Sophia was still meditating in the cave, her body still as stone, her breathing slow and deep, each inhale drawing golden mana from the atmosphere, each exhale releasing the dark, stagnant energy that had accumulated in her core during her years in the well.
The light around her pulsed gently, like a heartbeat, like a second pulse beneath her skin, like the slow, steady rhythm of a drum calling warriors to battle.
She was almost there. Almost full. Almost ready.
She could send her signal now. She could call for help. She could save herself and Yuuta from this frozen wilderness, from the creatures that lurked in the shadows, from the scientists who might still be searching for them.
But her mind was drifting.
She was meditating, yes, her eyes closed, her hands resting on her knees, her posture perfect. But her thoughts had wandered far from the cave, far from the snow, far from the well and the laboratory and the years of darkness. She was thinking about the future. About the life she would have once she returned home.
She would eat delicious meals—warm bread with butter, fresh vegetables from the royal gardens, ripe fruit that dripped juice down her chin. She would feed Yuuta until his stomach was full, until he could not eat another bite, until he looked up at her with those red eyes and said, Sophia sister is the best sister Yuuta has ever had.
She smiled, her eyes still closed, her face soft in the firelight.
She imagined walking through the market with Yuuta on her shoulders, his small hands clutching her hair, his laughter echoing through the streets. She would show him the stalls, the colors, the smells. She would buy him sweets and toys and warm clothes. She would hold his hand as they walked, and she would point out the sights—the musicians playing in the square, the dancers twirling in their bright dresses, the storytellers spinning tales of heroes and monsters.
She thought about introducing him to her mother. The queen would be surprised at first—a human like child, a lab experiment, a boy with red eyes and black hair, who look like Children of Chaos. But she would love him. She would have to. He was adorable, and he was her little brother now. Her mother would pinch his cheeks and call him handsome, and she would spoil him with gifts and treats, and he would never want for anything again.
She thought about watching him study magic with the other elf children. He would sit in the classroom, his small hands fumbling with the runes, his brow furrowed in concentration. The other children would stare at first—his eyes were strange, his hair was dark, his ears were round. But he would win them over with his kindness, his bravery, his stubborn refusal to give up.
And when he finally cast his first spell—a small flame, perhaps, or a spark of light—he would run to her, his face bright with excitement, and he would say, "Sophia! Sophia! See? Yuuta can wield magic!"
She would clap and cheer and lift him into the air, spinning him around until they were both dizzy with laughter.
Then her face shifted. A darker thought crept into her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.
What if he brought another elf home? What if he fell in love? What if he asked her permission to marry some stranger, some girl she had never met, someone who would take him away from her?
"No!" Sophia shouted, her eyes snapping open. She grabbed her head, her fingers digging into her hair, her voice echoing off the walls of the cave. "No, No, NO.! You cannot take Yuuta from me, you STUPID elf girl!"
She looked around the cave.
It was empty.
She sighed, her hands falling to her sides, her shoulders slumping. "It was all my imagination," she muttered, shaking her head.
She looked down at her chest, at the glow of her mana core. It was bright, full, pulsing with power. The golden light spilled through her rags, illuminating the cave, casting dancing shadows on the walls.
"Woah," she said, her eyes widening. "It is already enough mana to send the signal."
She closed her eyes again, but this time she was not meditating. This time, she was casting.
The air around her shifted. The temperature dropped. The shadows deepened. The laws of the world bent, twisted, obeyed her will. Magic began to flow from her core, through her veins, through her fingertips, through every part of her body. Her skin tingled, her hair stood on end, and her heart pounded in her chest.
She raised her hands to the sky.
"Ael' thir Beacon!"
The words were ancient, older than the mountains, older than the forest, older than the elves themselves. They were the words of her ancestors, the words of her blood, the words of her kingdom. They had been passed down from mother to daughter for millennia, spoken only in times of greatest need.
The spell was cast.
A beam of golden light shot from her hands, piercing the ceiling of the cave, shooting into the sky, splitting the clouds. It was visible for miles—a pillar of light that screamed for help, that begged for rescue, that announced to the world that a princess of Sylvaris was in danger.
Far away, in the elven kingdom of Sylvaris, a beacon would light. The queen would know. The court would know. They would send help—soldiers, mages, teleportation circles. They would come for her.
Sophia collapsed against the wall, breathing hard. Sweat dripped from her forehead, and her arms trembled. The spell had taken a third of her mana—more than she had expected. She was far from home. Farther than she had realized.
But it was done. Now she just had to wait. Hours, maybe. A day, at most.
She smiled. She was happy.
The cave fell silent. The fire crackled softly, casting long shadows that danced across the stone walls. Sophia's breathing, still heavy from the spell, slowly steadied. She wiped the sweat from her forehead and looked around the cave, expecting to see Yuuta's small form curled up somewhere in the shadows, waiting for her to finish.
"Yuuta," she called softly, her voice gentle. "Yuuta, come here. I have good news."
No answer.
She frowned, her brow furrowing. Perhaps he was still upset about earlier, about the way she had pinched his ear and scolded him. Children were like that, she thought. They pouted and hid when they were scolded, waiting for an apology.
"Yuuta," she called again, a little louder. "Are you hiding from your sister?"
She looked around the cave, her eyes scanning the shadows. There was a large stone near the back of the chamber, and behind it, she could see a shadow that looked almost like a small child crouching. She smiled.
"Playing hide and seek, are we?" she said, crossing her arms. "If you do not come out now, this sister will not give you the best dish. No warm food for little Yuuta."
Silence.
She sighed. "Look at this child," she muttered to herself. "He is starting to demand things already."
She raised her voice, trying to sound stern. "If you do not come out, Sophia will not talk to you."
The shadow did not move. The cave was silent except for the crackle of the fire.
Sophia's smile faded. A cold feeling began to creep into her chest.
"Yuuta," she said, her voice sharper now. "You are being stubborn. Sophia will not tolerate this."
She walked toward the stone, her footsteps echoing in the quiet. Her hand reached out, and she pulled the skin bag away from the wall.
There was no child. Only the bag—the one that had been hanging from the wall, its shape casting a shadow that had looked like a crouching boy. The jerky and the water pouch were still inside, untouched.
Sophia's heart stopped.
Where was he?
"Yuuta?" Her voice was higher now, trembling. "Yuuta, this is not funny."
She turned, her eyes scanning the cave. Behind the rocks. Behind the stones. In the dark corners where shadows gathered. She checked the crevices, the ledges, the small spaces where a child might hide.
Nothing.
"Yuuta!"
Her voice echoed off the walls, but there was no answer.
She ran to the entrance of the cave. The snow was falling, covering everything in a fresh layer of white. The world outside was silent, muffled, peaceful. But beneath her feet, at the edge of the cave, she saw them—tiny footprints, small as a child's, leading away from the cave and into the forest.
Yuuta's footprints.
Her heart stopped. Her blood turned to ice. Her breath caught in her throat.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
She grabbed a stick from the fire, the end still burning, casting a faint orange glow. She held it close to the ground, illuminating the tracks. They were fresh—the edges were still sharp, not yet blurred by falling snow.
He had left recently. Minutes ago, perhaps. He was still close.
Sophia ran into the forest, following the marks in the snow, her heart pounding, her breath coming in short gasps, praying that she would find him in time.
___________________
Meanwhile.
The Froven wolf began its approach toward Yuuta, its massive paws sinking into the snow with each deliberate step, leaving craters behind that would fill with blood before the night was over.
The moonlight caught its fur, making it shimmer like fresh snow, but there was nothing beautiful about the way it moved. It was the beauty of a glacier—cold, ancient, deadly.
Its yellow eyes never left the small child.
They were not the eyes of a hungry animal—they were the eyes of something that had been created to kill, that had been honed and shaped and perfected for the sole purpose of destruction. Its jaws, still wet with the blood of the Coalan, hung slightly open, revealing rows of teeth that had been designed for one purpose and one purpose only.
Each tooth was longer than Yuuta's tiny hand, curved like a sickle, serrated along the edges.
Yuuta stumbled back, his small feet slipping on the icy ground. His bare toes dug into the snow, seeking purchase, but the frozen surface was slick and unyielding.
He had never encountered anything like this before. In the lab, the monsters had been behind glass—restrained, controlled, contained.
They had been experiments, not predators. They had been subjects, like him. He had watched them through the thick walls of their enclosures, had seen them pacing and growling, had heard their screams echo through the corridors.
But he had never been close to one. He had never smelled their breath, felt the heat of their bodies, seen the hunger in their eyes.
This wolf was different. This wolf was free. This wolf was hungry.
He saw the white fur, beautiful against the snow, and the massive teeth, each one longer than his tiny hand. He saw the muscles rippling beneath the hide, thick cords of power that could crush bone and tear flesh. He saw the claws digging into the ground, gouging deep furrows in the frozen earth.
He saw the breath steaming in the cold air, hot and rank, carrying the scent of blood and death.
He ran.
His feet hit the snow, but it was like trying to run through muddy water—each step a struggle, each step slower than the last. The snow was deep, reaching past his knees, and his small body was weak, still recovering from years of torture. His legs burned. His lungs ached. His heart pounded in his chest like a trapped bird.
Behind him, the wolf observed. It did not chase immediately. It watched him run, its yellow eyes tracking his movements, its head tilted slightly, as if it was amused by his attempt to escape. Its tail swayed slowly, and its ears were perked forward, listening to the sound of his frantic breathing.
Then it roared.
The sound was not like the roar it had used against the Coalan—not a weapon, not a focused blast of sonic force.
This roar was a declaration. A promise. A statement that Yuuta was its prey, and that there was no escape. The sound echoed through the forest, shaking snow from the branches, sending birds flying from their nests. It was a sound that had been heard by generations of prey, a sound that meant death was coming.
The wolf began to run.
Its massive paws pounded against the snow, sending up clouds of white powder that glittered in the moonlight like powdered diamonds. The ground trembled beneath its weight, and the trees shook as it passed. Snow sprayed into the air, and the very air seemed to vibrate with the force of its passage. It closed the distance between them in seconds.
Yuuta looked back.
The wolf was right behind him. He could see its yellow eyes, could see the saliva dripping from its jaws, could see the muscles in its shoulders bunching for the leap.
It leaped.
Yuuta fell.
He landed in the snow, his small body sinking into the cold white powder, and looked up at the monster that now stood over him. The wolf's massive head blocked out the moon, and its yellow eyes were fixed on his face. Its shadow covered him like a shroud.
Its jaws were open. Its teeth were exposed. Saliva dripped from its tongue, hot and steaming in the cold air, and landed on Yuuta's cheek. The droplet was warm, almost burning, and it slid down his skin like a tear.
He was frozen. Not by the cold—by fear. His muscles would not move. His voice would not come. His heart pounded so hard that he could feel it in his throat, his temples, his fingertips.
"Big dog," he said, his voice small and trembling, his words tumbling out in a desperate attempt to reason with the beast. "Yuuta is a good boy. The doctor is evil. You should not harm Yuuta."
The wolf growled. Its ears flattened against its head, and its lips curled back, revealing even more teeth. The sound was low and deep, vibrating in Yuuta's chest, rattling his bones. But it did not attack. It hesitated.
Erza and Isvarn watched, confused. They did not understand why the Froven was waiting. It could have killed Yuuta in an instant. It could have crushed his skull with one bite. It could have ended his life before he even had time to scream. The wolf was faster, stronger, more powerful than any natural predator. Yuuta was small, weak, helpless. There was no reason for the wolf to hesitate.
But it did.
It growled, low and deep, its yellow eyes searching the child's face. Its head tilted, first one way, then the other, as if it was trying to understand something. Its nostrils flared, scenting the air, and its ears twitched, listening to the sound of Yuuta's breathing.
The wolf roared again, louder this time, and the sound echoed through the mountains and forests, reaching all the way to the cave where Sophia had been meditating. The roar was a challenge, a warning, a cry of frustration.
Yuuta's ears twitched. He covered them with his small hands, his face twisting in pain. The sound was too loud, too close, too much.
"Big... big dog..." he stammered, his voice barely audible. "Yuuta is a friend of God. If you hurt Yuuta, God will be angry."
The wolf opened its mouth wide, exposing all its teeth, its tongue, its throat. Saliva dripped from its jaws, and its breath was hot and rank. The teeth were yellowed, stained with blood, and they seemed to go on forever—row after row, row after row, each one sharper than the last.
It was ready to devour him.
Yuuta made himself small, curling into a ball, his hands covering his head. His knees pressed against his chest, and his face was buried in the snow. He was crying now, tears streaming down his cheeks, freezing on his skin. His body shook with sobs, and his breath came in short, ragged gasps.
"Sophia," he whispered. "Sophia."
Something hit the wolf.
It was not a weapon—not a spear or an arrow or a stone. It was a blast of pure mana, concentrated and focused, aimed at the wolf's legs. The energy was golden, bright, and it struck the beast's forelegs with the force of a battering ram.
The wolf stumbled. Its paws slipped on the ice, and it fell onto its side, crashing into the snow. The impact shook the ground, and snow sprayed into the air. The wolf struggled to stand, its legs refusing to cooperate, its muscles twitching and spasming.
Yuuta opened his eyes.
The wolf was on the ground, its massive body thrashing, its yellow eyes wide with confusion. Its growls were pained, angry, and its claws scrabbled against the ice, trying to find purchase.
"Yuuta."
The voice was soft, but firm. Familiar.
Yuuta turned.
Sophia was standing at the edge of the clearing, her green eyes blazing, her hands still glowing with the fading light of her spell. Her chest was heaving, and her face was pale, but she was there. Her hair was wild, tangled, and her clothes were torn, but she was there.
She had come for him.
Yuuta's eyes filled with tears—real tears, not the thick, slimy ones the experiments had left him with. He pushed himself up from the snow and ran toward her, his small legs pumping, his arms outstretched.
"Sophia! Sophia!" He threw himself into her arms, burying his face in her chest. His small body shook with sobs, and his hands clutched at her rags. "That wolf is bad! It tried to eat Yuuta! That wolf is bad!"
Sophia wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight. Her hand stroked his hair, gentle and soothing, and her voice was soft, almost a whisper.
"Oh, my little troublemaker," she said. "Why are you making your sister worry?"
Yuuta pulled back, his red eyes wet and wide. "But Yuuta wanted to see the shadow figure. It was huge. But Yuuta did not want to disturb Sophia." He sniffled, wiping his nose with the back of his hand. "So Yuuta went to see. I am sorry."
Sophia sighed. She pinched his ear gently, not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make a point.
"If you ever go out like that again," she said, "this sister will never talk to you again."
Yuuta shook his head frantically, his hands waving in the air. "Okay! Yuuta will listen to Sophia!"
The wolf, still struggling to stand, growled in the distance. Its yellow eyes were fixed on them, but it did not attack. Its legs were still weak, still twitching, and its movements were slow, sluggish.
Sophia glanced at it, then back at Yuuta.
Even after taking a direct hit from high-tier magic, the mutant wolf rose once more, its massive frame steadying against the frozen ground as a deep, distorted growl tore from its throat…
Its eyes locked onto Sophia and Yuuta—new prey.
Behind her, Yuuta trembled, shrinking like a frightened chick beneath a mother's wing…
Fear crept cold and sharp through Sophia's chest.
But she still stepped forward.
Placing herself between the beast and the child.
This was no ordinary creature—it was a monster feared for devouring even the frozen lands…
And yet—
She would not back down.
Not now.
Not ever.
To be Contiune...