness of a man who had only broken a deadly fever two nights prior.In his hands, he carried a heavy oak tray lo