Chapter 2: A Pact Sealed in Ash and Ambition

Clayton returned three days later at noon, bringing back Mr. Sanford, the advisor I’d been curious about.

At the time, I was tossing beanbags with Eli and Noah, the two little ones.

The sun was high, the air thick with the scent of cut grass and old tractor oil. Marcus’s old hunting spear was too eye-catching, so he’d left it at home. Bored, he’d found a broomstick and was having a blast.

Jack had long abandoned his homework and rode out to greet his brother.

Word was, Clayton had taken another small town from the rival pack—not big, but enough to trouble the old alpha for a while.

“Uncle Ben!” Eli looked at me, out of breath, annoyed I’d thrown too high. “Lower! Throw it lower!”

His cheeks were flushed, hair sticking to his forehead. “Alright!”

I agreed cheerfully, squatted down, and aimed as if I’d toss it gently.

Eli watched eagerly, ready to catch. Noah peeked out from behind his brother, little hands outstretched.

“Ready?” I asked. They nodded hard, all tense. I raised my voice on purpose: “…Here it comes!”

Then I suddenly flicked my hand and sent the beanbag soaring skyward.

“Uncle Ben!”

Eli put his hands on his hips, stomping in frustration.

Man, teasing kids was too much fun—I laughed till my stomach hurt.

“Tsk, you’re too old for this,” Marcus put down the broomstick and walked over, disapproving. “How can you mess around with kids?”

He picked up the cloth beanbag, beaming at Eli. “Don’t mind him!”

“Come on, Noah, Uncle Marcus will play with you!”

Eli huffed and made a face at me. “You’re too mean! Uncle Ben, I’m not playing with you anymore!”

I pulled a mock-long face, but inside I was cracking up.

He’d said that a dozen times already—by now I was numb to it, and he always forgot by the next day.

“Uncle Marcus, you have to throw it lower!”

Eli kept reminding him. Marcus just smiled kindly, “Alright, whatever you say.”

He crouched, ready to go. “Eli, Noah!”

“We’re here!” Eli called out quickly.

Still just kids, I thought, shaking my head at their innocence.

If Uncle Ben was a bad guy, was Uncle Marcus—who was always in cahoots with me—a good guy?

Sure enough, just a few moments later, the beanbag went flying again.

I heard Marcus’s loud laughter, along with Eli’s shout: “Uncle Marcus, you’re too mean! I’m not playing with you anymore!”

“Not playing! Not playing!”

Noah echoed his brother, face confused.

I walked over and picked him up. “Noah’s a little guy—little guys don’t get to decide!”

With that, I tossed him up high and caught him, asking as I played, “Fun?”

Noah giggled and squealed, delighted.

“Uncle Ben, toss me higher!”

A three-year-old isn’t heavy. I braced and gave it a little more effort. “…Alright, whatever you say!”

Eli looked jealous, but he’d just ‘broken up’ with us bad uncles and was too stubborn to ask.

Even little ones have their pride.

So—

We’d just have to let Uncle Marcus swallow his pride.

“Come here, Uncle Marcus will toss you!”

Marcus scooped him up from behind and tossed him skyward, catching him safely.

“Will you play with me now, hmm?”

“Yes! Uncle Marcus, slower!” Eli’s face was red with excitement and fear. “I’m scared of heights!”

Marcus paid attention, tossing him more gently.

We were at the back of the lot, near the kitchen, far from the main trailer.

So when Clayton returned with his men, we had no idea—still busy playing with the kids.

It was only when Jack came looking for us that we found out Clayton wanted to see me.

More precisely—

Mr. Sanford wanted to see me.

As it happened, I’d been curious about him for a long time.

“Ben, Marcus, big brother and Mr. Sanford are back,” Jack said, a little breathless as if he’d just gotten off his bike. “They’re waiting for you in the main trailer.”

I nodded, put Noah down, and ruffled his hair. “Uncle Ben and Uncle Marcus have work to do! Eli, Noah—when I get back, I’ll take you fishing. We’ll roast marshmallows, alright?”

“Wow! Uncle Ben is the best!”

The two little ones cheered, knowing the adults were busy, and obediently went to the kitchen to find their mother.

Jack really had just come to deliver a message.

He’d happily gone to greet his brother, skipped his homework, and apparently got a good scolding on the way back. So after relaying the message, he went straight to his trailer to catch up on his work.

Marcus and I headed for the main trailer.

This Mr. Sanford was Clayton’s most trusted advisor. Without him, Clayton could never have become so respected so quickly.

Meeting him meant the game of mutual testing was over.

Tom Sanford—Mr. Sanford.

I’d finally waited long enough to meet him.

The young guards at the door lifted the curtain for us. Marcus and I went in.

“Ben!”

It had been a while, but Clayton greeted me much more warmly than before, calling me over as soon as he saw me.

I stepped forward and congratulated him sincerely: “I heard you took another town, Mr. Reed. At this rate, the remaining towns in the rival’s territory will be a cakewalk.”

Clayton laughed, not denying it. “Well, I’ll take that as a blessing.”

Then he pulled a man over. “Come, let me introduce you.”

“This is my right-hand man, Tom Sanford. He’s more than twenty years your senior, Ben, so call him Mr. Sanford—you can’t go wrong.”

Then he turned to Tom. “This is the young man from the Whitaker family up in Maple Heights, just Ben. Didn’t you always admire Old Mr. Whitaker, the former county judge? Ben is his only grandson.”

“Mr. Sanford, it’s an honor.” I shook his hand firmly. “I’ve heard of your reputation for ages. Meeting you today, you truly live up to it.”

Mr. Sanford didn’t look like a typical bookish advisor. He wore a denim jacket, clearly a man who’d seen some action, but his bearing was refined.

Smart folks always have some pride.

But his pride was the kind that didn’t put people off.

“You flatter me, son. To be out in the woods at thirteen, to stand up to trouble—I admire you as well.”

After the pleasantries, we got down to business.

Clayton walked to the table, pulled off the cloth covering it, revealing a map covering both North and South—not only the towns of the rival pack, but also detailed labels for the local counties.

“Mr. Sanford drew this himself. It’s perfectly accurate.”

He invited me to take a closer look. I didn’t stand on ceremony, stepping forward to examine it.

Mr. Sanford spoke from behind me: “…My ancestor once served as the chief surveyor for the first governor of this state. After the state lines were drawn, my ancestor and his team spent years mapping the land, creating a map that covered all the counties.”

“Later, the governor got paranoid and fired all the surveyors—except my ancestor, whom he kept to update the map.”

He paused, then continued.

“But no one expected that twelve years later, both the governor and his heir would die suddenly, and another took the office. From then on, the once-mighty state fell apart, and it wasn’t unified again for decades.”

“My ancestor escaped the chaos, wandering the land. The map was destroyed, but he memorized it all, passing it down. Every Sanford kid has learned to draw the map from childhood, traveling the state and updating it.”

“The map before you, sir, came from twenty years living among drifters, walking both northern and southern counties.”

His tone was calm, as if spending twenty years making a map was nothing. But anyone with sense knew what an achievement it was.

I’d read up on military history since I was a kid and knew how vital a precise map was for any campaign.

“Not many would give twenty years to one thing. I respect that.”

I turned and nodded again, full of respect—what Mr. Sanford had done was beyond what most could even dream of.

“You overstate it, son. I only did what I should.” He smiled, shaking his head, not at all self-satisfied.

“Please, don’t sell yourself short.”

I’d always admired great talent. Mr. Sanford was both a scholar and a traveler—how could I not praise him?

Looking him in the eye, I said loudly, “If you don’t mind, please call me Ben, just as Mr. Reed does.”

He laughed and agreed. “Since you insist, I’ll call you Ben.”

“…The first governor unified the state, the next inherited it, counties and districts side by side. I want to reunite North and South—why not?” Clayton turned, ambition burning in his eyes. “A hundred years ago, the old Whitaker family set up its base east of the river, lasted thirty-seven years, then was overthrown by the rival pack… My great-grandfather was the last heir of the old family.”

I hadn’t expected such a background. But now, if Clayton rebelled under the banner of restoring the Whitaker legacy, it would be even more legitimate.

“The Whitaker family is at your service, Mr. Reed!”

I shook his hand firmly, making my stance clear.

“Excellent!” He clapped my shoulder, laughing. “That’s great!”

“Mr. Sanford, Ben.”

He pointed at the map, his face no longer gentle, but wild with ambition.

“I want to restore the Whitaker name—no, I want all of Silver Hollow flying my banner.”

“First the rival pack, then the rest. Take the South, bring them in; fight the outlaws, drive them out! Found a new order, set the base east of the river… Unifying the county would be a once-in-a-generation thing. But since the first governor, there’s been no true, rightful leader—not even the last one, who just got lucky and inherited the old foundation!”

It sounded a bit arrogant, but if Clayton wasn’t bold, I’d wonder if I’d picked the wrong person.

The Whitaker family and Mr. Sanford had bet on the right horse.

“The county’s been divided too long. Division has to end in unity. I want to be the true leader—the one meant to bring peace and prosperity—”

Clayton turned, sincere. “Mr. Sanford, Ben, will you help me?”

Peace and prosperity.

Six simple words, but they stirred my heart. Mr. Sanford and I exchanged a look, and answered as one, “We’ll give it everything—won’t let you down!”

“Mr. Reed!”

I stepped forward, pointing at the map. “Maple Heights has thirty-seven major neighborhoods and eighty-six smaller ones—seventy percent are Whitaker territory.”

“Mr. Reed, just advance from the northwest. The Whitaker family promises, as long as you keep your folks from hurting civilians, you’ll find twenty-five major neighborhoods and forty-one minor ones like walking through an open door.”

“If we’re pledging allegiance, we have to show our sincerity.”

I glanced at Marcus, who took a leather pouch from his inner pocket. I took it and pulled out the old wolf-head medallion.

“The Whitaker family’s official group uses the county badge, but in truth, the folks only recognize the wolf-head token.” I handed it to Clayton and nodded. “The token is split in two—half with my dad, half for you.”

“On behalf of my grandpa, I present this to you, Mr. Reed.” I smiled, meeting his eyes. “Let it be a token of trust between us. As you move north, you can use this to rally Whitaker folks.”

Clayton was moved. “Ben…”

He sighed, looking at the token.

“What have I done to deserve such trust from Old Mr. Whitaker?”

Mr. Sanford understood my grandpa’s intentions. Stroking his beard, he said gravely, “He’s just a grandpa.”

“The Whitaker family may be respected in Maple Heights, but they’ve long held its heart. Overthrowing the old order, founding a new town council, running the county would be a cakewalk.”

He smiled at me, continuing.

“But what would be the point?”

“Sitting on the council, could young Mr. Whitaker really rest easy?”

“Old Mr. Whitaker knows—so long as there’s fighting and the county’s divided, true peace is impossible.”

“Mr. Sanford, you really are my grandpa’s kindred spirit.” I didn’t deny it. The Whitaker family had its own ambitions—everyone does, and there’s no shame in it.

“When my grandpa took a stand, it was just to protect himself, not out of a lust for power. It’s the same now.” I paused, joking, “Besides, he knows I’m not cut out to be the boss. For everyone’s sake, it’s better to find someone solid to stand behind.”

Clayton shook his head, helpless. “So I’m the unlucky guy your grandpa picked?”

As soon as he finished, everyone laughed, the tension dissolving.

“How can you say that?” I pretended to scold him, very seriously. “Mr. Reed, my grandpa said you were born to be a leader. He’s been waiting for you a long time.”

I looked at him, very earnest.

“Mr. Reed, my grandpa and dad have fought their whole lives for peace. When you take over, the Whitaker family will hand over all leadership and retire to the woods.”

This time, even Mr. Sanford was stunned.

“No need for that—” Clayton tried to stop me. “At this point, how could I doubt your grandpa’s sincerity?”

“No, no.” I waved him off. “You misunderstand.”

“Handing over leadership was my grandpa’s decision from the start—not because of who’s in charge.”

Clayton wanted to argue, but Mr. Sanford stopped him. “Sir.”

“Everyone wants something different.” He paused, then smiled—

“So let Old Mr. Whitaker have his way.”