Caleb
The sun shimmered on the surface of the Middle Ring — one of three rivers that surrounded the lands of the Southern Water Tribe like a gentle embrace.
In the clear, cold water, large otters swam with purpose. They weren't ordinary animals. Their sleek forms sliced through the river as they chased the big, glimmering fish darting between their paws — always just out of reach.
The sound of water flowing and wind brushing through the reeds filled the air.Soft. Calm. Peaceful.
Fish glided by, unhurried, as if they didn't notice the danger. Maybe it was the warmth of the sunlight that made them so careless — made them trust.But trust was a mistake.
Caleb, one of the tribe's beast-spirits, shot forward like a bolt. In otter form, fast and silent, he cut through the river and struck. His claws grabbed hold of a thick trout, and water exploded around him in a burst of color — sunlight catching each droplet like tiny pieces of rainbow.
The fish wriggled and fought in his grip, but Caleb didn't let go.
All around him, more otters dived into the river — swift, focused, and merciless.
The breeze carried a hint of spring.Small white blossoms had begun to poke through the melting snow along the riverbank. The snow was already turning to slush, and Caleb could smell the season changing in the air.
The Middle Ring was a freshwater river, packed with salmon, trout, and carp — perfect for fishing. Caleb and the other beast-spirits often came here instead of the Inner Ring, even though it was farther. The fish from this river were meant for the people of Wa, the capital of the Southern Water Tribe.
At the edge of the river, their bags were already full. Fish gleamed in the sunlight, each one a splash of silver or gold.
Caleb let out a short breath and glanced at the others.Yeah, he thought. It's a good day.
With their bundles slung over their shoulders, the otters set off toward Wa. Laughter filled the air. They joked, nudged each other playfully, and someone started to hum a familiar tune — an old hunting song. Soon, the whole group joined in, voices rising in rhythm with their light-footed march.
Some walked upright like humans, others padded along on all fours. Beast-spirits lived between two worlds — animal and human — and they belonged to both.
They reached the chorus of their song when Caleb suddenly stopped singing.Something wasn't right.
They hadn't even crossed the Inner Ring yet. Wa was still several kilometres away. But Caleb felt it — a strange sensation that pulled his attention away from the music and toward the sky.
He narrowed his eyes.There, on the horizon.
Smoke.
Thick, dark, and wrong. It curled up into the sky like a warning, blotting out the sun. A chill crept through the wind. Almost unnoticeable — but Caleb's fur bristled. His body knew before his mind did.
Around him, the others fell quiet too. The laughter died. One by one, they raised their snouts to the wind.They smelled it.
Ash. And something worse.
Caleb's trained nose picked up more than smoke. Even from here, he could scent burnt flesh. Singed hair. The acrid bite of destruction.
Without a word, the otters dropped their bags.
And ran.
As if lightning had shocked them back to life, their bodies launched forward in a blur of motion. Muscles coiled beneath soft fur, built for speed and precision. They tore across the land, fast as arrows, driven by instinct and dread.
The beast-spirits of the Southern Tribe weren't just hunters.They were warriors — elite, nimble, loyal.But right now, they were too far.Too far from Wa.
They crossed the fields faster than ever before. The wind had shifted — fresh and sharp — now blowing against them from the east.
It hit them hard, carrying with it more than just the scent of smoke.
Screams.
Distant at first, but real.Twisted by pain.Filled with fear.
Caleb stumbled for half a second, breath catching. A chill shot down his spine. And then he saw it.
The city of Wa was on fire.
Flames licked the sky. Smoke devoured the sun. And beneath it all — ruin. Caleb's paws kept moving, but his heart sank deep into his chest. We're too late. He knew it without doubt, could feel it in his bones. They were too far, too slow...
Could it be? Was it him? Him, who was tearing down these walls. Him, who brought this ruin. Him... the Death Angel. Samael.
But how? How could it be?
Wa, the capital of the Southern Water Tribe, was supposed to be safe. Guarded by the Three Rings — sacred, natural barriers that had shielded them for generations. No enemy had ever breached them.
And now the city burned.
What happened?
The old stories of Samael echoed in Caleb's mind — stories he had tried to forget. Few survivors had ever made it from the Northern or Western sister tribes. Those who reached Wa brought only horror in their eyes and silence in their hearts.
They spoke of a man — a monster — who called himself an angel. Samael. He had butchered their women first, to kill the water-magic carried through the bloodline. Then he had taken the men — deported, tortured, executed. No trial. No mercy. A clean wipe.A genocide. The memory made Caleb's stomach twist.
Please, he prayed silently, let me be wrong.Let this not be the red-black alliance.Let it be anything else.
But the air already smelled like war.
Caleb reached inward, searching for the voice — the pull — of his nakame, the companion bound to his soul. But there was nothing. No warm presence, no quiet echo of connection — only the thunder of his own heartbeat, loud and unrelenting, as if his body were trying to fuel an entire army of beast-spirits by itself.
The panic clouded his senses, wrapped his thoughts in a heavy fog. Fear clung to him like smoke, dulling everything but the roar in his chest and the sickening sounds carried by the wind. It became harder and harder to think — to breathe — to feel anything except the choking scent of ash and blood.
With every step closer to Wa, the cries grew clearer. What began as distant wails became desperate, distorted screams. The air thickened, pressing into his lungs like wet cloth. It smelled of scorched flesh, of fear. The sun, once warm and golden, was now a distant memory behind a sky blackened by smoke.
Then, at last, they reached the edge of the city.
Or what was left of it.
What used to be a proud and sacred place was now little more than rubble and ruin. Flames devoured the rooftops. Stone walls that had stood for generations lay in heaps. Bodies — far too many — littered the streets. Some motionless, some broken and writhing. All of them, his people.
Caleb's chest tightened, and for a heartbeat, he couldn't breathe. It felt as if the spirit of winter itself had reached into him, tearing at his heart and freezing the blood in his veins.
If it weren't for the overwhelming stench, for the cries of the dying and the crackle of fire in his ears, he might have believed he was dreaming. But this was no dream.This was a nightmare — one so twisted and surreal it stood in violent contrast to the peace they had left behind only hours ago.
Wa had fallen.
Samael's army had reached them.And crushed them.In a single afternoon.
How? How could a city so well-guarded — surrounded by sacred rivers, protected by warriors and spirits — fall so quickly?
Not after a long siege.Not in the dead of night.But in broad daylight — in just one afternoon.
Samael's army had come.And it had not stopped.
Caleb didn't waste another moment. Without hesitation, he charged forward — into the heart of the burning city, toward the source of the screams, where the battle still raged.
Out of the corner of his eye, something moved.
A man lunged toward him from the side — face twisted with madness, drenched in blood, eyes wide with something no longer human. He raised a lance, aiming to drive it straight into Caleb's side.
But he was too slow.
In one fluid motion, Caleb spun, leapt — and with the precision of a born predator, sank his claws deep into the man's throat. It happened in less than a heartbeat.
One motion.One strike.And the enemy crumpled to the ground, gurgling, the last of his breath leaving him in a spray of blood.
Warm, thick crimson splashed across Caleb's fur. He didn't flinch.Didn't even blink. He kept moving.
Through the burning streets of Wa, he surged forward — swift and silent. His body, trained and honed over years of battle, moved like water over stone. Every jump carried him over rubble, every glide dodged falling timber and broken walls. His clawed paws left gouges in the scorched ground.
A fire had lit behind his eyes. Not the kind that destroyed — but the kind that burned from within. A wildfire of rage. Of despair.
Every soldier that dared to block his path met the same fate — a blur of motion, a flash of claws, and silence.
With a single leap, he brought down one of them — the man had barely raised his blade before Caleb crushed him into the dirt. The scream that followed was raw, piercing — echoing through the ruins like a cruel song of pain.
Metal clanged against metal somewhere nearby. Cries of the injured rose and fell in waves. But Caleb shut it all out.
There was only one thought in his mind now.Find them.Find his family.
His amber eyes swept the ruins — sharp, desperate, scanning every corner, every flicker of movement. Shadows danced between the flames, but none of them were familiar.
Like a river forced through tangled roots, he pushed forward — weaving through narrow alleys, winding through crumbling streets.
This place…This used to be home.
Now, it was a graveyard.
Fallen allies — men and women who once fought at his side — lay scattered like broken memories. Their eyes stared upward, unseeing. Their bodies bore the marks of battle — deep cuts, broken limbs, burns.
The smell of charred wood hung thick in the air. The bitter tang of blood clung to his tongue. It mixed into something heavier — a weight that pressed against his chest with every breath.
Through the smoke, through the chaos, through the pounding of his heart — he strained to hear even a whisper. Anything that might mean they were still alive.
Kilian was close behind — a powerful otter-beast with lean muscle and a silver coat that gleamed eerily in the flickering firelight. His movements were graceful and quick, each leap precise, each landing silent.
Despite the chaos around them, he moved with calm purpose, eyes steady and sharp. In their dark depths lay the weight of the battle — but also something unwavering: the will to stand by his friend, no matter the cost.
He knew the odds. Knew that the force marching through Wa was a flood they could never hold back. Thousands of soldiers swarmed the streets — a tide of steel and fire that would drown anything in its path. But still, Kilian remained. He would not let Caleb face this alone.
Between them, no words were needed. A glance, a shared breath — enough. The bond they carried went beyond brotherhood. It was something older. Deeper.
A quiet strength passed between them, wrapping around their hearts like a shield as they moved through the burning ruins. In perfect rhythm, they darted through smoke and rubble, pushing forward in search of something — anything — that could still be saved.
And then Caleb stopped.
His body tensed, eyes fixed ahead. Kilian followed his gaze — and saw it too.
Black fabric, stitched with red. The mark was unmistakable.
Caleb felt a sick twist in his gut. His breath caught.
The red-black alliance.
They were no longer whispers or rumors. No longer the stuff of haunted stories carried by refugees. They were here — in Wa — in the heart of the Southern Water Tribe.
It was real.
This alliance, forged between the Flame Empire and the so-called Death Angel, commanded soldiers unlike any Caleb had seen. Brutal. Unnatural. As if they didn't belong in this world at all.
No, Samael couldn't be an angel.Not with these creatures at his side.
He had to be something else entirely. Something darker — something born in the deepest fires of the underworld.
The Flame soldiers were only one part of the nightmare. Marching beside them were beings Caleb had once thought imaginary — half-remembered from tales whispered around the hearth.
Shadow-elves.
Pale-skinned. Inhuman. With pointed ears and eyes that glowed an eerie violet.
He'd never truly believed they existed.And yet… there they stood.
Not one, not two — but dozens, weaving through the ranks of Samael's army like death given form.
A chill ran down his spine.
And then he saw him.
Brutus.
The name alone had always sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest warriors. Caleb had heard it often enough — passed from mouth to mouth in hushed tones, always laced with fear.
Brutus, the blade of Samael.For years, his name had been spoken in hushed tones. The descriptions were always the same: tall, dark, terrifying. And always followed by stories — massacres, entire tribes wiped out in the name of Samael.
Now, the monster of those tales walked calmly through the burning streets of Wa.
His ash-colored skin looked almost grey beneath the veil of smoke. Long black hair, tied back in a tight ponytail, swayed gently with each step — steady, like the beat of a metronome.
Caleb couldn't look away. He watched that rhythm, hypnotized, as a cold certainty settled into his mind. The stories… they were true.
As if sensing the weight of eyes on him, the shadow-elf suddenly stopped. Slowly, he turned — and sniffed the air, his nose wrinkling like a predator catching the scent of prey.
And then Caleb saw his face. Or rather, what remained of it.
The entire left side was twisted by burn scars — violet and cracked, spreading like cursed veins across his chest and down his arm. It looked as though he'd stepped out of the very heart of a firestorm and dragged hell along with him.
Most shadow-elves fought with shoto — short curved swords — and their bare hands, which bore claws more fitting to beasts than men. But Brutus… no. Brutus didn't fight.
Brutus slaughtered.
Twin silver blades gleamed at his sides, catching the light in quick, flickering bursts as he moved. They weren't weapons. They were extensions of him.
Caleb caught himself holding his breath.
Before he could even think — let alone act — movement flashed at the edge of his vision. Several water warriors charged Brutus, roaring as they closed the distance.
What followed wasn't a fight.
It was art. Terrible, blood-soaked art.
Brutus spun like a dancer — if a dancer carved through men like paper. His blades weaved through flesh and bone, spraying red in graceful arcs. No hesitation. He moved like liquid death — swords spinning through the air as if weightless, slicing clean through the men before they could scream. More blood sprayed, splashing hot across the cobblestones.
Caleb's stomach churned.
His legs trembled as he watched the butcher at work, cold eyes blank, movements precise. There was no joy in Brutus's face. No rage. No mercy.
Every part of Caleb screamed to run. To hide. To not take another step toward that creature. The fear reached deep into him, cold and absolute. It crawled into his chest and wrapped itself around his heart with icy fingers.
"Damn it," Kilian hissed, his voice low, thick with fury. "That's…"
He couldn't finish. There were no words for this kind of horror. No name strong enough for what stood before them.
"I know," Caleb whispered.
His voice was quiet, roughened by grief. His fur bristled.
That thing — that man — Brutus — was built only for destruction. And facing him would mean death. For both of them. "We need to leave," he said, barely more than a breath. "We can't win this. Not against that."
The realization struck like a lightning bolt slamming into water — shocking, painful, inescapable. Kilian nodded. His jaw was clenched, eyes burning with the fight between courage and fear. Without another word, they ran. Low to the ground. Silent. Shaking.
Their instincts took over, guiding them through the smoke, past twisted bodies and broken walls. Away from the heart of the fire. Away from Brutus.
No amount of training could have prepared them for this. All that remained now was survival. And the faint, fragile hope of finding safety.
Eventually, they reached a quiet courtyard, hidden behind the ruins of a crumbled home. Gasping for air, they collapsed behind a wall, pressed into the shadow. The world still burned around them, but here — for just a moment — there was stillness.
Their chests rose and fell. The crackle of fire whispered in the distance. The screams faded. And for the first time since they'd entered Wa, they had space to think.
Caleb's dark brown eyes flicked restlessly from corner to corner, every muscle in his body coiled with tension. His whiskers twitched, picking up the slightest shift in the air as he scanned for danger.
Then his gaze caught on something — someone.
He froze.
There, half-buried beneath rubble and ash, lay a figure Caleb would recognize anywhere.
Kori…
Kori Gaido.Chieftain of the Southern Water Tribe.The tribe's strongest warrior — and the man who once stood at its heart.
The name Gaido meant "to guide." For generations, the family had led the Southern Tribe through war, through famine, through peace. They were protectors, always expected to walk ahead and show the way forward.
But now, there was no path left to follow. Just one look, and Caleb knew. Kori wouldn't be leading anyone anymore.
He lay twisted on the scorched ground, his once-proud form reduced to a broken shape beneath crumbling stone. Ash clung to his skin and hair. Around him, red-black uniforms were strewn like discarded husks — enemies he'd taken down before he fell. Even now, in ruin, his presence was undeniable.
But he didn't move.
His face, contorted in pain, stared blankly in their direction. Caleb's chest tightened.
Was that… the look of a dying man?
For a moment, he hesitated.Eyes swept the surrounding ruins.No Brutus.No shadow-elves.No soldiers.
Just smoke and silence.
Caleb darted forward with practiced speed, low to the ground, avoiding loose rubble, his instincts keeping him alert for any sudden threat. Within seconds, he reached the motionless figure and dropped beside him.
A breath.Then another.
Barely there… but still breathing.
Kori Gaido was still alive.
Kori Gaido looked like he had aged a hundred years.
His once-sharp eyes stared into the distance, unfocused, as if seeing something far beyond this world. The familiar laugh lines that had always softened his face were gone — replaced by deep, solemn grooves of pain and sorrow.
Caleb's chest tightened at the sight.
This wasn't just a fallen leader.This was someone he knew.Someone he trusted.Someone he loved.
A friend.Family.
And now he lay broken, fading, covered in ash and blood.
Caleb felt his heart shrink inside his chest. His paws trembled before he could stop them. He clenched them into fists, forcing the shaking down, trying to hold himself together. But it was like trying to cage a storm with bare hands.
He wasn't ready for this.Not for any of this.
His senses were overwhelmed. The taste of soot and blood lingered on his tongue. The sharp stench of burned skin clung to every breath. The cries in the distance still pierced his ears. And all around them lay the wounded — comrades, warriors — some beyond saving.
The world was unraveling.And his heartbeat thundered in his chest like it was trying to escape.
Slowly, Caleb leaned closer. He knelt beside Kori and reached out, brushing his paw against the man's forehead.
The skin was slick with sweat and blood, cold to the touch.
But the moment Caleb's paw made contact, something shifted.
Kori's gaze flickered.
A faint spark returned to his eyes, dull but alive. He moved his lips — barely. The sound that followed was a broken whisper, lost beneath the distant roar of the ongoing battle.
Caleb's ears twitched. He couldn't make it out.
Gently, carefully, he began to check the chieftain's wounds — trying to assess the damage, to understand how bad it was.
Then he saw it.
And his breath caught in his throat.
Kori's legs…Gone.
Almost entirely severed — held together by mere threads of muscle and torn cloth. Blood pooled beneath him in thick, dark patches. It was everywhere. The stone around him was slick with it.
Caleb froze, his stomach twisting.
This wasn't a wound he could treat.This was the end.
The vacant look in Kori's eyes… it wasn't just shock.It was the quiet acceptance of a man who knew he wouldn't survive.
These were his last moments.
Caleb swallowed hard and closed his eyes for a brief second, forcing himself to breathe. Then, with trembling care, he reached out and brushed Kori's dark curls away from his face.
It didn't help. The knot in his throat only tightened.
Kori's eyes shifted — slowly, painfully — and locked with Caleb's.
Those clear, ice-blue eyes still held a trace of who he had been.Still saw Caleb.Still recognized him.
Again, Kori's lips moved, forming broken sounds.
This time, Caleb leaned in close, pressing his ear gently to the dying man's mouth.
The words were barely more than a breath — faint and broken — yet filled with quiet certainty.
"Caleb… my friend… save them… my children… they… they… they will bring salvation…"
Caleb slowly lifted his head. His paw settled gently on Kori Gaido's hand, giving it a light squeeze. The cold had already begun to spread through his fingers — a stillness too final, too quiet to ignore.
He tried to swallow, to clear the tightness choking his throat, but the pressure refused to ease. It felt like something had locked itself around his chest, and every breath came shallow, ragged — like the air was growing thinner by the second.
Kori's gaze held his — not distant, not fading, but sharp. Present. Heavy with meaning.
Even as his strength slipped away, his lips continued to move. Caleb could make out the shape of the words, repeated again and again like a quiet vow:
They will bring salvation.
He didn't whisper it.He entrusted it.
And then — a piercing whistle split the air.
High. Urgent. A clear signal.
Caleb flinched and spun around, instincts flaring like fire.
That's when he saw him.
Brutus.