Dawn crept over the rooftops of Lyrien like a shy guest, brushing pale gold light across the village paths still slick with the breath of the night. The cold had a way of lingering here, clinging to the fur, the skin, the bones—an old cold, one that felt older than the land itself. Zikura felt it more sharply this morning. It wasn't just the chill; it was something deeper, an uneasy tremor in the air, the kind that made every instinct in him stiffen as if danger crouched somewhere unseen.
He sat alone beside the well in the center of the village as the sky slowly brightened. His wolf ears twitched at every faint sound—the flutter of a sparrow's wings, the crackle of frost melting on the branches, the distant creak of wooden shutters being pushed open one by one. Villagers were waking, but he felt more awake than all of them. He hadn't slept much. Couldn't sleep.
The dreams from the night before still clung to him like smoke.
In those dreams, he had stood in a field of silver ash, the wind blowing in slow, heavy breaths. A figure cloaked in shadow had watched him from the edge of the barren plain, whispering something he couldn't make out. And then… glowing runes—strange symbols he had never seen—had spiraled across his arms like living fire. He remembered the burning sensation, sharp and familiar, as if he had felt it long ago.
He had woken with his heart pounding so hard he thought it might break out of his chest.
Now, in the early quiet, he found himself tracing invisible patterns on his forearm, trying to recreate those strange symbols. It only made him more restless.
"Zikura?" a gentle voice called behind him.
He turned slowly, already recognizing the soft cadence. Elira approached with cautious steps, her cloak wrapped tightly around her shoulders, dark curls spilling forward as the morning breeze tugged at them. Her eyes, warm as amber, glowed faintly in the rising sun.
"You weren't at your home," she said quietly. "I checked."
Zikura looked away, running a hand through the fur at the back of his neck. "Couldn't sleep," he muttered. "I needed to breathe."
Elira studied him for a long moment before sitting beside him on the stone edge of the well. She brought with her the scent of crushed herbs and a faint undertone of magic—the soft, healing kind that always made him feel less alone.
"You look troubled," she said.
He hesitated. It was always easier to pretend he was fine, to tuck away whatever storm churned inside him. But Elira… she had a way of seeing straight into the parts of him he hid from everyone else.
"I had a dream," he finally said. "But it felt… too real. Like a memory I don't remember."
Elira frowned slightly. "What did you see?"
He exhaled slowly. "A plain covered in ash. And someone was calling me. A shadowed figure. They whispered something—something I can almost hear even now."
She shifted closer. "Did the dream frighten you?"
"No," he said, surprising himself with the word. "It didn't frighten me. It felt like it was pulling me. Calling me. Like something I'm supposed to understand."
Elira's eyes softened with concern. "Dreams like that aren't normal."
He almost laughed. "Nothing about me feels normal lately."
"You're strong," she countered. "Strong doesn't mean normal."
"But something's wrong," he murmured, resting his forehead in his palms. "Elira, when the villagers greeted me this morning, I felt their fear. Their hope too… but mostly fear. They're relying on me. And I—" He paused, swallowing hard. "I don't even know what's happening inside me."
For a moment, the only sound was the slow dripping of water from the well's rim.
Then Elira reached out and gently placed her hand over his. The gesture was small, but Zikura felt it like a flame warming through his chest.
"You don't have to carry everything alone," she whispered. "Not with me here."
Something tight in him loosened. Just a little.
Then—
A tremor shook the ground.
Very faint, but enough to make dust shiver down from the old stone houses.
Zikura straightened instantly, eyes sharp, ears rising. Another tremor followed—this time stronger. Villagers stepped out of their doorways, murmurs rising as the earth rumbled again.
"What is that?" Elira whispered.
"I don't know," he said, already rising to his feet.
His senses sharpened. The wind carried a strange scent—smoky, bitter, unnatural. It coiled through the village like a warning. His heartbeat quickened.
Something was approaching.
A low, distant growl rolled across the horizon, followed by the rhythmic thudding of heavy footsteps—too heavy, too synchronized, too deliberate to be the movement of simple beasts.
Zikura's claws slid out reflexively.
"Stay behind me," he said.
Elira grabbed his arm. "Wait! Let me help—"
A flare of light pulsed from her palm, but Zikura shook his head.
"I don't know what's coming," he said, voice low. "But I can't risk you."
Her eyes wavered, but she nodded.
Moments later, a figure sprinted into the village square—a young scout, sweat pouring down his face, his breath sharp and ragged.
"Zikura!" he shouted. "Forest—southern border—something's tearing through the trees! It's huge—bigger than any beast we've ever seen. And it's coming straight toward us!"
Panic rippled through the villagers.
Elira looked at Zikura with wide, fearful eyes. "What do we do?"
Zikura inhaled deeply, his muscles tightening. This was what he was made for—protecting the village, standing between his people and whatever darkness threatened them. But something in the air tasted wrong, heavier than any threat he had known.
He felt again that strange pull in his body—the same burning sensation from his dream.
As if something deep inside him was awakening.
"Prepare everyone to evacuate," he said quietly, jaw clenched. "Get the elders out of the southern homes. Move the children to the hall. I'll face it."
"Zikura—" Elira's voice broke slightly.
He turned toward her with a soft expression that didn't match the storm building in his chest.
"I'll be fine," he said. "I have to be."
Before she could argue, he sprinted toward the forest's edge, his steps powerful, fast, carrying him through the village in a blur of speed. But even as he ran, he felt that strange heat spreading through his limbs—the echo of runes he had seen in his dream, glowing beneath skin and fur like hidden embers.
The forest came into view, its towering trees trembling as something massive shoved its way through them. Leaves exploded upward, birds shrieking as they fled.
Then he saw it.
A hulking creature, taller than three men stacked atop one another, with twisted horns and skin that looked like charred stone. Its eyes glowed an eerie violet. And around its neck—Zikura's heart lurched—hung a chain with faintly shimmering runes.
The same runes from his dream.
The creature roared, the sound tearing through the forest, cracking branches and sending a gust of force surging outward.
Zikura felt his body react. His pulse thundered. His claws burned.
He didn't understand what was happening to him.
But he knew one thing—
This creature wasn't a simple enemy.
It was connected to him.
Its runes pulsed again, and suddenly his vision blurred. A flash—a voice—
"Return…"
The same whisper from his dream.
Zikura stumbled, clutching his head.
The creature lunged.
Branching shadows surged around it, twisting like spectral smoke.
Zikura barely managed to leap aside, landing on one knee, breath shaky as the earth shook beneath the beast's weight.
His instincts screamed to fight.
But the burning in his body intensified.
Magic—old, ancient, long-buried—coursed through him in wild, uncontrollable waves.
He wasn't sure if he was awakening…
…or unraveling.
The creature roared again, lowering its massive horns, preparing to charge.
Zikura steadied himself, sweat beading down his temples.
He had no choice.
He would fight.
Even if he didn't understand the power awakening inside him.
Even if the runes on the creature's chain glowed like mirrors of his own hidden past.
Zikura tightened his stance as the beast thundered toward him—
And the world seemed to hold its breath.