Page 1 of Savage Devotion


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PROLOGUE

“To bend is shame. To burn is honor. The Fang remembers only battle, and I remember only her—our final vow beneath the axes of Vaelmark.”

The clash of forged metal rings through an empty hall where a mirror reflects both a face and its ghost. Two lovers stand apart, bound by loyalty but undone by choice.

1

KAELGOR

Dawn bleeds through the ash-choked ruins of Ember Hollow like infection through a wound. I lead my scouting party deeper into what used to be the heart of our territory, before the Blazing took everything worth keeping. The air tastes of copper and regret.

"Kaelgor." Thane says through the morning haze. "Movement northeast. Could be smugglers."

I raise my fist. The party stops. Five Ironspine warriors, handpicked for their silence and their stomachs—not everyone can handle the smell of burned stone and old death. I learned that lesson three months ago when Jorik puked his guts out near the memorial plaza and drew half a pack of ash wolves.

Focus.The ruins demand attention. One distracted moment here gets you buried under rubble or torn apart by whatever's learned to call this wasteland home.

I pull out my charcoal stick and mark another collapsed watchtower on the hide map. The structure leans at an impossible angle, held up by nothing but stubborn mortar and better engineering. Used to be part of the eastern defense grid. Now it's a monument to how quickly everything can crumble.

The silence here isn't peaceful. It's the quiet that screams at you when you know what used to fill it. Market voices. Children playing between the monument stones. Hammers ringing against anvils in the weapon smiths' quarter.

Kaven would've loved mapping this.

The thought hits before I can block it. My brother had a gift for seeing patterns in chaos, for finding the safe paths through dangerous terrain. He'd have spotted the weak foundation stones I'm marking now, would've known which buildings to avoid and which ones might still hold supplies worth salvaging.

Instead, he's part of the ash beneath my boots.

"Sir?" Thane again. Patient but pressing. "Orders?"

I force my attention back to the task. "Spread formation. Check for recent foot traffic. Smugglers use these ruins to move contraband toward the border settlements. Look for wheel ruts, dropped cargo, anything that suggests regular passage."

The warriors disperse with practiced efficiency. Mira takes point, her tracking skills unmatched in the clan. Jorik and Brost sweep the flanks while Thane and Garok cover our rear. I stay central, updating the map and listening for the subtle sounds that mean trouble.

Everything echoes wrong in Ember Hollow. Footsteps bounce off broken walls in patterns that make it impossible to judge distance or direction. The wind carries voices that might be real or might be the ghosts of conversations held here before the Blazing turned it all to char and memory.

I mark another structure as a shrine to Korrath the Enduring, now missing its roof and half its walls. The heat, capable of melting bronze, split the altar stone clean through. Offerings left by the devout still litter the space: bone charms, metal talismans, carved tokens of protection.

Lot of good they did.

My charcoal stick pauses over the map. This shrine marks the halfway point to the eastern plaza, where the Ironspine memorial stones once stood. My brother and forty-three other warriors made their last stand there against the fire elementals. The fire elementals tore through our defenses like parchment.

I was supposed to be there. Should've been there. Would've been there if not for a twisted ankle that kept me back with the reserve forces, watching helplessly as the flames consumed everything I'd sworn to protect.

Including him.

"Movement confirmed." Mira says, low and controlled. "Fresh cart tracks. Two wheels, heavy load. Trail leads toward the old market square."

That gets my attention. The market square sits at the center of Ember Hollow's ruins, surrounded by collapsed buildings that form natural choke points. Perfect ambush territory, but also the most direct route through the settlement. Smugglers who use it are very confident or very desperate.

"Converge on my position," I call softly. "Silent approach. If they're still in the area, I want to know what they're moving before we engage."

The warriors flow back toward me like smoke, barely disturbing the ash layers that coat everything here. We've trained for this kind of operation since childhood—moving through hostile territory, gathering intelligence, striking fast when the moment presents itself.

But training in familiar forests differs from operating in the graveyard of your own people.

I lead us toward the market square, following Mira's trail markers. The cart tracks are clear enough once you know what to look for: parallel ruts carved into the ash-covered stone, deep enough to suggest significant weight. Whatever they're hauling, it's not grain or textiles.

The surrounding buildings grow taller and more intact as we approach the square's perimeter. The fire elementals had been more focused on the defensive structures and clan halls when they struck, civilian areas like shops and storehouses suffered less direct damage. That makes them attractive to scavengers and smugglers, but it also means more places for threats to hide.