“These things have a Queen?” Mair inquired.

  “Seems so. These bears are a strange breed. The Queen seems weak, but she has the respect of the pack. They bring her food in massive amounts, even though she seemingly gives nothing in return.”

  “Why?” Plum asked. “This is far from regular bear behavior.”

  Pervoick’s mouth twisted with hesitation as he decided what to say next. “It’s… it’s likely—though we can’t be sure—it might be the will of Surath.”

  Many students leaned back in their seats, while others looked satisfied, as if their own suspicions had been confirmed.

  Yig’s head turned back and forth, searching for an explanation. “Who’s that?”

  “You’ve read the tale of Mechilpinna?” Pervoick asked him.

  “It ain’t a tale. That’s all true.”

  “Surath is the ruler of the very storm mentioned in the text.”

  Yig drew back like the others, suddenly connecting the dots. He thought the bear had seemed familiar—they acted just like the wolves that had charged into Chestnut Town the night of the attack. Those sorts of details had faded to the back of his mind, overwhelmed by the memory of that man.

  “What were you saying about the Queen?” Slye asked.

  Pervoick snapped back to the conversation, as if the mention of the Storm had shaken him. “She—the Queen—is the leader. And once she’s gone, that will hopefully cripple their structure.”

  Yig looked concerned. “But we can’t be sure?”

  “No, no we can’t. But even though we’re focusing on the Queen, that doesn’t mean we can’t take out a few lower bears while we’re there. And we also have to watch out for the Guardian.”

  They all looked at him in confusion.

  “Yeah. Sounds fun, doesn’t it? It’s a strangely overgrown bear—highly aggressive, too. Anytime a stearna even gets close to the Queen, this thing shows up with violent aggression.”

  “Do you think the Guardian is the reason they all feed the Queen?” Plum asked.

  “Pretty solid theory. But in any case, if we’re targeting the Queen, we should probably have a team focused on the Guardian as well. That’s why I’m suggesting we split into two groups—one to attack the nest, and one to lure the Guardian away to be dealt with elsewhere.”

  “How do you suppose we lead it away from the nest?” Plum asked.

  Pervoick paused, clearly thinking it over, before responding, “I’m still not sure. But if anyone has any ideas…”

  Kacur’s hand shot up, but he didn’t wait for permission. “Honey! I heard bears like honey once. So maybe we dunk someone in honey and have them run around to grab the Guardian’s attention.”

  “That makes no sense,” his sister said, snarky.

  “Where would we even get enough honey to dunk someone in?” Sil added between mouthfuls. “Why wouldn’t we just paint it on?”

  Plum weighed in as well. “And wouldn’t that just attract all the bears?”

  “Okay!” Pervoick shouted, drawing everyone’s attention. “Let’s move on from the honey. So, to go over it again—one team ambushes the Queen while another group distracts the Guardian. Who wants to take on the Guardian?”

  Mair and Kacur both mumbled something about fighting the Guardian, then locked eyes in a tense stare.

  “I’ll say this clearly,” Pervoick said, looking at them with deadpan seriousness. “When the sky falls in! You two are coming with me so I can keep an eye on you.”

  “So, you’re going after the Queen?” Slye asked.

  “I assumed I would.”

  “Okay. Let me and Yig handle the Guardian.”

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  Yig’s face lit up. With a mouth full of food, he mumbled, “Yes, yes!”

  “Why can’t I go with them?” Host barked. “Don’t we want as many people on this thing as possible?”

  “Calm down, Host. I’m sure Slye didn’t mean just the two of them. It’ll probably work in our favor if you go with them. You three handle the Guardian. I, and the rest, will go for the nest.”

  “Shouldn’t we send more people after the Guardian?” Sil asked. “Isn’t it more important? Let me join their team—I want to help. If the Guardian’s gone, the Queen loses her power, right?”

  “We don’t know for sure that’s why she has the status she does. But... you’re not wrong. The problem is, we only have theories—no certainties. Any of our plans, even pulled off perfectly, could still fail. But my best guess is that bears will be guarding the nest. That’s why I’m putting more people on that team. I mean, come on—I feel like Slye and Host can handle one bear, no matter how mad it is.”

  The table nodded in agreement.

  “We can do this,” Pervoick insisted.

  They let out scattered cheers. Then, for a second, they went quiet—and slowly, despair crept in. It was as if all their doubts had wound together into a thick tangle of tension. Even Pervoick frowned. No one truly believed their cheers. No one was sure they could live up to what was expected. But Yig wouldn’t have it.

  “We’ll take them both out,” he said, rising, arms braced against the table. “Them and any other bears we can kill. Why not?”

  “Man, that would be great,” Pervoick replied—hopeful, despite the frustration in his expression at being shouted at by an outsider. “But that’s way easier said than done.”

  “Then let’s do it anyway. If we plan on killing these things, we can’t let ourselves believe in any other outcome. We’ll show up, kill ’em all, and get out. To the wind with chance and limits. Our plan will work—no matter what.”

  Pervoick stood to meet Yig’s gaze, staring back in silence for what felt like an eternity to the surrounding diners. “We don’t want our people to die. I appreciate the enthusiasm, but don’t let that turn into recklessness. Calm down and take your seat.”

  “Exactly. Dying’s not part of the plan. We can’t let ourselves spiral into gloom. We have to believe it’ll work—or it won’t, will it?”

  “Sounds pretty arrogant to me. You really think we should throw ‘caring for each other’ out the window?” Pervoick seemed genuinely emotional—but something in his voice still came off as condescending.

  “No. I’m saying we trust each other completely, instead of letting doubt consume us.”

  “…Yeah.” Pervoick pulled back slightly, voice quieting. “But I won’t lie—you’re still new. We don’t know you yet. And now you expect our complete trust?”

  “That’s what the training’s for, right?” Yig smiled as wide as he could. If anything could win these guys over, it was enthusiasm. That had always worked on… her.

  Some nodded in agreement—Slye among them—but many still couldn’t bring themselves to openly accept Yig. Pervoick leaned back in his seat. “Come on then, Yig. If you’re so smart, give us some of your ideas.”

  Yig sat down proudly, his face reflecting it. “We have next to no information. We need to plan for improvisation.”

  That seemed to win the table over a little.

  The bell rang for the third time that evening. From the kitchen window, steaming trays were placed by the cooks, ready for the waiters to deliver. Pervoick folded forward, resting an elbow on the table and rubbing his forehead. The waiters set dish after dish as requested, steam drifting under everyone’s noses. The team sat quietly, waiting for Pervoick’s signal—until Kacur grew bold enough to ask, “Can we eat?”

  Pervoick exhaled deeply and lifted his head. “Yeah, let’s eat.”

  The waiters, dressed in elegant blue fabric, continued serving food. They brought chunks of meat and cubes of dough, arranged carefully to fit the table’s gaps. Soup came in bowls—likely not intended for their small, individual, wasting boxes. Oh well. Slye would explain.

  As an arm reached over Yig’s shoulder, he caught the powerful scent of the kitchen on the waiter’s clothes. Their cutlery was a thin, sharpened stick meant for stabbing the food. When the dough was pierced, boiling sauces gushed out, pairing perfectly with the meat beside it. Yig’s focus turned fully to his plate. He ate quickly, clearing his box clean—only then realizing Pervoick had hardly touched his food. Slye made a small gesture to catch his friend’s attention. Their eyes met—a moment of silent connection—then Pervoick slowly began to eat, hesitant but compliant.

  “I know you said it was stupid,” Kacur said, voice raised as she chewed, “but my honey plan is still the best we have for luring the Guardian. That’s not a bridge to leave standing.”

  Host set down an empty bowl and reached for more, using the moment to speak. “If the furball has any pride, we just knock a tooth out and let it chase us. Once it’s far enough away, my team surrounds it.”

  Slye’s face scrunched up. “Right—well, we don’t even know if it has ‘pride,’ as you call it. Also, ‘your team’? I don’t remember naming you leader!”

  Yig chuckled. “Well, it seems like she did.”

  “He is correct, though,” Plum added in a posh tone. “We do not, in fact, know how the bear will react.”

  “What if you use your paper rope stuff?” Yig asked.

  “Tying down a bear is one thing,” Pervoick replied, “but pulling something that big—even with multiple people—won’t put enough distance between the Guardian and the nest in the time we need.”

  Their discussion continued as more food arrived. Even after others had left, their table buzzed with ideas. Gradually, their plates emptied, and hours passed before they noticed they were the last ones there—aside from the Chef, who wore a wide grin. He’d clearly been listening.

  When Yig returned to bed that night, he found Spartan exactly as he’d left her—scrunched up in his blankets. He lay down on his back, eyes on the ceiling, focusing on his aura like earlier that day. He tried to activate it again—held it—let it flow through him. It was like flexing a new muscle. The power. The energy. Her face.

  He shot up, grasping his chest as if to protect it. He slowed his breathing as best he could, forcing his mind elsewhere. The sheets? No. The walls? No. Spartan…? Cold… my cheek. He raised a hand and wiped a tear from his eye.

  Forget. Let it pass. Life’s too fun to keep grieving. Just forget about it.