Nimka observed the colossal wolf, Karnak, for a full, unblinking moment. The snow swirled behind him, painting him as a beast carved from winter’s malice. His grin, a horrid display of predatory glee, stretched wider. He began to raise a broad, frost-crusted paw, tipped with claws like obsidian shards, in a slow, taunting wave. “Oh, for the love of the Elden Scribes,” Nimka muttered, her voice devoid of fear, thick with irritation. “Are we doing this *now*? I just found a map.” Before Karnak’s wave could complete, a blur of motion erupted from the shattered window. A smaller, but still immense, grey-furred wolf, with the build of a battering ram, launched itself into the study. It landed with a bone-jarring thud on the flagstones, its eyes, yellow as sulfur, fixed on Nimka. Its snarl was a guttural rumble that vibrated the very ice-carved walls. It took a single, predatory step towards her, muscles coiling. Nimka didn’t flinch. Her gaze darted from the snarling beast to the scattered remnants of her research. The arrow, still quivering, pinned the holographic map to the floor. A thick, leather-bound volume lay open on a nearby table, its pages filled with intricate, archaic script and heavy, gilded illustrations. Her lip curled. “Rude.” Without a moment’s hesitation, she snatched the heavy tome from the table. It was a first-edition compendium of Qol-Gar ethno-botany, weighing a good three stone. She gripped it with both hands, using the surprising strength of the noblewoman’s body, and swung it with the precise, practiced arc of a librarian returning an overdue book to its shelf. Only, instead of a shelf, her target was the charging wolf’s nose. The *THWACK* echoed like a hammer on an anvil. The raider, mid-leap, yelped. Its head snapped back with a whiplash crack, a spray of grey fur and blood erupting from its muzzle. It tumbled end over end, hitting the ground in a pathetic heap, stunned and disoriented, its yellow eyes glazed with confusion. “A basic understanding of projectile physics, you simple brute,” Nimka huffed, dusting off her hands. The compendium slid from her grasp to land with a heavy clatter. Even as the beast hit the floor, a furious growl ripped through the air, vibrating the granite flagstones. Vorgoth, despite the gash still weeping blood down his side, had moved with impossible speed. His towering form was a dark, raging blur. He snatched the dazed intruder by the scruff of its neck, a toy in his grasp, and with a roar that shook the stone arches, launched it back through the shattered window. The unfortunate wolf sailed through the air, a pathetic, thrashing silhouette against the snowy peaks, before disappearing with a distant, sickening *thump* somewhere far below. Vorgoth landed back inside, his chest heaving, his eyes, usually a calm gold, now burning with an infernal, blood-red glow. He whirled to face Nimka, his expression a terrifying mask of controlled fury, blood still dripping from his fangs onto the pristine ice floor. His gaze swept over her, assessing, cataloging, searching for any mark, any sign of injury. “Bald puppy,” he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly growl, thick with suppressed violence. “Are you… harmed?” Nimka had already turned back to the impaled map. “Harmed? No. Interrupted? Vexed? Oh, absolutely. This arrow is an abomination. Look how it’s distorted the runes.” She leaned closer, her brow furrowed in concentration. “And the *howling*.” As if on cue, a deafening, drawn-out howl tore through the Qol-Gar peaks. It was Karnak, his brutish head thrown back, his voice a raw, primal declaration that rattled the very foundations of the fortress. It was a challenge, a demand, a roar of dominance that echoed for miles across the frozen valley. “Hear that?” Nimka snapped, jabbing a finger at the map. “He’s howling. That’s not conducive to proper decipherment. It’s making my teeth ache.” Vorgoth, mistaking her irritation for terror, let out a guttural snarl that vibrated the air around them. His fur bristled, and a low, menacing rumble emanated from his chest. “Karnak,” he spat, the name a curse. “He will bathe in his own blood for this insult. I will tear out his throat and silence him forever, so that his wretched cries never disturb your peace again.” Nimka barely heard him. She was tracing the delicate lines of the holographic map with a fingertip, ignoring the persistent thrumming of the siege-howl that now vibrated through the high study. “The focal point… no, that’s not right. The projection was faint, but the orientation… it shifted. See the glyph of the ‘Sleeping Serpent’?” She pointed. “On the far left, near what I assume is the northern face of the Citadel. It’s marking a hidden entrance.” She looked up, her gaze sweeping around the study. “The Qol-Gar always built with symmetry, but a functional symmetry. There should be a corresponding marker inside the fortress. Something discreet, something that blends.” Vorgoth was still standing guard, poised to leap, his gaze fixed on the shattered window, ears twitching at every distant rumble. His entire being was a coiled spring, ready to unleash untold devastation at the slightest threat to his ‘bald puppy’. Nimka, oblivious to his protective vigil, paced the study, her eyes scanning the floor, the walls, the very air. The map, despite its damaged state, was beginning to reveal its secrets. The ‘Sleeping Serpent’ glyph wasn’t just an entrance; it indicated a *path*. “The sleeping quarters,” she murmured, tapping her lower lip. “Of course. The most private, secure place. What better location for a secret route to the library than directly beneath the Alpha’s, or in this case, the *tribute’s*, quarters?” She marched directly to the bed, a massive structure of carved ice and piled furs that Vorgoth had so meticulously prepared. She pushed aside the thick pelts, revealing the smooth, polished ice floor beneath. Her fingers traced the cold surface, searching for a seam, a faint line, anything that suggested an anomaly. “Aha!” Her finger snagged on a barely perceptible groove. She knelt, pressing down, feeling for a hidden latch. Nothing. She tried a different approach, tapping the ice, listening for a hollow sound. The howls outside reached a crescendo, a chorus of feral hunger, punctuated by the rhythmic *thud-thud-thud* of siege engines beginning their slow assault on the perimeter walls. “Infuriating,” Nimka growled. “They’re rattling the very stones. I can’t concentrate.” She pulled the impaled arrow from the floor with a grunt of effort, sending a fresh wave of sick-green energy rippling through the now-flickering remnants of the map. With a snap, the runic projection collapsed into dull embers. She then took the arrow itself, the poisoned tip still gleaming sickly, and used its hardened shaft to prod at the ice floor. She ran the tip along the faint groove, pushing, prying, ignoring the dark, sickly residue that coated the arrow’s head. With a soft *click*, a section of the ice floor, perhaps two paces wide, shifted inward. The howls from outside were now almost unbearable, a symphony of chaos. Nimka, ever the scholar, leaned in, peering into the darkness, a thrill of discovery momentarily eclipsing her annoyance. “A soundly concealed conduit,” she mused, completely ignoring the battle raging beyond the parapet. “Precisely as a grand librarian would design.” She carefully stepped onto the shifted section, testing its weight, listening to the grinding of ancient mechanisms. She felt a slight tremor, a subtle *give* beneath her feet. The howls outside reached a new, desperate pitch, as if reacting to her movements. The ice panel beneath her dipped further, groaning under her weight. “Hmm. It seems a bit unstable,” Nimka remarked, taking another step. “Perhaps I should have waited for Vorgoth to… oh, bother.” The ice panel beneath her gave way entirely with a sudden, sharp *CRACK*. She plunged into the darkness, a startled gasp escaping her lips as the cold, ancient air rushed past her. She fell, tumbling into the inky blackness, landing with a jarring *thump* on a cold, dusty floor far below. Her head hit something hard, sending a dizzying wave of stars behind her eyes. As her vision cleared, she found herself in a vast, echoing cavern. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and something else… something feral. Shadows danced, cast by faint, phosphorescent moss on the cavern walls. It was a forgotten catacomb, silent save for the distant, muffled howls from above. From the deepest, darkest corner of the chamber, a voice, low and gravelly, cut through the oppressive silence. “Well, well, little bald puppy. You certainly have a knack for finding the most… *unconventional* entrances.” A colossal, scarred form detached itself from the shadows, its eyes like twin rubies gleaming in the gloom. Karnak. He was already down here.

Shushing the Vanguard