Eldervale burned, its huts engulfed in flames as the Ironfang Clan’s pillaging raged on. Grendolf stood alone, Starclaw blazing with Starstrike’s celestial fire, his Foresight Veil deflecting Canid spears, and Blade Dance carving through the enemy pack. His hybrid form—cat ears atop human-like skin—ached from Kravos’s blows, but his spirit-enhanced strength held firm. The civilians, cursed into hybrids like him, fled in panic, their kits stolen by the Canids. Sylvara, Lioness, and Myra were stirring, too far to aid him. The war’s brutality had consumed the village, but a strange twist awaited.

As Grendolf felled another Canid, a rumbling sound cut through the chaos—a wooden wagon, creaking and battered, hurtling toward him, pulled by Sylvara alone. Her hybrid form strained, Bloodfang slung across her back, her green eyes fierce. “Grendolf, get in!” she shouted, dodging a thrown axe. He leaped aboard, Starclaw still glowing, as Sylvara sprinted, weaving through the burning square toward the village’s edge where the Canids dragged their captives.

Inside the wagon, amidst sacks of stolen firestones, crouched an unexpected figure—a Mutated One, but unlike any Grendolf had seen. Its skin was pale but smooth, its eyes clear, not clouded with malice. One arm was elongated, claw-like, but it held no weapon, only a tattered cloth clutched nervously. Its cat-like ears, a mirror of their own, twitched. “Don’t strike!” it rasped, voice soft but urgent. “I’m not with them. I’m… Kaelith.”

Grendolf’s Foresight Veil flickered, his vision showing no threat—only a genuine plea. “Why should I trust you?” he growled, Starclaw raised.

Kaelith’s eyes darted to the chaos outside. “I fled the Order. The Shroud’s Toxinheart twisted my kin, but I resisted. I saw you fight for the kits. I want to help.”

Sylvara, steering the wagon through a hail of spears, hissed, “A friendly mutant? That’s new. Prove it, or you’re dead.”

Kaelith pointed to a narrow path leading to a ravine. “The Canids are taking the kits there—to a camp for the Shroud. I know the way. Let me guide you.”

Grendolf’s spirit-enhanced senses probed Kaelith’s words. His vision showed a fleeting image—Kaelith standing beside him, fighting Canids, not against them. Starclaw hummed, its evolved runes steady. “Fine,” he said. “But one wrong move, and Starstrike ends you.”

Sylvara swerved the wagon, following Kaelith’s directions, the vehicle rattling as they sped toward the ravine. The Canids’ howls grew distant, but Kravos’s roar echoed, promising pursuit. Kaelith clung to the wagon’s edge, its claw-like hand steadying a sack to shield them from a stray arrow. “I was a scout for the Order,” Kaelith explained, voice low. “The Toxinheart cursed me, but I kept my mind. I’ve seen the Shroud’s plans—merging the blades with the Toxinheart to enslave all Felaria.”

Grendolf’s glowing eyes narrowed. “Why defect now?”

Kaelith’s ears twitched. “You saved a kit—Tiro. I had a sibling once, taken by the Shroud. You fight for family. I want that, too.”

The wagon reached the ravine’s edge, revealing a Canid camp below, where hybrid kits, including Tiro, were caged. Sylvara halted, panting, Bloodfang ready. “If you’re lying, mutant, you won’t see dawn.”

Kaelith nodded, its gaze earnest. “Let me prove it. I can slip into the camp, distract the guards. You free the kits.”

Grendolf’s vision flashed—Kaelith sneaking through shadows, Canids falling. He nodded. “Go. We’ll follow.” As Kaelith leaped from the wagon, vanishing into the underbrush, Grendolf gripped Starclaw, its new powers—Starstrike, Foresight Veil, and Blade Dance—ready. Sylvara’s eyes met his, a silent agreement to trust, for now.

The war raged on, Eldervale’s ruins smoldering behind them. With Kaelith as their unlikely ally, Grendolf and Sylvara prepared to strike the camp, the Toxinheart’s curse and the Canids’ alliance with the Shroud driving them forward. Starclaw sang, and Grendolf’s resolve burned brighter—for the kits, for Felaria, and for the fragile hope of a new friend