Chapter 6: Young Wolves, Last Stand

As soon as I entered the Hall of Brotherhood, I was startled.

The sight stopped me cold—more than a hundred folks, bellies bulging, the cycle repeating itself.

The realization hit me like a freight train. The miracle water’s magic hadn’t worn off—not by a long shot.

Uh-oh, looks like the last batch of Moon Spring water hadn’t been flushed out yet.

I cursed under my breath, already dreading the next round of chaos. Here we go again.

Before I could even feel guilty, Greg grabbed my hand, voice trembling: “Strategist, why hasn’t our prayer been lifted?”

His grip was desperate, eyes pleading. The hope I’d given him was turning to fear.

After two weeks of recovery, he looked pale and a bit chubby from being pregnant again.

The circles under his eyes told the whole story—he was running on empty, but still clinging to hope.

“Don’t worry, brother. I’ll perform another ritual and ask for this… blessing to end.”

I forced a smile, already plotting my next move. The others nodded, trusting me to fix what I’d started.

That night, I set up the Seven-Star Altar again, pretending to do another ritual.

I went through the motions, voice ringing out over the marsh. The lanterns flickered, casting eerie shadows on the water.

But I knew full well I’d have to wait another eleven days before I could use another prop.

The rules were ironclad—no shortcuts, no second chances. All I could do was stall and hope for the best.

My brothers would just have to tough it out a little longer.

I watched them from the shadows, guilt gnawing at my insides. I promised myself I’d make it right—eventually.

Once my cooldown was up, I’d fetch water from the Miscarriage Spring for them.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. I clung to that hope like a lifeline.

But the next morning, a scout came running in with news:

He burst through the doors, panting, eyes wild. The room fell silent, every ear straining to hear.

“Governor Tom Grant has mobilized ten thousand troops from each of the eight state districts, plus another twenty thousand from the National Guard—totaling a hundred thousand—to attack Silver Hollow.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. Folks stared at each other, panic rising.

Now we were really in trouble. Not just the leaders, but even the fighters were still stuck in their second pregnancies.

The timing couldn’t have been worse. The Hollow was vulnerable, and the enemy knew it.

“Strategist,” Greg said, teary-eyed, “should we try negotiating?”

His voice was shaky, hope and fear battling in his eyes. He looked ready to bolt. The others looked to me, desperate for guidance.

“Greg, surrendering before the fight is just handing your life to Grant,” I said. “Can you really trust him?”

I let my words hang, the truth sinking in. Trusting Grant was a fool’s game, and everyone knew it.

“Well, not really, but all the pack haven’t even finished recovery and are pregnant again…”

He trailed off, the helplessness in his voice clear. The room was thick with dread.

“If we really can’t win, we’ll just retreat,” Big Luke sighed.

He tried to sound brave, but the defeat in his eyes was unmistakable. The others nodded, resignation settling over them.

I glanced at the Five Wolf Generals and the Eight Riders. After pregnancy, childbirth, and a few days of parenting, their wild edge had faded.

They looked tired, softer around the edges. The fire was still there, but banked, waiting for a spark.

In this state, even if we forced them onto the field, it’d just be a massacre.

The truth was brutal, but unavoidable. I couldn’t send them out like this—not if I wanted to sleep at night.

Silver Hollow was on the brink, and I couldn’t help but regret my reckless move.

I ran a hand through my hair, the weight of my choices pressing down. If only I’d thought things through.

Suddenly, there was a commotion outside.

A roar of voices, young and eager, echoed through the hall. The doors rattled as the crowd pressed closer.

“We want to see Uncle Greg!”

The chant was loud, insistent. I recognized the voices—full of energy and mischief.

It was Gary Shepherd, Charlie Two, Quinn Mason, Hugh Young, Doug Parker’s twins, and more.

They burst in, faces flushed, eyes shining with excitement. The room seemed to brighten with their arrival.

“What’s all this noise?” Hugh Young opened the door and scolded, “Your uncles are in a meeting.”

He tried to sound stern, but the kids only grinned wider. Respect for elders only went so far when adventure called.

“Uncle Hugh,” Sam Junior called, “we heard the governor’s troops are coming, so we’re volunteering to fight!”

His voice was clear, determined. The others nodded, fists clenched, ready for anything.

“What are you kids stirring up?” Greg said in surprise. “Greg Junior, you too?”

He looked at his son, pride and worry warring in his eyes. Greg Junior stood tall, meeting his father’s gaze without flinching.

“Dad, we have the blood of the wolves in us. If Silver Hollow’s in trouble, it’s our duty to help.” Fearless, Greg Junior’s spirit was even stronger than his father’s.

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in. For a moment, everyone saw the future standing right in front of them.

“Uncle Wyatt, Uncle Riley,” Charlie Two said to me and Riley Long with a respectful nod, “We may be young, but our skills are no worse than yours. If you don’t believe it, we can compete right now.”

He grinned, confidence radiating from every pore. Riley and I exchanged glances, both impressed and alarmed.

Well, that’s the benefit of raising kids together—even someone as hesitant as Charlie Randall could raise a kid this bold.

I couldn’t help but smile, pride swelling in my chest. Maybe we’d done something right after all.

“Tom Grant’s just a paper tiger. How could we lose to him? Let’s go take him down and run this county!” shouted a dark-skinned boy in the back.

His voice rang out, defiant and strong. The others cheered, fired up by his courage.

No need to guess—that had to be Clay Junior.

He stood with arms crossed, chin jutting out, the spitting image of his old man.

But they’d only been born half a month ago. Sending them and a bunch of kids to fight Grant’s army—wasn’t that a joke?

The thought made my stomach churn. I couldn’t send children to war—not unless there was no other choice.

Tom Grant wasn’t just any governor—he was a rare commander, long in charge of the state’s National Guard, even given the Medal of Valor.

The man was a legend in his own right—smart, ruthless, and undefeated. Underestimating him would be a fatal mistake.

I hesitated.

My mind raced, weighing the risks. The room watched, waiting for my decision.

“Good kid!” Clay Knox shouted. “Just like me!”

His laughter boomed, pride shining in his eyes. The others echoed his approval, the mood shifting.

“That’s right! Got guts—just like me!” Sam Wolfe cheered, patting his son.

The room erupted in cheers, the energy infectious. For a moment, the fear faded, replaced by hope and pride.

More and more leaders voiced their support, and the mood fired up.

The old fighting spirit was back, burning brighter than ever. The kids stood taller, chests puffed out with pride.

This was the real spirit of Silver Hollow!

It was raw, wild, and unstoppable—the kind of courage that built legends and toppled kings.

I immediately put aside my earlier mischief and felt real respect for these legends.

The past didn’t matter now. What mattered was the future—these kids, these families, this home.

A legend’s son is a legend; a traitor’s son, a scoundrel.

It was an old saying, but it rang true. The blood of heroes ran thick in Silver Hollow.

The sons of Silver Hollow’s heroes—who would they ever fear?

I looked at them, pride swelling in my chest. The answer was clear—no one.

Besides, I knew Grant and Carter’s tactics inside and out, and with these young wolves by my side, we’d send those invaders packing.

I felt the old strategist’s fire rekindle, plans forming in my mind. With the right moves, we could win this yet.

“If that’s the case,” I said, fired up, “then I’ll lead our young wolves into battle!”

I raised my fist, voice ringing out. The kids cheered, the leaders roared, and for the first time in weeks, hope felt real.

“Thank you, Strategist.”

Greg’s voice was thick with emotion, gratitude shining in his eyes. The others echoed his thanks, their faith in me restored.

Three days later, scouts reported that Grant’s army of a hundred thousand was closing in on Silver Hollow Marsh. The vanguard was already at Cougar Valley, the rear still in Jackson.

The tension was electric—every radio crackled with updates, every lookout posted on high alert. The Hollow braced itself for the storm to come.

Just like in the stories, Marshal Tom Grant was fully armored, commanding in person.

He rode at the front, medals gleaming, eyes cold and sharp. His presence alone was enough to send chills down a man’s spine.

Dale Perry and Chad Zimmer were the main vanguard, Will Banks and Lee Mills the rear commanders, Hank Taylor, Wayne Irons, Mark Walters, and Joe Simms the left and right wings, Finn May and Ben Sharp the central guard.

Every name was a legend in its own right—battle-hardened, ruthless, and loyal to Grant. The odds were stacked against us, but I refused to back down.

Before the decisive battle, I gathered the young wolves by the water for a pep talk.

They stood in a ragged line, faces set, eyes blazing with determination. I took a deep breath, feeling the weight of history settle on my shoulders.

“Silver Hollow’s young legends, listen up! Tom Grant’s gathered a massive army and is closing in on our home. Silver Hollow faces a tough fight ahead. I’m standing here with no fear. Why? Because I believe in you, just as I believed in your parents when we fought side by side and won countless victories. Today, that glory passes to you!”

My voice rang out, carried on the wind. The kids straightened, pride swelling in their chests. The old legends watched from the sidelines, tears in their eyes.

“Glory! Glory!” the young wolves shouted.

Their voices echoed across the marsh, a promise to the world that Silver Hollow would not go quietly.

I waved for silence.

I let the moment hang, the energy building. Every eye was on me, every heart pounding in time.

“For years, the state’s sent army after army to destroy us. Yet here we are, still standing! Tonight, let’s bring fear to our enemies. Tonight, let’s shake Silver Hollow to its core. Tonight, let’s make the governor himself hear our roar—this is Silver Hollow!”

The cheer that followed shook the trees, the sound rolling out across the marsh like thunder. In that moment, I knew—win or lose, we’d make history. And maybe, just maybe, write a new legend for the ages.