The forest was alive. The ravens called, flying overhead as they surveyed the area. Absinth stood on the edge of the clearing, her emeralds sharp as flint, fixated on the scene before her. Today marked the outcome of countless lessons, countless hunts, countless moments etched in bone-deep resolve. Indica, her son, stood poised in the center, his sleek charcoal fur catching glints of pale morning light, he was ready. He had to be.

The opponent—a skinny adolescent cougar—moved with the grace of a creature born to kill. It slunk into view, muscles rippling beneath its tawny coat, golden eyes locked on the young wolf with a gaze that promised blood. Absinth's heart beat a steady war drum within her chest, but her expression remained stoic. This was his trial, his proving ground, and they had prepared him well.

Indica shifted, his body mirroring the cougar’s movements as it drew closer. His gaze was hard, the determination there as clear as the chill biting at the air. The two predators circled, tense, each assessing the other’s strengths and weaknesses.

Then, the moment shattered. The cougar lunged, a blur of claws. Indica met it head-on. The clearing erupted into a frenzy of fur and fangs. Absinth's breath stilled as she watched, every muscle in her body taut with anticipation. Indica's initial defense was strong, his teeth finding purchase on the cat’s shoulder, drawing forth a snarling yowl. But the cougar twisted, leveraging its superior reach, and batted the younger wolf away with a savage swipe. She hissed, urging the boy mentally to make use of the knife she had given him.

Indica staggered, a crimson streak painting his side. He recovered quickly, darting back in with a snarl, but the cougar was quicker. It pivoted with deadly precision, its jaws clamping onto Indica's neck in a heart-stopping moment. Time seemed to freeze, the world narrowing to that singular, terrible sight. A sickening crack resonated through the clearing—a sound that would haunt Absinth forever.

“No…” the word left her lips as an unbidden whisper, raw and jagged. The instinct of a mother within her surged forward, tearing through the mask she'd always worn. She moved, not with the careful calculation of a huntress, but with the blind ferocity of a storm unleashed.

Absinth hit the cougar like a force of nature, her fangs sinking deep into its throat. She was brutal, shaking her maw this way and that, ignoring the claws and gouges the cat opened on her chest. The taste of iron flooded her senses, but it was the beast's death rattle that grounded her, bringing the world back into painful clarity. The cougar slumped, lifeless, beneath her weight, but there was no triumph, no relief—only the hollow silence that followed death.

She turned to Indica’s still form, the light in his eyes snuffed out before their time. His body, once full of potential, lay unmoving, the snow beneath him stained with the red truth of mortality. A crimson slap in the face. Absinth’s chest tightened, a silent, crushing grief pressing in. She told herself, as she always had, that mourning was for the weak. She had spoken those words to others, to herself, and now they came back to her, bitter and hollow.

Oh, Indica.

With deliberate, trembling movements, she lowered her head to touch his, a final gesture of the bond they shared—mother and son, ravens both. And the ravens watched on, low clacks of mourning coming from their beaks, as Absinth stood over her child’s body, the taste of blood and loss sharp on her tongue. She refused to weep, refused to break. Her resolve hardened like frost, a shell against the pain.

This was the way of the world she had shaped him for. This is what it had always been. Cold, unforgiving. It was the way of the world—her world—where strength was forged in the fires of agony. As it always had been.

—

She had brought him back home, cradled one last time in the jaws of his mother. When she arrived, there were no words exchanged as she laid him gently before his father. She met Aresenn's gaze but did not speak, not yet. Turning away, Absinth began to dig, her movements methodical and relentless, the soil yielding under her claws until some deep instinct told her to stop. She lined the resting place with soft bedding, feathers, and the small trinkets Indica had cherished. With reverence, she laid him to rest and covered the grave with a simple mound of rocks.

She sat beside it, unmoving, her body carved from stone. Absinth's gaze remained fixed on the grave, her heart a fortress, refusing to yield to the grief that wanted nothing more than to consume her.




"Absinth Artemisia Inferos"

Aresenn loped across the sparse pines, his paws trampling the brittle autumn grasses. The sun hung low on the horizon, tinting the sky in hues of orange and red that mirrored the fiery colors of the turning leaves. But Aresenn paid no heed to the seasonal beauty around him. His mind churned with thoughts of the trial, replaying each moment over and over.

Pride surged through him as he recalled how Dracun and Araxina had faced the mother bear, working together seamlessly to bring her down and then her adolescent cubs. It had been a thing of brutal elegance. Even the dispatching had been done efficiently, dispassionately. And yet, a thread of unease twined through Aresenn's satisfaction. Had Araxina hesitated a beat too long- Had Dracun been just a little bit slower- What would have happened? He would never forget the pit that had formed in his stomach. The restless unease of how he was meant to let them succeed or fail on their own. Thankfully it had been the former. He wouldn’t have known what he would have done had it been the later.

Aresenn shook his heavy head, trying to dislodge the needling doubts. They had done well, his offspring. Proved themselves worthy. He would not allow anything, even his own misgivings, to taint their victory.

As he grew closer to home, a familiar scent hit his nose, tinged with the unmistakable metallic tang of blood. Aresenn's pace quickened, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. Something was wrong. Very wrong. His amber gaze fell on Absinth’s frame coming into view. But wasn’t just her. It was the limp form of his son, Indica, that commanded his attention. Aresenn froze, his breath catching in his throat as he took in the scene before him. Absinth stood over Indica's body, her emerald eyes hard as steel despite the blood that matted her fur. But it was Indica who drew Aresenn's gaze like a lodestone. His son lay unmoving, his dark coat stained with a spreading crimson.

No words were spoken. None were needed. The truth hung in the air, as heavy and suffocating as the scent of death. Aresenn moved forward as if in a trance, his paws carrying him to Indica's side. He lowered his muzzle, nudging his son's still form, as if hoping to wake him from this nightmare. But the boy remained motionless, his once bright eyes now dull and empty. A low, nearly inaudible, keening whine escaped Aresenn's throat, a sound of raw, primal grief. His son …. gone. Snuffed out. A fire extinguished.

He raised his head, his gaze locking with Absinth's once more. In that shared gaze, a thousand unspoken words passed between them. The weight of their loss, the depth of their grief, the bitter taste of failure - it all hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Aresenn saw his own anguish mirrored in Absinth's emerald eyes, though she held herself with a rigid control that he could not muster.

He watched as she turned away, her movements stiff and mechanical as she began to dig. The rhythmic scrape of her claws against the earth filled the silence, each sound a dagger to Aresenn's heart. He watched her work, numb and detached, as if observing from outside his own body. The world had narrowed to this moment, to the grim task before them. They failed. Aresenn's mind reeled, fractured thoughts chasing each other in dizzying circles. Indica had been ready, they had made sure of that. Every skill honed to a razor's edge, every instinct sharpened to a predator's keen. And yet, here they stood, over the cooling body of their son, their legacy cut short by the cruel whims of fate.

A snarl curled his lip, a flash of teeth in the gathering dusk. Aresenn stepped forward, his movements stiff and deliberate, as he joined Absinth in her grim task. He dug alongside her, his claws tearing into the earth with a ferocity born of grief and rage. The soil yielded under their combined efforts, a final resting place for their fallen son.

As they worked, Aresenn's mind churned, dark thoughts swirling like storm clouds. They had prepared Indica, had they not? Trained him, honed him, molded him into a weapon fit to survive the trials ahead. And yet, here they were, burying the shattered remnants of their hopes and dreams. The bitter taste of failure coated his tongue, mingling with the coppery scent of blood that hung heavy in the air.

Aresenn stepped back from the grave, his breath coming in sharp, ragged pants. His muscles ached from the exertion, but the pain was a distant thing, drowned out by the howling void that had opened in his chest. He stared at the simple mound of earth and rock, marking the spot where his son now lay. It looked so small, so insignificant. As if it could not possibly contain the magnitude of their loss.

He turned to Absinth, searching her face for...what? Comfort? Absolution? He found neither in the hard lines of her expression, in the steely glint of her eyes. She met his gaze unflinchingly, a silent challenge, a dare to give voice to the accusations that clawed at his throat- or of course, perhaps he was only projecting that. "How?" The word escaped him, rough and jagged, scraping past the tightness in his chest. "How could this happen?" His own question ignited his anger. "We prepared him!" he snarled, his hackles rising. "Every skill, every instinct - we gave him everything he needed to succeed.” It was senseless rage. But of course, it was easier for him to process wrath than sorrow. Oh, Indica. How could this happen?

"Aresenn Praetor"

Absinth felt the weight of Aresenn’s question pierce her resolve, each word cutting deeper than any blade. She didn’t flinch as he stood over the grave, fury radiating from him in waves. The accusation, though unspoken, was as clear as the memory of their fallen son hovering between them. Her emerald eyes remained fixed on the freshly turned earth and rocks, where Indica now lay forevermore.

How many times had she looked into those bright eyes, believing they would see so much more of life? The thought pushed against her chest like an iron weight, but she swallowed it down, refusing to let it show.

“How?” His voice, raw and ragged, shattered the silence like a jagged stone. “We prepared him!” The snarl that followed was familiar, yet this time it carried a hollow note, an edge of desperation, like a howl swallowed by an indifferent storm.

Slowly, Absinth turned to meet Aresenn’s eyes, the unyielding set of her jaw betraying the chaos beneath. Her muscles tensed, claws flexing into the soil as if anchoring her against the storm of her own emotions. The grief in his amber gaze mirrored her own, but where his sorrow clawed out in rage, hers tangled silently in her chest, a suffocating mass of loss that grew with every breath.

“We did. Fuck, we did!” she said, her voice as biting and sharp as the winter wind. A pause. She blinked, the memory of Indica’s laughter breaking through, sharp as shattered glass. The words were bitter on her tongue, sharp fragments of shattered hope.

“We gave him everything—every lesson, every ounce of strength we could forge. But the world, Aresenn…” Her eyes flickered to the horizon, where the sun bled into the sky, time pressing forward without mercy. Fuck. She swallowed hard, forcing down the quiver in her voice. “The world takes what it will, no matter how ready we think we are. He wasn’t made for battle.” And none of it mattered now.

A muscle in her cheek twitched, but she forced it still with a clench of her jaw. Her grief was a private torment she would not let see the light of day. If it came flooding out, she feared what she might do. She had much to lose now, too many young lives that had only the two of them. She drew in a breath, the sound shuddering, an attempt to keep her composure. Her claws curled deeper into the earth, grounding herself.

“It fucking wasn’t enough,” she admitted, each word falling heavy, irrevocable. The silence that followed was thick and bristling, made all the worse by the mournful caw of ravens in the distance. Her gaze wavered, her lips parting with a tremor she quickly silenced. “He should never have had to risk his life like that. For what?” Her voice cracked, raw and unbidden, pausing before she forced the next words out. “For these Saxe bastards? For a bullshit cause we don’t even believe in?”

The admission seared, but Absinth let it settle over her like armor, the sting a reminder of who she needed to be. No amount of rage or regret would change the brutal truth before them: Indica was gone. The soil beneath her claws bore witness to their failure, a silent reminder of a loss that victory could never redeem.

Indica's first steps, his uncertain laughter, the way he once looked up to them with trust—all now buried beneath the earth.

She stepped closer, closing the space between them until only the shallow mound of their son’s grave separated them. Her eyes locked with Aresenn’s, not in search of comfort but of shared understanding—an unspoken agreement that neither of them could afford to break, not now.

“This won’t happen again,” she said, her voice a low growl, fierce and unyielding. Her throat tightened, and she paused, taking a shaky breath. “I won’t let it.” But the question, silent yet burning in her mind, remained: how could they ever stop it? If they didn't have a trial to be angry at, to blame, if it had been just fate alone; what path would this grief and rage take then? Absinth couldn't even rationalize it, too consumed by the pain countless mother's had experienced before.

"Absinth Artemisia Inferos"

Aresenn snarled, his teeth bared as he paced beside the grave, his claws tearing furrows in the soft earth. Absinth's words rang in his ears, each one a barbed arrow piercing his hide. "Wasn't made for battle?" he growled, whirling to face her. "We molded him, shaped him, gave him every tool to survive. If he wasn't ready, it's because we failed him!" The words tasted like ash on his tongue, bitter and choking. Failed. The word echoed in his mind, bouncing off the jagged edges of his grief. They had failed Indica, failed to prepare him for the cruelty of the world. And now their son lay cold and still, buried beneath the unforgiving ground.

Aresenn's chest heaved, his breath coming in sharp, ragged gasps as he turned away from Absinth, unable to bear the weight of her gaze any longer. His claws dug into the earth as he stared at the grave, the mound of rocks and soil that now entombed their son. The rage that had burned so fiercely moments before began to gutter, replaced by a hollowness that threatened to swallow him whole. "We failed him," he repeated, his voice a hoarse whisper. The admission tasted like poison on his tongue, but he forced the words out, each one a shard of glass in his throat. "I failed him."

His mind reeled, flashing back to every training session, every lesson, every moment he had pushed Indica, honing him into a weapon fit to survive the trials ahead. But it hadn't been enough. Despite all their efforts, all their preparations, their son lay dead, cut down in the prime of his youth by an unseen predator that had slipped like a shadow between them. Aresenn's heart twisted with the desperate need to claw back time, to rewrite every misstep, every moment of neglect that had led to this catastrophe.

Aresenn stilled, the words sinking into his flesh like fangs. His amber gaze snapped back to Absinth, a dangerous glint flickering in their depths. "You think I don't know that?" he snarled, his voice low and sharp. "You think I don't question every fucking decision that led us here?" He stalked forward, closing the distance between them until he stood in front of her- searching for any insight she had to offer. "We did what we had to do to survive. And now …” His voice broke, the anger crumbling to reveal the raw anguish beneath. "Now our son is dead. Because of the choices we made. Because of a game we tried to play." Aresenn turned away, his shoulders hunched as if bearing an invisible weight. He stared at the grave, at the pitiful mound of earth that now cradled Indica.

Aresenn held Absinth's gaze, the weight of her words settling over him like a shroud. "Never again," he echoed, his voice rough with emotion. The vow hung in the air between them, a binding oath forged in the fires of their shared grief. He looked down at the grave, at the tangible proof of their failure. The sight of it seared into his mind, branding itself onto his very soul. This moment, this loss, would forever define them. It had to. To forget, to move on as if Indica had never been, would be the ultimate betrayal.

Aresenn's claws flexed, digging into the earth as if he could tear the very fabric of fate itself. But the world remained unchanging, indifferent to the storm that raged within him. He drew in a shuddering breath, forcing the air past the tightness in his chest. It filled him with a twisted mix of resolve and desperation. “So what of Abyssinca, Sericea, and Ludovic’s trials?” He asked lowly. Where they really going to stand against the Saxes on this? “Araxina and Dracun were victorious in theirs today …” He had been so proud, but the admission was nothing more than an after thought now.

"Aresenn Praetor"

Absinth’s emerald eyes met Aresenn’s with a fire only he could fully know. The wilderness. The anger. The tension in her muscles was rigid, bunched up like a predator ready to pounce—and in many ways, she was. His words, sharp and full of blame, cut deep, but they brought about something savage in her that wouldn’t let her back down. Of course not.

“Failed?” The word came out like a snarl, but beneath the edge, her mind was already dissecting his grief, analyzing his posture, the tremor in his voice. Not that she would let him get away with it. She stepped closer, her breath hot with fury, her emeralds alight with provocation. “You think you’re the only one chewing on that guilt, Aresenn? We made him. We built strength into him with our own damn paws, thinking it’d be enough.” Her voice cracked, but she swallowed the weakness, her jaw tightening so hard it ached. She stared him down, acknowledging his grief while also unwilling to accept his ignorance of her own. She reached for him, gripping his shoulder to draw him in, pressing his skull against hers so he could feel the weight of her sorrow, her fury, and her understanding. They were one and the same, and even she, with all her hardened apathy, knew it.

“We didn’t fail him,” she snapped, eyes narrowing, daring him to argue. Her mind raced through the choices, every misstep they had taken, replaying like a broken record. “We screwed ourselves, believing strength would outmatch fate. Like our lives could be replicated without the same tests, without the same reality. We got cocky. We thought we could game the world.” Her claws gouged deep into the earth as she tried to anchor herself. Indica’s memory bit at her insides, but she buried it under layers of grit and anger, already calculating how they could ensure this never happened again.

“I failed him,” Aresenn’s voice, shredded with grief, made her hackles rise.

“No.” she spat, a tremor in her usually iron-clad voice, her sharp mind noting the slight shift in his gaze, the sag of his shoulders. She knew his pain, knew it down to the marrow, but she couldn’t let them both drown in it. “We’re the bastards who made him fight in a war we never believed in. We put him in the mouth of that beast. And he was not a warrior! I know! He loved his ravens, his stories—” Her gaze was hard, almost feral, daring him to say otherwise as she choked back her words, memories flashing behind her eyes. Indica was smart, but not brutal.

When he spoke of Abyssinca, Sericea, and Ludovic, she felt a growl bubble up, low and rough. Her mind, as sharp and unrelenting as her resolve, raced ahead—strategies, contingencies, what they could do differently. Those names were more than just their future; they were a goddamn reason to keep going, to fight dirtier, harder. She leaned into him, close enough to feel the shared torment thrumming between them.

“They’ll face what’s coming, and we’ll be there. But not like before. No more feeding them fairy tales of glory. No more playing by rules laid out by the Saxe scum. Even if we have to fix the fights.” Her voice was rough, laced with the bitterness of a promise forged in blood and loss.

The mention of Araxina and Dracun was a jab, a reminder that the wheel of this brutal cycle kept turning. Pride was nothing but an aftertaste now, buried under layers of grief.

“Aresenn,” she said, her voice dropping to a rasp. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, met his, searching for the flicker of understanding, the shared vow. The unity they'd always had. “We don’t win by sticking to their game. We tear the damn board apart.” The vow between them hardened, raw and jagged, like the grief that bound them together.




"Absinth Artemisia Inferos"

Aresenn flinched at Absinth's touch, but didn't pull away. Her grip on his shoulder was firm, unyielding, anchoring him in the maelstrom of his own emotions. He let her press her skull against his, the contact both a comfort and a torment. In that moment, he felt the full force of her grief, her rage, her despair - a perfect mirror of his own. They were one in this, bound by the shared loss that now defined them. He drew in a shuddering breath, letting Absinth's presence steady him. The fury that had burned so fiercely moments before began to cool, tempered by the realization that they were united in their anguish. Aresenn pulled back slightly, just enough to meet Absinth's gaze. In the depths of her emerald eyes, he saw his own pain reflected back at him, but also a steely resolve that he clung to like a lifeline.

"You're right," he said, his voice rough and low. "We built him. We gave him everything we had." The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he forced them out. "And it still wasn't enough." Aresenn's gaze drifted back to the grave, to the pitiful mound of earth that now cradled their son. The sight of it sent a fresh wave of anguish crashing over him, threatening to drag him under.

Aresenn's heart clenched at Absinth's words, each one a dagger twisting in his gut. He remembered Indica's gentle nature, his love for the ravens that followed him, the way he would weave tales for his siblings, his eyes bright with wonder. They had tried to harden that softness, to forge him into a weapon, and in doing so, they had sent him to his death. "He wasn't like us," Aresenn said, his voice barely above a whisper. "He was never meant for this life. And we forced it on him anyway." The admission hung heavy in the air, a damning indictment of their choices. They had been so fixated on preparing their offspring, on ensuring their survival, that they had failed to see the individuality in each of them. Indica had been a dreamer, a storyteller, not a killer. And they had demanded he be something he was not.

The weight of her words settling like stones in his chest. Fix the fights. The idea went against everything they had ever believed, every code they had sworn to uphold. But as he stared at the grave of their fallen son, those old convictions crumbled to dust. What good were rules and honor in a world that cared nothing for their sacrifices? "They'll survive," he growled, the words a vow, an oath sworn on the blood of their child. "Whatever it takes.” His mind raced ahead, already plotting, scheming, looking for any advantage they could seize. The Saxe wanted warriors? They would give them demons, wolves honed to a razor's edge, unbound by any code or creed. Aresenn's lip curled in a snarl at the thought. Let the Saxe choke on their own bloody games.

He turned back to Absinth, his expression hardening with resolve. "Araxina and Dracun, they're strong. They've already proven that. But we can't let our guard down, not for a moment. We'll push them harder, farther, until there's no doubt they can survive anything this twisted world throws at them. All of them." He felt the flames of determination surging through him, igniting a new purpose in the wake of crushing grief. The cold wind whipped past, stirring the impending autumn leaves around their feet like a swirling storm of vibrant colors—each hue a reminder of the life they fought for and the legacy they would leave behind.

Tear the board apart. It was a declaration of war, not just against the Saxe, but against the very fabric of the world they had built their lives upon. And yet, as he stood over the grave of their son, Aresenn found that he no longer cared for the old ways, the codes and creeds that had led them to this moment of unimaginable loss. "Then we burn it all down," he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "Every last piece of their twisted game." His mind raced with the possibilities, the savage delight of tearing apart the system that had demanded such a cruel sacrifice. They would forge a new path, one where their offspring would never again be mere pawns on someone else's board.

Aresenn's claws flexed, digging into the soft earth as if he could rip the very foundations of their world asunder. "We'll teach them to be more than just survivors. We'll make them conquerors, wolves who bow to no one and nothing." The words tasted like iron on his tongue, a blood oath sworn over the grave of their fallen son. Aresenn's gaze locked with Absinth's, amber eyes burning with a feverish intensity. In that shared look, a pact was sealed, an unbreakable vow forged in the crucible of their grief and rage.

"Aresenn Praetor"