Gael Jag heard the fall of the mountains from the words that the enemies spoke. He heard how their War Maiden sliced three mountains and destroyed the mountain fortresses that houses the ammunition and supplies for all of the outposts on this island. Gael Jag couldn’t help but check it for himself. He traveled down the river branches of the island and arrived near where a plateau that can act as a vantage point was located. He clambered up the cliffs and scaled up the ceiling-like a lizard. He climbed up, took a look at the north of his position, and saw the mountains that were like a flat open book.

“Impossible,” he said. “How can we fight someone who can do this?”

The mountain was cleaved cleanly. The once boisterous fortress mountain has become a fortress where the wind could enter freely. The banner that once flew proudly on top of the barbican walls were burned. The once heavily guarded walls were emptied and in front of the fortress was a mass graveyard that was like a field of small trees.

Gael Jag’s mind trembled. He unwittingly descended and found himself walking to where the graveyard was. It was dusty and the smell of gravel wafted in the air. He stood listlessly as he watches the graveyard. His only companion was the stray gust of wind, and the gliding leaves that flew to the place he was standing.

“How do we fight a monster that even our bullets could not reach? A monster that has stood over this world for years? Protect it, defending it, and fending off the darkness? Are we the wrong one here? Hey, Gods, are we the one here that deserves to be punished for what we did to her children? Is that it? Is the life of a few not enough of a compensation?”

No words of the divine answered. The man who wanted to help his country was not heard. This was simply the compensation of angering the War Maiden that has stayed too long in this world. However, she was favored and her reign continues as long as she continues to guardian over the bleak parts of humanity. She was the Judicator and her role stays perpetual even if new War Maidens come.

Gael Jag would never know. He was simply a variable that was loosened from the cogs. He may ask the wordless wind and none shall answer him for he had nothing. The Gods only favors the bold and Gael Jag has shown that was nobody. He only watched and observed and all of his resolves have stayed unmoving.

Gael Jag could not be blamed for faltering. He had seen what the Alician’s can do and their War Maiden was a monster that should not stand in the level of humans. She was a dragon on human skin and only a few in this world could dare face the War Maiden who defeated darkness thought to be impossible to defeat.

Gael Jag felt like there was nothing left here. He was about to walk away when he heard the flapping of fabric. He turned to where the sound was and found the other half of the banner of his country. He took it and with hands bleeding. He vowed to the wind that wouldn’t answer him.

“I swear. I swear it! I swear to repay this favor! I swear by the name of Gael Jag! If I am a sheep right now then hear me! I will be the wolf that hunts and drives the predator out of my country!”

The Cascade Nation had a black flag. In that flag was a wolf staring at the moon. Legends say that once upon a time the founders of his nation saw a lone wolf howling at the moon. At that time they saw a Pale Lady who was shining. She was slowly floating up, and the wolf, who was staring at that Pale Lady that Shone, followed. It didn’t matter if it was land or sea. The wolf followed the Pale Lady, and those who saw the wolf followed as well.

Following the wolf, they discovered the many islands of the Cascadian Nation. However, when they discovered the last of the islands, the lone wolf disappeared from everyone’s sight.

“I will follow this bleak path until the end!”

He vowed.

Suddenly, the area around him seems to dim. Gael Jag bolted away from his anger and felt the soothing effect of the tattoo on his left arm. No, that tattoo held him, and in front of him, there was a shadowy figure that rose from the ground. Covered in black smoke, has a skull-like face, and yet has eyes that seem to contain many sigils.

“And so another one howls!” The figure said coldly. “The War Maiden of the Bleak, the Poisoned Thorn, there are only few who walks the bleak path. And after many years another one howls! Another one that is consumed to a path so bleak that it would lead to his heart, breaking!”

The figure eyed the runic tattoo. The figure’s eyes shone with a red streak of light.

“And he has once again has given the path to a pup. No, are you a sheep? Ah, you won’t be a sheep for too long, ah, you shall be the one that roams the pasture that you call an island. You shall be the one that hunts the sheep that follows their shepherd of a maiden. That’s why I grant the eyes of a wolf. For you shall be the wolf that hunts the sheep.”

The runic tattoo grossly transformed into that of a wolf’s fur. Gael Jag could feel burning pain in his eyes, he kneeled on both knees, grabbed hold of his head and shouted, and as his eyes were marked with the sigil of the Shadowed Wolf. The figure was slowly erased, his bone-like jaw cackling as he stares at Gael Jag.

Now hunt, my Shadowed Wolf.

Hunt down the Sheep, and follow your bleak path.