The night was thick as ink.
Inside the main stone hall of Blackwood Fortress, the air felt heavier than the storm outside. The fire crackled in the hearth, its wavering light casting long, distorted shadows across the walls—shadows that twisted and stretched like the unrest in every heart present.
The news had struck like a falling mountain.
To the east, nearly three hundred wanderers were struggling through the blizzard—and they were coming here.
To Blackwood Fortress.
They had heard of the "Silver Wolf." They had come seeking refuge. Seeking survival.
And for this fragile outpost, which had only just found its footing, that number was nothing short of catastrophic.
The discussion had died the moment the number was spoken.
All eyes turned to the girl crouched by the fire.
Lina.
She had not spoken during the debate. She had not even looked up. Only when she heard "three hundred" had her hand paused—just briefly—before moving faster than before, charcoal scratching sharply across the wooden board in her lap.
Numbers. Ratios. Consumption. Limits.
Cold truths, written without mercy.
A moment later, she rose and walked to Colin, placing the board in his hands.
Her face was calm—too calm. No fear. No excitement. Only exhaustion… and clarity.
"Leader," she said evenly, "all our current food reserves were gathered from the forest—taken from the jaws of the Frostclaw Bears, with our lives on the line."
She pointed to a marked section.
"At our current rate, it can sustain twenty people through the winter."
Then her finger shifted, tapping the dense cluster of new calculations.
"If we add nearly three hundred more… even if we cut rations to the bare minimum needed to survive—"
She lifted her gaze.
Her usually timid eyes were steady now, unflinching.
"We won't last a week."
Silence.
No one argued.
No one needed to.
Those numbers were colder than the storm outside.
Linna's hand tightened unconsciously over her stomach. The memory of hunger—real hunger—rose like a ghost. Bark. Mud. The hollow ache that never left.
They had only just escaped that nightmare.
To return to it?
No one had the courage.
"Lina is right…" Linna said hoarsely. "Three hundred people… we can't feed them."
The conclusion hung in the air.
Refusal.
It was the only rational answer.
"…Hah."
A long sigh broke the silence.
Goff.
The old hunter leaned against the wall, his weathered face lined with something deeper than fatigue.
"Lina's not wrong," he said slowly. "But…"
His cloudy eyes lifted, locking onto Colin.
"Among them are elders. Children. But more than that—fighters. Warriors like Haske. People who can hunt. Who can fight."
His voice grew heavier.
"Three hundred people… In this cursed land, manpower is worth more than food."
He paused.
"Winter will pass. But what comes after won't be softened by snow."
A beat.
"This could be a burden… or a gamble."
His lips tightened.
"Or an opportunity."
"The Bear's Spine… we could go back."
Opportunity.
Or ruin.
All eyes turned to Colin.
He had not spoken once.
He sat there, silent, one hand resting on the hilt of the human officer's knife at his waist. His fingers moved unconsciously across it, as though grounding himself in something solid while everything else teetered.
Inside his mind, two forces clashed violently.
Reason screamed.
Impossible.
Insufficient food. Insufficient probability. Certain collapse.
Accepting them is a death sentence.
But—
He looked up.
At Lina's calm exhaustion.
At Linna's fear.
At Goff's desperate, dangerous hope.
And beneath it all—
Something else.
Something that refused to yield.
Colin stood.
The chair scraped harshly against stone, the sound cutting through the suffocating silence like a blade.
Every gaze snapped to him.
When he lifted his head, there was no hesitation left.
Only resolve.
Cold. Absolute.
"Take them in."
Two words.
Sharp as steel.
His eyes met Lina's.
"Your calculations are correct," he said, voice steady. "We don't have enough food."
Then his tone changed—rising, hardening, carrying the weight of command.
"But we will take them in."
No room for doubt.
No room for refusal.
"Starting tomorrow," he continued, "our daily rations stay the same."
A pause.
"Reserve food will be split into four portions."
A ripple of shock passed through the room.
Then—
Colin drew in a breath.
When he spoke again, his voice carried the low, echoing force of a wolf's howl.
"The rest…"
"I will solve."
"I will lead the hunt myself."
"Into the snow."
"Into the forest."
"Into the Bear's Spine."
His eyes burned.
"And we will take our food back—from death itself."
He raised his hand, pointing toward the door.
"Move!"
"Clear every empty shelter! Light every fire! Prepare hot water, herbs—everything!"
A beat.
"Get ready to welcome our comrades."
He emphasized the last word.
Heavily.
Something shifted.
The oppressive weight in the room shattered.
In its place—fire.
Not from the hearth.
From them.
Lina held his gaze for a long moment.
Then, silently, she nodded.
No argument.
No protest.
She returned to her place by the fire, picked up her board, and began recalculating—adjusting, dividing, planning for survival under impossible conditions.
Goff smiled.
A slow, relieved smile.
Linna straightened.
The fear in her eyes faded—replaced by something sharper. Wilder.
Desperation… turned into resolve.
Colin stood at the center of it all.
He knew what he had just done.
The most reckless decision since his arrival in this world.
He had chosen to carry the weight of three hundred more lives.
Chosen a path where failure meant extinction.
But—
As the firelight danced in his eyes—
He also knew this:
From the moment he chose to fight instead of refuse…
The fate of Blackwood Fortress—
And perhaps this entire frozen wilderness—
Was no longer fixed.
It had become something far more dangerous.
And far more powerful.
Possibility.