Memories were fragile. They fluctuated, decayed, changed, eroded. Memories passed through the window of dreams, probably even more so. Dreamy memories that had been the foundation of shame, rotted into hatred until it was poisonous, were they any more reliable than lies? Than stories? Ones passed down for generations, translated over and over to suit the teller? 

Was the heavy sensation Ira carried in the back of his skull confusion? He didn't feel confused--he didn't think so, anyway. He had been confused before. Last summer, when Father Pine had revealed to him the true purpose of his pilgrimage and the how of how exactly he had come to be placed under his care. But as Ira huddled in the dark, hearing from the Prince's own mouth that they had been enemies, friends, casual acquaintances--that the Prince had walked away. That the Prince had not seeped into every single one of his lives in an all consuming way--it didn't feel like confusion. It felt like just one more thing he'd gotten wrong. One more rotten piece of wood in the home he had built to house his identity as the Soul of the Progeny--whatever that meant. 

It seemed like Soul meant bargaining chip--maybe hostage--and nothing else these days. Even that he had come this far, did it have anything to do with his reputation? No. It had everything to do with Melchior Brisbane and not much else. It seemed like even saving the world had just become an excuse. A reasoning to spew out before he ran away to chase demons across Hell. 

His--not Ira's, they had nothing but present time--but his history with the Prince seemed to be just another of these things Ira didn't want to waste time pondering. Another of the inaccuracies he had built his hate upon. 

So the feeling, whirling and expanding to fill all the his skull with white noise, was guilt. Guilt that Ira had been--maybe--wrong. That Ira had been made to feel wrong. That he had spent hours in testimony for crimes that maybe, that maybe, he never really fully understood. Guilt for hiding in the dark, listening to Bezel talk about his Soul as if it was a foreign concept. Guilt for letting the punishment stand--not that Ira knew how to fix it. If Ira being so close couldn't return his feelings, what possibly could? 

Maybe Bezel would have some ideas on how to fix it--maybe Bezel would be mad, or something like it, at Ira for lying. Maybe he would only be more hurt if his feelings were returned. After all, Ira didn't love Bezel. He loved Melchior. He had gone to Hell for Melchior. 

Like how Bezel went to Hell for you. Ira winced at the thought and shoved it quickly aside.

That uncomfortable guilt became his last defense. The last piece of who Ira Rule was--a scorned and pitiful creature who hated the Third Prince. A demon slayer. One who certainly never stopped to ask if demons were truly the worst kind of monster. If they were monsters at all.

Ira dug his claws into his guilt, dragging it deeper into the depths of himself. The glue that kept himself familiar. He would be lost without it. He would be a reincarnated Ira. An Ira who put aside the Ossein daggers. An Ira that could not exist, contrary as his current company kept him, because an Ira who was weak to demons wasn't an Ira that could return to New York and become the next Cardinal.

Ira cast an inconspicuous glance towards the greater demon responsible for stripping him of his last few dregs of resolve. The Prince trailed a considerable length behind Jaeha while maintaining a solid lead on Ira. A distance that was stretching on both sides as he came to a stall. Boots skidding in the thick carpet of rotten leaves and tangled roots, he creased up his oil-black eyebrows and pressed one flattened palm to the gray bark of an oddly twisted tree.

"Stop, stop," the Prince ordered in a hushed whisper. 

Jaeha, the only one oblivious to the Prince's scrutiny, obediently slowed. He spun on his paws and came trotting back, head cocked in part to show his confusion and, in part, to listen to their hushed exchange. 

"Are you sure we aren't walking in circles?" Bezel asked. "Actually, better question. If we are walking in circles, is it by design?" 

"Fetor?" Ira guessed.

He blinked his eyelashes at the tree Bezel had become fixated on. If it was familiar--it wasn't to Ira. He didn't feel the way he had before, stuck in timeless loops beneath Jaeha's control. His head didn't spin. His limbs didn't feel full of prickles or ice. He just felt like, well, just like someone hiking endlessly through the early morning hours. Which was to say; miserable. His joints ached, his stomach protested, and his lungs rasped on the draw. None of these things he could blame on magic wolf barriers.

"I don't feel anything. Do you?" Ira asked after his internal diagnoses had produced no interesting results.

To his question, Bezel hesitantly shook his head. "Not anything like Fetor, but I don't. . . not feel anything? I feel like we've just made a mistake but I can't place it."

Ira considered that particularly creepy statement with haphazardly simple dismissal. "We're both pretty lucid right now. It wasn't like that before. Maybe we just keep going--a tree is a tree, right? They can only look so many different shapes." 

"I don't think moving forward is our safest option," Bezel pressed gently, "it feels like a bad idea."

"It. . . feels bad?" Ira snorted incredulously. "Ah, yes. A grand point, Princess. Now, can we please keep going? I don't want to spend another night in a crevice."

"Typical Heimrian behavior to disregard gut feeling in favor of instant gratification." Bezel grumbled bitterly.

"You're basing a whole lot of this predicament on feelings you apparently don't even have!" Ira retorted churlishly--and then instantly wished he hadn't. "Uh, I . . . I didn't mean-"

"See?" Bezel said, unbothered as a weed in a field, "classic display of a Heimrian disregarding finer instincts for instant gratification."

Ira sniffed childishly at that but didn't make any noise to disagree--to that motion. He had plenty to say about the rest. "Okay, yeah. I could have been nicer, but I still think you're being ridiculous. We're closer to finding Mel than ever, and you want us to stop because you got the creeps?"

"Not stop," Bezel winced, "just. . . find a different way of going about it."

"You want us to turn back?" Ira surmised. "Not gonna happen."

"Jaeha?" Bezel asked pointedly. He turned to stare at their demonic dog companion, so Ira did, too. Jaeha was small for a Ze'ev--instead of draft horse big, he was only slightly larger than a gray wolf--but his size seemed to half under their attention. He sniffed anxiously and lowered his belly to the loamy forest floor. "What do you think? Fetor or a coincidence?" 

"I-" his voice trickled out into a helpless whine, "do not have an answer." 

"You don't know?" Ira said sharply. Jaeha flinched--and then Ira really felt like a villain for snapping at what was hardly more than an oversized puppy. He exhaled forcefully, scraping his fingers back through his tangled yellow hair. "Okay, yeah. . . it's okay. . .we're okay. Let's, uh, just keep going. Okay?" 

"Any more 'okay's in you?" Bezel muttered sardonically. 

Luckily, Bezel wasn't protected under the same category of fuzzy animals no person should be mad at so Ira made no efforts to soften the resulting glare he leveled at him. Bezel returned his look with a tilted smirk. Ira rolled his eyes and snorted dryly. The exchange only lasted a second, and then they were both turned back towards Jaeha for answers--which he seemed no more ready to provide. He shifted stiffly on his paws, whining airily. 

"It could be Fetor," he supplied in his rasping bark, "or. . . not? It is. . . near scentless, if any. Guard are the best of us."

"Alright," Ira sighed wearily. "So we're lost?" 

"No!" Jaeha barked with a firm nod. "I am keeping us true. We will be there soon. Hopefully, without interception." 

Ira smirked back at Bezel. "See? We're almost there. Your tree is just a tree. And Jaeha doesn't smell anything. I'd say this is the best luck we've had since Brooklyn. Mahan Raj hasn't even caught up with us yet."  

"That doesn't mean there aren't wolves around." Bezel pointed out stiffly. "It just means they're letting us move forward uncontested--and somehow, that's worse." 

"Maybe they're letting us run our course? Bringing Jaeha back ourselves. I mean, at some point, someone hired Mahan Raj to deliver Jaeha to the Wolfking. So what if we step in for him? At least we aren't going to kill him out of frustration." Ira shrugged. 

Jaeha whined again. He pawed at the earth, anxious as a puppy at the vet, but supplied no further explanation.

"I don't think so." Bezel said dryly.

Ira rolled his eyes. "More gut feelings? Maybe you should try a juice cleanse, Princess."

"Cute." Bezel huffed. "Just remember that you didn't want to listen to me when you're being gnawed on like a new chew toy."

"As long as I get closer to Mel, I don't care." Ira snarked before crashing ahead through the dense trees. The finality of his march seemed to make the decision for them all. Jaeha turned on his paws and returned to his lead, bringing them through the tight trees and grabbing branches.

Bezel grumbled a series of complaints but fell into step obediently, seeing as his only other option was to be left behind.

They slipped through long shadows, each one more full of chill than the last. Ira's fingers tapped along the wooden handles of his sister daggers. The nearness of the Ossein all that could soothe his own nerves. 

"Uh, Jaeha," Ira finally found it within himself to speak up. The wolf's ears fluttered back in recognition. "Can you maybe tell us about the Wolfking?" 

Bezel glanced at Ira with as much perusal as he had given the tree moments ago. "Bored, darling?"

Ira resisted the urge to stick out his tongue at the greater demon. "I'm trying to navigate the playing field, not go for a round of eye-spy or license plate bingo."

"License plate who-go?" Bezel lifted one arched brow.

"Forget it," Ira waved his palm, "we stand the best chance of beating the Wolfking if we don't go in clueless."

"You can not." Jaeha barked. "No one has ever--will ever--defeat the Wolfking in fair combat." 

"Yeah, yeah," Ira groaned, "you've said. Did you. . . " Ira hesitated, unsure if he was crossing lines in their fragile new alliance. He sucked in a steadying breath before carefully completing his question. "Did you fight the Wolfking? Is that why he--uh, hurt your leg?" 

Jaeha whined again. A deeper noise, cousin to a weak growl. "That was not a fight. It was only cruelty from the Mad King." 

Ira opened his mouth to pull on that particular thread--but Jaeha put speed into his three good paws and widened the gap between them even further. A message Ira received quite clearly. 

"The Mad King." Bezel echoed distantly. He drifted off into whatever private spiral of thought those words had triggered in him. Going complacent and quiet. Ira, more unnerved by the sudden switch off than he would admit aloud, slipped up into the space at Bezel's elbow and blinked his wide blue eyes at the Prince, inquisitive without begging for answers. Bezel painted a frown across his lips, confusion drawing his dark eyebrows together. 

"What?" Ira whispered.  

"It's just strange," Bezel returned in the same lowered voice, "he called him the Mad King." 

Ira muffled the shock that bubbled up past his teeth, swallowing it with great effort. "Well, isn't he? I mean what he did to Jaeha's leg-" 

"No, listen." Bezel interrupted. "Not the Wolfking. The Mad King." 

"So what? If I called you Daisy it wouldn't make you any less Bezel Pangeran." Ira scoffed. 

"You aren--wait, Daisy? Why Daisy?" Bezel scowled. Ira shrugged--unwilling to admit the certain princess the name brought to mind. "Okay, forget it. I've been trying to understand our enemy. Why after centuries of exile would the Wolfking suddenly leave the Tachtadh? Why did he maul Jaeha? Why is he trying so desperately to find him now? Why is Jaeha willing to go back? Every actions seems contradictory to the last. If he kept them imprisoned, why would he suddenly let them go? If he wanted Jaeha dead, why bring him back? If Jaeha fears him so much, what loyalty ties them together?"

"And you've figured it out?" Ira assumed. 

"Not. . . yet," Bezel corrected sheepishly. "But I have an idea?" 

"Alright," Ira muttered begrudgingly. "Let's hear it then. Your great theory." 

Bezel scrubbed his flat palms down his face wearily, then up into his hair to comb the longer lengths of black from his eyes. "I think we're dealing with two Wolfkings."

The declaration hung in the air. Ira, too unsure what to do with it, let it. "You think--you think. . . what?"

The Prince rolled his cat eyes, "I think there are two Wolfkings."

"Yeah, heard you the first time." Ira clarified. "That wasn't the issue."

"Think about it, darling. The Mad King--not the Wolfking. I think the Ze'ev who kept them in the Tachtadh, the wolf who harmed Jaeha, was King Kago." Bezel explained.

Distantly, as if in a dream from years ago, the name Kago sounded familiar. Mayvalt had mentioned him in her grand rousing speech, the one where she had first propositioned Ira to go to Hell in blind hope of finding Melchior.

"Alukah said someone took the wolves away. Jaeha said they left the Tachtadh because the Wolfking lost control. He must have meant that there was a change in the hierarchy." Bezel continued.

Ira considered it for a moment before shrugging. "Fine, that was King Kago and he sucked. Now there's a new king, he's got new ideas. Angels, who cares? I certainly don't. If we get there and find out they're holding a fuzzy presidential election, as long as Melchior's there, I'm all for it." Ira grumbled. Maybe it was the lack of breakfast or all the walking--but his temper was beginning to wane. 

"You're missing the crucial point, darling." Bezel sighed. "King Kago ruled for centuries, and not because he asked nicely. He was renown for his strength and cruelty. If someone defeated him--it means they're better. Stronger. Maybe crueler. Maybe when Jaeha says no one has ever defeated the Wolfking--he means it. Maybe this new king has power enough to defeat a Prince."

"Someone who could hurt a Prince? Is that even possible without a Vestige?" Ira pondered.

"Kago was--very distantly and with some small text attached, granted--blood of my kin. He was only two generations removed from Mammon himself, sired by Alukah's son Neukddae." Bezel explained wearily. 

 "Someone with enough punch to knock a serious player off the board?" Ira murmured half-heartedly, "does that sort of person really exist?"

Bezel glanced at the Vestige held in his grasp. "I could think of someone." He muttered.

"Really? Wh-"

Whatever great revaluation Ira stood on the cusp of went undiscovered as the shadows came alive. From each brush, tree, and tangled root--monsters launched forward. Claws glimmering and snarls echoing up their throats. Bezel reacted quickest, his golden cat eyes flashing in the low light as he yanked Ira towards his back. Ira just barely managed to keep his feet beneath him, slipping in the heavy leaf rot, as he ripped his daggers from his belt. He lowered himself instinctually, raising his blades to shield his vulnerable chest. Bezel swung out with the long reach of the Vestige. The black glass blade whistled through the air, chasing back the shadowy creatures who had leapt forward. They retreated, snapping their jaws and barking in communication as they circled. 

Ira blinked down the panic constricting his vision. Slinking beneath the benefit of the dusky shade, shoulders rolling under their rich coats, were wolves. Ira's head made quick snapping movements in each direction. Six--at least. 

Further down the path, Jaeha yelped in alarm. The sound was met with a howling snarl and the sounds of bodies colliding. 

Angels! Jaeha! Ira's legs twitched to run to him--an instinct that was quickly stopped by the surging snapping teeth that lunged for him. Ira sucked in a gasp and struck out with his Ossein dagger. Ira angled his hand and with the blunt wooden handle of Melchior's tooth knife, he glancing off the side of the wolf's jaw bone. The creature yelped and retreated, head shaking to clear away the dull impact. The Ze'ev sunk back into the circling pack, soon becoming just another of the wisps parading between light and shade. 

Another pained screech cut through the night forest--a whimpering that curled Ira's stomach painfully. 

"Jaeha!" Ira shouted, eyes locked on the threat between them. 

Another wolf launched forward, teeth barred and claws extended towards Bezel. The Prince twisted the Vestige, using the flat side surface of the sword like a bat, he knocked the wolf off balance with a dull thump to its shoulder and ribs. The Ze'ev rolled through the leaves, snarling in displeasure, before slipping seamlessly back into the circling pack. 

Cold sweat ran down the length of Ira's spine, sending shivers down into his hands. From further down the trail, the sounds of fighting had picked up. The sharp clacking of teeth on teeth--claws ripping at the earth, paws thudding. A deeper yelp than Jaeha's sliced the dim. 

Ira wished he hadn't placed his back to Jaeha--hadn't let him go so far forward that he was nearly indistinguishable in the dusk, even if Ira had the nerve to twist his neck. A wolf barked, yipping in urgency. Sticks snapped, footsteps retreated hurriedly back towards the body of the pack. The formation rippled, twirling to face the wolf fast approaching. Alarmed barks of surprise followed as the wolf leapt--he passed the barricade and crashed into the forest floor near Ira's boot. His three-legged stance unable to catch the full balance of his landing, no doubt. Recovering quicker than a flash of lightning, Jaeha threw himself back to his full height and lowered into a warning snarl. He slipped seamlessly into the defensive wall Ira and Bezel had formed with their bodies and blades. 

The six--now seven as the black wolf Jaeha had tangled with caught up with his escape--seemed unwilling to circle now. They traded yips of information back and forth, heads cocking and tails held stiffly. Jaeha traded back a warning bark, lips curling to reveal pearly white fangs dripping with silvery saliva.

From the pack, one lone wolf slipped threateningly forward. The one who had arrived on Jaeha's heels. Head lowered, vicious snarls rumbling like live bees in the pit of its black chest. The Ze'ev was effortlessly larger than Jaeha. Angels, all of them were. Its teeth impossibly more imposing. Pinned in sharp aggression at the top of the wolf's head were a set of mangled ears. One, full and pointed, but the other blunt near the base where it had been torn off. The wolf's glowing golden eyes pierced the darkness. The creature parted its jaws, rasping wheezing noises slithered down its pink tongue. 

"Step away," he gargled in non-wolf speech, "from the prince." 

Bezel tensed, hands twitching on the hilt of the Vestige. Ira raised his daggers and narrowed his eyes. Jaeha rumbled back, his hackles raising along the line of his spine. It was his replying bark the cemented their refusal. "No." 

The Ze'evs whined, snarled, and shifted on their paws. The ripped-ear wolf's head flinched back as if scorched. He shook off the shock and stepped forward, throat shaking with intensified growls. "Give us the prince." He rumbled. 

"Uh," Bezel interrupted, one hand raised in polite question, "you're not here for Jaeha? You want. . . me?" 

Some of the Ze'ev barked in chittering laughter--others paused for a moment, head cocked as if in befuddlement. Ira wanted to mirror them. Nothing was making sense, and that was a sentence he was getting quite tired of toting around. 

It was the black wolf who answered, seemingly their leader. He lifted his head, narrowing his golden eyes in clear disgust, and sneered with his weapon-filled mouth. "I know you not. I care not. Give us the prince and, in gratitude, we shall make your death swift." 

"The-" Bezel's eyes widened, his mouth popped open in theatrical display of his newfound understanding. Ira was slower to the kick, his mind still addled by electrifyingly sharp bolts of adrenaline and panic. "The prince--the Wolfking's prince." 

Jaeha whined, ears fluttering. 

"Heir to the King of Light, the Wolfking's progeny." The black dog agreed with a sharp snap of his jaws. "Prince Jaeha T'kor." 

"Oh." Ira breathed out, shuddering. "Yeah, that prince." 

"The Light Guard is not so cruel that we can not show our thankfulness." The Ze'ev said chillingly. "If you refuse to fight, we will not rip your bodies into pieces. We will be quick with your deaths, hound hunters, despite how little you deserve it." 

Jaeha barked warningly at the same time, Ira shoved his Ossein daggers back into his belt and lifted his palms in surrender. "Wait--wait, wait, wait! I think, uh, I think there's been a misunderstanding. Like--a huge misunderstanding!" 

The black dog tilted his head, non-existent eyebrows raised in disbelief. "I do not agree. You took payment to return the prince to the Wolfking, you are the hound hunter Mahan Raj, and we will kill you in retribution. The wolf's day of hiding in shadow, in filth, in misery, are ended. We are reclaiming our spot among the rest and any who stand in the way will be dealt with." 

"Ah!" Ira cried victoriously, "see? We aren't Mahan Raj--or any of his demons--and no one paid us to bring Jaeha back! We're just. . . unaffiliated travelers." 

The black dog jeered at that, head shaking. "Travelers do not wander this far into the Sikker." 

"They have come to challenged the Wolfking," Jaeha answered with a hurried bark. "They are not hunters." 

The black wolf turned on him, teeth barred and threatening--if being the prince meant anything to the rest of the Ze'ev, it clearly didn't to this one. "You will remain in silence unless spoken to! The Wolfking will handle you and the-" he paused, mind whirling, "mess! You have made yet again, pup!" 

Jaeha launched himself forward, snapping at the air until the black dog's shocked expression slid back into place. "Not a pup! I killed a Beast. I killed more than one! I split up the hound hunters, I turned one mad with my Fetor, and I have passed my trial!" 

The black dog recovered, surging forward until his raised head was scant centimeters from Jaeha's. Their eyes met in the dim, electric sparks trading back and forth with vibrating intensity. "You have passed no trial, pup, if there was no trial ever offered to you." 

"It should have been! It is my right!" Jaeha demanded, silvery spit dripping from his maw. It reflected like liquid moonlight, speckled like disgusting stars were it landed across the leaves and moss. 

The wolf snorted, cold amusement clear in his golden eyes. "The only right you have now is to face the Wolfking and plead mercy." 

Jaeha recoiled, ears flinching. Seemingly satisfied at this, the lead wolf turned his head and spun on his paws, placing his undefended back to Jaeha like he knew the fight had been ended and no one would dare begin again. Which, for the moment, Ira was content with. Once facing the six snarling wolves that made up the body of his small platoon, he gave harsh rasping orders in his native bark. With each snap of his jagged teeth, Jaeha sunk further into the forest floor. The dog dipped his head dismissively, and upon his signal, the remaining six Ze'ev dissolved back into the treeline. As suddenly as they had appeared, they disappeared. It was a sort of brutal efficiency that made Ira's skin prickle with awareness. In one blink, Ira had been surrounded by prowling animals and in the next--he was standing alone in a forest that could have passed for peaceful.

If they hadn't pounced, Ira didn't know how long they could have trailed. Until they fell asleep at night? Until they were at their most vulnerable? The ideas weren't comforting, and neither was Bezel's childish 'I told you so' looks Ira could feel on the back of his head. 

The seventh wolf watched until the rest had folded back into the heavy brush, then with nothing left to hold his attention he turned back to Jaeha. Disdain clear in his predatory eyes. He snapped his teeth and slinked away down the trail, heading forward opposed to the rest of the Ze'ev. 

"What. . ." Ira tensed his throat, forcing down a knot that had been formed there, "just happened?" 

Bezel shrugged unhelpfully. "Maybe ask the other prince." 

Jaeha winced at that, his wide eyes downcast shamefully. "I apologize, companions. I did not wish to be dishonest but. . ." he gestured lamely at his scarred leg with his black nose, "I did not want to paint the kingdom with the weakness of the one who stands to inherit it." 

"You're not weak, Jaeha." Ira scowled before he could stop himself.  "I'm still a little confused but I think you just saved our lives." 

Jaeha nodded his head shyly. "Beom Dal'ha surely would have killed you but he can not kill a challenger of the Wolfking. It is against our ways." His tail gave a nervous wag, his shoulders straightening. "And perhaps only momentarily, but I beat him. He had me pinned but I was able to reach you both, companions." 

"You did." Ira laughed, relief all he could feel now that the climax of the threat had passed. "What is that guy's problem anyway?"

Jaeha sighed sourly, his temporary happiness quickly faded. "Beom is. . . he thinks I am unserious. And weak. And not suited to be the Wolfking." 

"Maybe there's better things to be than a Wolfking--I mean if he's your father and he maimed you then-" 

Jaeha whined sharply, shaking his head in disagreement. "No not--not the. . . " he sighed drearily, head lowering impossibly further. "Father is. . . father, yes, but father is also not-" he snapped his teeth in frustration. "You will just have to see, companions. Come on now. Beom is taking us back." 

"Oh, goody." Bezel commiserated. "And the other wolves? Are they stalking us in the shadows?" 

"They were sent to-" Jaeha's explanation was buried by the low howl that sliced through the dim. Ira spun on his heels, chasing the distant echo with his uselessly blinded eyes. Near enough to follow the exchange by the noise, but far enough that the dark trees swallowed the scene of it, the hair-raising call was met with the sounds of human--or something human enough--shouting. Bodies colliding, fervent barking, and then screams of rage, pain, and terror. "-carry the message." 

"Th-the message?" Ira shivered. The symphony of ripping flesh echoed wetly through the dusk. It occurred to him just how close he had come to being the instrument. 

"That we will take no more," the growl answered. Ira flinched despite his best efforts. Half shrouded by the shade of a gloomy gray tree, the other Ze'ev stood. His smirk--or the half snarl he wore across his sharp fangs--was ghastly enough to fill Ira was brand new nightmare fodder. Not that his subconscious needed the aid. "The hunters were closer than I am sure you recognized, pup."

Jaeha sunk towards the loamy earth, ears pinned with shame. 

"Now come on. The Wolfking has done quite enough waiting." Beom snarled.