Chapter 159
Kane's POV
I stood before the stone gate, my throat raw as if scoured by sandpaper. Behind me came muffled sobs and children's wails, scraping against my nerves like dull blades.
"Make camp here," I said, turning to Steven. "Distribute what's left of the supplies."
Steven nodded and began organizing the warriors to set up a temporary camp.
I watched them work—some kindling fires against the rock walls, others counting what little dried meat and water remained, a few attempting to raise crude shelters from torn hides.
Leah held Toby close, her voice soft as she soothed several crying children, though her own eyes were red-rimmed.
The wounded lay on makeshift stretchers cobbled together from branches and rags, their groans echoing through the canyon. A suffocating atmosphere hung over the entire camp, as if death's shadow had already settled over us.
I walked to the canyon's edge and sat with my back against the cold stone. Dorothy soon followed, settling beside me, her fingers gently covering the back of my hand. We sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, watching distant peaks blur into inky silhouettes in the gathering dusk.
Stars began appearing in the sky one by one, like countless cold eyes gazing down upon our plight. I stared at those stars, my mind in chaos.
Frank's dying words still echoed in my ears, the trusting looks of my people still vivid in my memory, yet now I had led them to this dead end.
"If one day we settle down..." I began suddenly, my voice drifting in the night wind. "Would you..."
The words died on my lips.
The shackles of my past wrapped around my heart like chains—my hands were stained with blood. What right did I have to speak of the future? What right to hope for happiness?
Dorothy turned to look at me, moonlight glinting in her eyes. She didn't press me to finish, instead interrupting without hesitation: "Yes." Her voice was quiet but unwavering. "Whatever you're asking, yes."
In that moment, something caught in my throat. I wanted to say something, but in the end I only tightened my grip on her hand. Our fingers intertwined in the darkness, each other's warmth the only comfort in this cold night.
Silence spread between us, but this time it wasn't suffocating—instead it carried a subtle warmth.
I looked at her profile, at how the moonlight traced soft lines along her cheek, and felt a complex surge of emotion—gratitude, guilt, and something else I didn't dare name.
---
The next morning, I stood before the stone gate again. Dawn light filtered through the canyon, illuminating the ancient runes. I took a deep breath and shouted with all my strength.
"Stone Ridge Pack! I beg you to open! We need sanctuary!"
My voice echoed through the canyon, over and over, finally fading into the mountain wind. The stone gate remained motionless, the runes not even flickering.
My heart sank bit by bit.
On the third day, when I opened my eyes, the camp's atmosphere had turned deathly. Food and water were completely gone—people could only lick dew from the rocks to barely survive. The children no longer had the strength to cry, just stared at the adults with hollow eyes.
At dusk, the first of the wounded stopped breathing.
He was a young warrior, badly injured in the mountain ridge battle. Leah had tried her best to care for him, but without medicine or food, his wound had grown increasingly infected. When he drew his last breath, his mother let out a heart-wrenching wail.
That sound pierced my chest like a blade.
I walked to the stone gate again, but this time my voice held no plea—only accusation. "You'll just watch us die?!" I was nearly roaring. "Wasn't it you who left guidance on the Wall of Sighs, telling us to come to Echo Valley?!"
I remembered those words, remembered the direction they pointed, remembered the hardship of our journey. If not for those hints, we never would have come here!
"Why give us hope only to push us toward despair?!" My fist slammed against the stone gate, pain shooting through my knuckles. "Answer me!"
Only echoes. No response.
---
On the fourth day, I no longer knew how much longer I could hold on.
I stood before the stone gate, my throat nearly voiceless from days of shouting, my lips cracked and bleeding. Behind me came not crying but a chilling silence—the silence of absolute despair.
"Stone Ridge Pack!" I rasped, my voice broken and hoarse. "You hide in your mountain thinking you can stay above it all?! Blood River won't spare anyone! When they gather all the elemental powers, your stone walls will be blasted to rubble!"
Blaze roared in the depths of my consciousness, his rage nearly breaking through my sanity. I felt my claws beginning to extend, fangs piercing my gums, the world before me starting to tinge red.
I struggled frantically on the edge of losing control, using my last shred of reason to suppress the surging beast within.
Just as I was about to completely break down, a small figure suddenly emerged from the gap beneath the stone gate.
It was a goblin, barely reaching my waist, with gray-brown skin rough as stone. He wore a leather vest, various tools hanging from his belt, his pointed ears alert and upright.
"I'm Flint," the goblin said in a high-pitched voice, his tone dripping with contempt. "Stone Ridge Pack's diplomat."
He coldly surveyed our group, his gaze sweeping from me to the ragged, emaciated people behind me.
I saw a mocking smile curl his lips.
"Stone Ridge doesn't need refugees," he said deliberately, each word like an icicle stabbing my heart. "Especially refugees being hunted by Blood River."
His words were like ice water poured over my head—I felt all the blood in my body freeze. Behind me came suppressed sobs, and I heard someone whisper desperately, "We're finished."
"But—" Flint's tone shifted, a cunning glint appearing in his small eyes. "Stone Ridge needs people of real value."
I stared at him intently, waiting for him to continue.
Flint raised his hand, pointing east. "Fifty miles east of Echo Valley, there's a pack of rogues. They raid caravans, murder innocents—they're a blight on this land." He paused, his smile growing colder. "If you can eliminate them and prove you have the strength to protect your people, Stone Ridge will reconsider accepting you."
As he finished speaking, several goblins emerged from the gate's gap, carrying out several heavy cloth sacks. Flint kicked one of the bags. "Three days' worth of food and water. This is Stone Ridge's mercy, and your last chance."
He looked up, fixing me with those cold little eyes. "Three days from now, I'll return to check the results." His voice held no warmth. "Remember—we don't want beggars. We want people of real value. If you fail, don't bother coming back."
With that, he turned and disappeared back through the gap, the other goblins quickly following. The massive stone gate remained sealed, the runes falling silent again, as if everything that just happened had been an illusion.
I stood there, staring at the bags of food and water on the ground, my mind blank.
Was this a test, or an insult?
But I had no choice.
I turned around, looking at my people watching me with eyes full of hope and trust.
Steven, Leah, Dorothy, and all those elders and children—they had placed all their hope for survival in my hands.
"Distribute the food and water," I heard myself say, my voice unexpectedly calm. "Tomorrow at first light, we head east."
Dorothy came to my side, her hand gripping mine once more. I looked at her, at the light shining in her eyes—not fear, but trust.
"We'll survive," she said softly.
I nodded, squeezing her hand tighter.
Yes. We would survive.
No matter the cost.