Kirathal Frostclaw felt cold.

An uneasy feeling tore into his gut and twisted his stomach into a knot. His eyes widened for a moment and his teeth clenched as cold sweat beaded on his brow. He was alone for the moment, completely, which was rare these days, sat back in his simple room, sword close at paw in case an ambitious beast of Crimson Tears or Tethik decided to try anything.

His Ice Wolves…what had happened to Harkon, Curian and Jirik? Something was wrong, he knew it. Something had happened to HIS Ice Wolves!

Curian, Harkon, Jirik…their names and their faces ran through his mind again and again. They'd been with him so long, they were loyal, they were his loyal retainers, the soldiers who had chosen to follow him into hell if need be. They could be injured, they could be dead!

He knew it was a possibility, he knew they would all die one day, in the way they were always meant to, but this, this feeling filled him with unease and dread. Were his comrades, those he had been with for years…He had come this far with their help, survived thanks to Harkon and Kallia, won his victories with the help of Jirik, Curian and Tethik. For the first time in many years, Kirathal realized the possibility of being forced to carry on without his Ice Wolves.

"Nightblade…Jald…" He whispered, fist clenching, a strange emotion enveloping him, hot in his heart. There was no room for hatred and anger in a soldier, he had always said.

But as, for the first time, Kirath considered facing the future without his Ice Wolves, Kirath could hardly suppress either.

I will defeat Eroket Nightblade.

I am the ultimate warrior.

I am better than Jald Nightson, Kirathal Frostclaw, Aleran Nightblade…none may stand against me.

I have paid a face for my arrogance.

I made mistakes. I will make no more.

I am Juska, we pay our debts in blood.

I am mercenary and assassin, we let no insult go unpunished.

I am Davrag Joris.

The mantra rang in his head as he whirled and slashed, blades clanging against Arredon's own swords, driving the younger stoat back.

Youthful face contorted in concentration, Arredon Toroth blocked and countered best he could, but against his teacher and mentor it was a losing battle.

Moments later, when Arredon moved to collect his fallen blades, he rubbed his right paw, smiling, "Excellent as always, sir."
Davrag allowed himself a smile and gave Arredon a pat to the head. "Not so bad yourself, my dear Arredon."

Arredon practically beamed at his mentor's praise, replacing his swords in their sheaths and smoothing down his rumpled shirt, "Sir?"

"Hm?"
Arredon's voice took a questioning tone, "When will you kill Eroket Nightblade?"

The question caught him totally off guard and for a moment he was too stunned to answer. He had thought of actually defeating the ermine for so long, the 'when' and 'how' had never really occurred to him. Catching his thoughts quickly, he offered a response sternly: "Soon."

"If I may say, Lord, you have been most uneasy lately. Is there something on your mind?"
Davrag's amber eyes narrowed harshly and his voice came out in a low growl, "When I feel the need to allow you entry to my innermost thoughts, rest assured, child, you will be among the first to know. You may leave now."

An expression of terrible hurt flashed in Arredon's eyes for a moment before he forced a smile and nodded hastily, "Of course, Lord, my…sincerest apologies." The young stoat bowed hastily and departed.

Davrag froze in his tracks, shaking his head and growling, "No…no, that wasn't how I meant it…you know I didn't mean that, Arredon…"

Of course, his voice didn't carry to reach his protégé and Davrag sighed deeply, rubbing his head, "What am I becoming?"

"Maybe you're on your way to becoming the best, mm?" The voice rang through the room and Davrag looked up to see Kirathal Frostclaw, shirtless, wearing his sword at his hip leaning against the wall. He hadn't even heard Kirath enter. Perhaps he was too distracted with his own thoughts or perhaps that damned fox was just that good.

"What the hell do you mean?" Davrag fixed his baleful gaze upon the white fox but Kirathal only smiled.

Something was odd about the fox's demeanor. He still had that blasted smirk, but his swagger was gone, the light of arrogance was replaced by something very faint in those blue eyes. Grief? Worry? It couldn't be.

"I learned the truth long ago, Joris," Kirathal replied evenly, "I was Serion Redfletch's best student, he was like a father to me, really."

"What, did you kill your real father?" Davrag hoped to provoke the white fox and maybe pay him back to a small degree for their last meeting.

"Why, no," Kirathal seemed oddly pleased, "In fact…no beast every really asks me about my parents, I'm surprised you had the audacity to. Even my dear Kallia won't. To most, I'm the guy with a sword who gets things done. See, it's a funny story: To put it real bluntly, daddy couldn't pay a tax to some warlords, so some soldiers dragged us out, broke some legs and let us to freeze in the snow. My father tore his wrist with his teeth and warmed me with his own blood. When he died and the blood got cold, I used my claws to rip a hole in him and stayed warm there. Serion Refletch found me a day later, barely alive."

What unnerved Davrag the most was that Kirathal said this in a tone that may as well have been: "I was hungry, ate dinner. Got cold, put on a shirt."

"No wonder you're so fucked up." Davrag offered a cold smile and Kirathal matched it.

"Well, at least I'm not a spoiled little brat who can't get his head on straight."

"Say that again," Davrag snarled suddenly, teeth baring, "What am I?"

"You wanna be the best, Davrag? Fine, go ahead and kill Nightblade, kill Jald, make yourself the perfect warrior just like I did. But you can't give a damn about anything, you can't care if millions die," Kirathal chuckled lightly, "You'll have to kill that boy one day if you pursue this path to glory."

Davrag could find no words.

"But," Kirathal continued, "What if you can? That boy'll rival you one day, Joris, he may get better and no beast is better than the best. No beast, save me."

"You talk a lot, Frostclaw," Davrag retorted coolly, composure regained, "Nightblade'll come back and he'll kill you dead. You should never have let him live."

"Oh, maybe I shouldn't have, but no matter what happens, my plan'll succeed. Thanks to Damascus's Legacy, to Geras's nice little network and some good old fashioned mass-slaughter, I'll have my wars. You think you have any place? HAH! You don't know what you are anymore!" Kirathal laughed harshly, "Not a mercenary anymore, not an assassin, you don't have a code of a warrior and you're too broken to be a fighter. You're a hollow shell of a boy who never grew up, who sees too much of himself in that little protégé of his, who can't even admit his own-"

"Shut up."

Kirathal expected a scream or a shrieking retort but the calm, matter of fact command caught him off guard.

"You think you're fooling me? I can see it in your eyes: You know Nightblade is coming back and you're worried for your fighters. The ones you trained and fought with, your comrades. You can't even live up to your own ideal and you don't even expect to live to see your new era. I have my reasons for being how I am, Frostclaw and I will not explain them to you. No Serion saved me from the cold, no trusted Ice Wolves backed me up. I started out alone, but I'm not alone anymore and unlike you I won't pretend to be."

Kirath Frostclaw bowed, "Then you're already broken if one battle changes your outcome on life." With a smile, he turned and left the room.

Davrag Joris calmly collected his things. "Hurry up, Nightblade, I need my answer…Was I right or are you? Am I really a shell or am I something new? Only you can tell me with your sword…"

The Night did not answer him. All he could do was wait for it to send its sword.