Page 99 of The Monster You Made

That evening, the square fills with firelight. Villagers and rebels join in song, voices weaving through the night. Childrendance around the flames, prisoners now free, lifting their shackled wrists high before casting the broken chains into the fire. Sparks rise like stars.

I stand in the center, reading Marta’s words aloud. “Truth endures. Chains break. Silence shatters.” My voice carries over the flames, and for once, I believe it fully. The villagers cheer, their cries echoing into the night.

Yet in the shadows, I see him. Lucian stands alone, holding the carved wooden wolf in his hand. His face bears doubt, with eyes fixed on the flames.

***

Later still, when the fires dim and the songs fade, he comes to me. His voice is hoarse. “They will die for me. They will bleed because of me. And I will not be enough to save them.”

I step closer, laying my hand against his chest. “They don’t follow you because you promise salvation. They follow you because you fight. Because you don’t stop. That’s what he cannot chain.”

His breath trembles. For a moment, he leans into my touch, the carved wolf still in his grip. “And if I fall?”

“Then I rise with you,” I whisper. “Always.”

His eyes close, the weight still there but softer.

***

At dawn, scouts bring word: Crown riders patrol the roads nearby. The village elders beg us to stay, to make their home a military compound of rebellion. But we cannot. To stay would be to doom them.

We leave before the sun clears the horizon, sledges heavy with food, hope burning fragile but bright. Villagers line the road, chanting Marta’s words, their voices following us into the snow.

I clutch the satchel tight. Every step forward feels like fire carried on frost.

Chapter 49 - Lucian

The villagers’ chants still echo in my ears long after their voices fade behind us. Chains break. Silence shatters. Their words ring like bells, too loud, too sharp. Each step north feels heavier beneath them, as though their belief alone drags me forward. They cheered me as the Breaker of Chains, the Wolf, and yet all I feel is the leash biting deeper.

Declan’s laughter coils beneath the sound.Look how they kneel, Wolf. Not to truth, but to you. You are my shadow in their eyes, whether you bleed or breathe.

I clench my jaw and keep walking.

***

The road winds through forests glazed in frost. The storm eases, but the cold lingers, seeping bone-deep. Rebels drag sledges heavy with grain. Freed prisoners stumble, their wrists raw where chains were cut. Abigail skips despite the snow, her doll bobbing on her back, laughter defying silence.

At dusk, scouts return. Crown riders circle behind us, patient, waiting. They do not strike, not yet. They herd us north like prey.

The council gathers as fires crackle low. Elira growls, her breaching axe across her knees. “They follow close. We turn and fight.”

Rourke snorts, pulling his flask free. “And die in the snow? No. They want us to turn. They’ll cut us down and leave the rest to freeze.”

The rebels argue, voices harsh. Some eager to fight, others weary, all staring at me in the end. Always me. Their faith is a weight no fire can warm.

***

I study the maps spread on the ground. Crown patrols marked. Roads crawling with riders. And there, beyond the ridge, a keep. Not a military compound like the black walls we passed, but a smaller hold, a supply post. Strong enough to guard its stores, weak enough to bleed.

Declan whispers close.Yes. Take it. Feed them again. And every chain you break, every mouth you fill, tightens the leash. They will follow you into the pit, Wolf, and call it salvation.

My fists clench. My voice, when it comes, is iron. “We strike the compound. At dawn. Fast and hard. Before the riders close their jaws.”

Elira grins, fierce and sharp.

Rourke curses, but he does not argue.

The rebels nod, weary but willing.