Chapter 6: Misunderstandings Or Speculations

The wind rustled through the snow-heavy trees above the cave. Icicles clinked softly against bare branches, and the campfire crackled as orange sparks floated up into the cold air like fireflies. Ezra sat quietly near the flames; hands wrapped around a flat stone plate where he’d just finished eating a slice of grilled fish. The others. Marcus, Lucas, Gena, Mary, and Peter. Lay stretched across the cave floor on big palm-like leaves Ezra had cut for bedding.

The air inside the cave smelled of pine sap, smoke, and a hint of ash. It was warmer now, thanks to the fire and the stone walls that trapped the heat. Shadows danced along the walls, and outside the cave’s mouth, the world was completely black, except for the occasional glint of moonlight reflecting off untouched snow.

Peter, the boy who had been badly injured when they first arrived, leaned against the cave wall, his head supported by Gena as she spoon-fed him water from a wooden cup Ezra had carved. He was awake now, pale and groggy, but alive.

"Thank you again," Marcus said, breaking the quiet. "I mean it. For everything."

Ezra sat with his legs crossed near the fire, poking at the embers with a stick. "No problem," he replied flatly, though his voice sounded distant.

He stared into the flames for a moment longer, thinking. He felt nervous in their presence. He wasn’t used to speaking with people outside of his mother, the maids, and a few guards, but he knew those thoughts didn’t matter here. This was a trial where everyone was an enemy, where a single mistake could get you killed.

That was why he felt this way.

Something about this group’s sudden appearance didn’t sit right.

"What actually happened to you guys?" he asked finally, shifting the stick in the fire again. "I mean, I’ve been out here for days and haven’t run into anything crazy. Just snow, fish, and cold. But looking at you all... something’s off. This trial was supposed to be about survival, not an all-out war."

Lucas, who had been tending to Peter’s bandages, snorted. "You really don’t know about the Silverback Dire Wolves?"

Ezra raised an eyebrow. "You mean the white wolves with the silver streaks down their backs and the icy blue eyes? Yeah, I know them. They hunt in four. Scouter, chaser, and two flankers. Classic pack strategy. Smart. Dangerous. Not the kind of creature you want to meet alone. If they were part of this trail many would die."

Mary shivered. "That’s harsh..."

"But accurate," Marcus added with a nod. "You know a lot about them."

Ezra shrugged. "Read it in a survival encyclopedia. Back at the library."

Marcus scratched at his arm and sat forward. "Anyway... the wolves are only part of it. Ever since they showed up around day two, things changed. People started dying. Not just from the cold or starvation, but from panic. Fear."

"People couldn’t sleep. Couldn’t gather food," Gena added quietly. "Some teams lost two, three members in one night."

Ezra listened silently, frowning.

Peter let out a weak cough and struggled to sit up straighter. Mary helped him adjust his posture with care.

"It wasn’t just the wolves," Marcus continued. "The real problem came after. Some of the stronger teams started calling shots. Lady Vera. Sir Henry. Felix. They started organizing bases—safe zones."

"They weren’t that safe," Peter muttered bitterly.

"Each leader had their own group," Marcus said. "Seven core members. But they started absorbing other survivors too. Making them swear loyalty just to stay."

"Loyalty?" Ezra echoed, eyes narrowing.

"Yeah," Peter croaked. "Once you joined one group, the others saw you as a traitor. It became... political. War-like. If you joined Lady Vera, you were an enemy to Sir Henry’s people. If you sided with Felix, you were hated by both."

Ezra’s jaw tightened. "That’s not survival. That’s tribal warfare"

"You think that’s bad?" Gena interrupted; her eyes sharp with anger. "Felix—the

son

of one of Britannia’s top Canon Gun Alchemists and a general in the navy. He set up his group with this twisted rule."

She clenched her fists.

"Every girl that joined had to be his personal servant. ’Bed care’ he called it. Like we’re throwing pillows for his ego."

Ezra’s expression went blank.

"That’s..." he muttered under his breath, "incestuous."

"If anyone disobeyed," Marcus said, "his men would punish them. Publicly. Or worse."

"Fed them to the wolves?" Ezra said, just making a wild guess but the cave fell into silence. Even the fire seemed to dim slightly. The silence showed his guess wasn’t wild but a true reality.

"You guys went through hell," Ezra said after a long pause.

Peter chuckled bitterly. "That’s putting it nicely."

Ezra stood and began tidying up his tools—his wooden bowl, fish bones, some broken branches from the firewood stash.

"Hey, Ezra," Marcus called.

Ezra didn’t look back. "Yeah?"

"Thanks again... really."

Ezra turned his head slightly, his voice dropping.

"You know..." he said softly, "you’re not fooling anyone."

Marcus blinked. "Huh?"

The rest of the group sat up slightly, surprised by the shift in tone.

Ezra didn’t face them. He kept packing his stuff, calm but direct.

"We’re all children of Ashenlocke, right? A family full of alchemists and nobles at that, we are all smart people. You don’t think I’d notice something’s off?"

The cave grew quiet again. Only the fire crackled between them.

"We’re fighting to become something greater," Ezra continued. "To prove our worth. That means lying, betraying, killing, even in ways that aren’t so obvious."

He turned now, slowly, eyes dark and tired. "You’re not here by accident. Vera sent you. On Pamela’s request."

Shock hit the group like a slap. Gena’s breath caught. Marcus blinked. Mary looked away.

Ezra could see it—how their shoulders stiffened. How Lucas instinctively reached for something under his coat before stopping himself.

"Wha—What are you talking about?" Marcus laughed nervously. "You’re misunderstanding—"

"Your mistake was bringing up Vera," Ezra cut in.

"I also mentioned Sir Henry!" Marcus argued quickly.

"You did. And that’s the second mistake," Ezra said, stepping closer. "You spoke like someone trying too hard to sound casual. Like someone trying to blend in but all I could see was loyalty towards them."

Gena scowled. "That doesn’t mean anything. We just know more—"

"And your injured friend?" Ezra pointed at Peter. "Never once mentioned Felix by title. But even if he’s trash, he’s still a Main-line. You don’t forget that when you’re from the lower-line."

Peter sat up straighter, face contorting. "I

was

injured because of that jerk! Why should I pretend to respect him when I almost died because of him?"

"You’re right," Ezra nodded. "But that means your group

did

meet Felix. And you survived. Which means someone saved you."

He stepped closer to the fire.

"And that someone... made a request."

Ezra’s voice turned quiet. Cold.

"You were told to find me."

No one spoke.

"You were saved by Vera. Maybe Henry is allied to her. But the deal was clear, find Ezra. Isolate him. Maybe weaken him. Or just deliver a message."

"All what you are saying doesn’t make any sense right now." Gena interrupted "Why would someone like Lady Vera send people to find you, A Low- bloodline like you at that" she glared at Ezra.

Well in truth all what I said was just speculation

Ezra thought to himself.

But it’s better to not trust anyone.

"Plus, you also never referred to Lady Vera and Sir Henry with the title, you just called them by their name," Lucas added.

"I don’t because I don’t care about blood-line, also it seemed I killed someone close to Pamela and she’s obviously a strong member of Vera’s team since I saw them together before the trial began." Ezra replied, face darkened

"Everyone calm down" Marcus took a little step to the middle trying to calm the situation down, having a foxed like smile on his face.

"You guys should stop!!" Mary suddenly shouted, her voice cracking. "I can’t do this anymore!" Tears streamed down her face as her breathing grew uneven.

Before anyone could react, she rushed toward the firewood pile, snatching up a thick piece of wood. Her grip tightened as she lifted it, clearly ready to throw it at Ezra.

Ezra flinched and moved forward, hand outstretched to stop her, but in that split second, Marcus struck.

Without a word, he stepped in from the side, driving a sharpened wooden stake like a dagger straight into Ezra’s side.

Ezra gasped, the air catching in his throat as pain exploded through his ribs.