The wolf stood at the edge of the clearing, its massive body silhouetted against the moon, its yellow eyes fixed on Sophia. It was twenty-three feet long from nose to tail, and its shoulders stood nearly eight feet tall—a mountain of muscle and fur and death.
Blood still dripped from its jaws, the blood of the Coalan, the creature it had killed moments before. Its fur was matted with gore, and its breath steamed in the cold air like chimney smoke.
Sophia was five feet and five inches tall. She weighed less than one of the wolf's legs. Her hands, raised in a defensive stance, looked like twigs compared to the beast's claws. The wolf could have swallowed her whole without stopping to chew.
But she did not retreat.
She had faced monsters before—in the well, in the darkness, in the years of survival. She had fought hydra dogs and death crawlers and things that had no names. She had dug through stone with her bare hands and eaten the flesh of creatures that would have killed her if she had hesitated.
She would not hesitate now.
The wolf growled, low and deep, and took a step forward. The ground shook beneath its weight. Snow trembled on the branches of nearby trees, and small avalanches slid from the higher rocks. The sound was not loud, but it was heavy—a promise of death.
Sophia raised her hand. Her fingers were steady. Her breathing was calm. Her heart was a drum in her chest, but she did not let it control her.
The wolf charged.
It moved faster than anything she had ever seen—a blur of white fur and flashing teeth, closing the distance between them in the span of a heartbeat. Its claws dug into the snow, throwing up clouds of white powder that glittered in the moonlight like frozen stars. Its muscles bunched and released, bunched and released, propelling its massive body forward with terrifying speed.
Sophia dove to the side.
The wolf's massive body sailed over her, missing her by inches. She felt the wind of its passage, smelled the blood on its breath, heard the snap of its jaws as they closed on empty air. The sound was like a bear trap slamming shut, and it echoed through the forest.
She rolled, came up on her feet, and raised her hand.
"Ael' thir Garth!"
The words were ancient, older than the forest, older than the mountains. They were the words of her ancestors, the words of the earth, the words of the roots that lay sleeping beneath the snow. The air around her shimmered, and the ground began to tremble.
The roots burst from the soil.
They were thick as serpents, strong as iron, dark as old blood. They coiled around the wolf's neck, its legs, its body, squeezing with the force of a constrictor. The wolf snarled, thrashing against its bonds, but the roots held—for a moment.
The wolf roared.
The sound was not a weapon—not like the roar it had used against the Coalan. This was something else. This was pure, primal fury. The roots cracked. The wolf's muscles bulged, and with a surge of strength, it tore itself free.
Wood splintered. Snow flew. The wolf shook itself like a dog emerging from water, and its yellow eyes fixed on Sophia.
Sophia's eyes widened.
The wolf turned, its massive body pivoting with surprising grace, and charged again.
It was faster this time, more determined. Its claws raked across the ground, throwing up snow and dirt and frozen chunks of earth. Its jaws were open, and its teeth were aimed at her throat.
Sophia raised her hand again.
"Lir' thor Nym!"
Ice erupted from the ground, sharp as blades, forming a wall between her and the wolf. The crystals were thick and jagged, glowing faintly in the moonlight. The beast crashed into it, snarling, but the ice held—for a moment.
Then it shattered.
The wolf burst through, its fur coated in frost, its eyes blazing with rage. It lunged, and its claws struck her side.
Pain exploded through her body. She felt the skin tear, the muscle shred, the blood pour down her leg. The claws were like knives, four of them, each one longer than her hand. They carved deep furrows in her flesh, and she cried out, stumbling backward.
She fell to one knee.
The wolf circled, its yellow eyes fixed on her. Its tongue lolled from its mouth, and its breath came in short, excited gasps. It knew she was wounded. It knew she was weakening.
Sophia raised her hand.
"Fael' thir Dor!"
The snow around her feet began to glow. The light spread outward, illuminating the clearing, and the wolf hesitated. It had never seen magic like this. It did not know what to expect.
Sophia's body began to lift off the ground.
The wolf charged.
It was too fast. It reached her before she could rise, its jaws snapping at her legs. She kicked, striking its snout, and the wolf recoiled. She used the moment to push herself higher, to rise above the reach of its claws.
The wolf leaped.
Its massive body soared through the air, its jaws open, its teeth aiming for her throat.
Sophia raised her hand.
"Val' thir Nox!"
A blast of golden light erupted from her palm, striking the wolf in the chest. The beast howled, its body convulsing, and it fell back to the ground, landing hard in the snow.
The impact shook the earth. Snow sprayed into the air, and the wolf lay still for a moment, its chest heaving.
Sophia landed a few feet away, breathing hard. Her side was bleeding, and her arm ached, and she was tired.
The wolf rose, shaking its head, and growled.
Sophia raised her hand again.
The wolf charged.
It was slower now, its movements sluggish, its breath labored. Sophia sidestepped, and its claws missed her by inches. She struck it with another blast of light, and it stumbled, falling to its knees.
Sophia walked toward it.
The wolf tried to rise, but its legs would not obey. Its yellow eyes were dim, and its breath came in short, ragged gasps.
Sophia stood over it, her hand raised.
"Forgive me," she whispered.
She struck.
The wolf collapsed, its body going still, its eyes closing.
The forest fell silent.
Sophia stood over the beast, breathing hard, her body trembling. Her side was bleeding, and her arm ached, and she was tired.
But she was alive.
Yuuta rushed toward her, his small legs pumping through the deep snow, each step a struggle against the frozen ground. His arms were outstretched, his red eyes wide with fear—not for himself, but for her. Sophia was bleeding. The wound on her arm was deep, dark blood seeping through her torn sleeve, staining the fabric a deep, wet crimson. The snow was freezing her blood, turning it to crimson crystals that glittered in the moonlight like scattered rubies. Each drop that fell from her arm froze before it hit the ground, creating a trail of red ice behind her.
If she did not treat herself soon, she would lose the limb. Perhaps more. The cold was already creeping into her fingers, numbing them, turning them pale. The wound was deep enough that she could see the white of her own bone beneath the torn flesh.
He reached her and threw his arms around her waist, burying his face in her stomach. His small body shook with sobs, his shoulders heaving, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps.
"My little Yuuta," she said, her voice soft despite the pain, despite the blood, despite the cold that was stealing the feeling from her arm. "Are you okay?"
Yuuta pulled back, his face wet with tears. His red eyes were swollen, his cheeks flushed, his nose running. "Yuuta is okay," he said, his voice breaking, cracking like ice underfoot. "Yuuta is okay. But Sophia is hurt. Sophia is hurt because of Yuuta."
He started sobbing again, his small hands clutching her rags, his fingers digging into the fabric as if he was afraid she would disappear.
Sophia smiled. The pain in her arm was sharp, but she ignored it. She reached down and ruffled his hair, her fingers gentle despite the trembling in her hand.
"Oh, my little Yuuta," she said. "Did you think this little wound would be painful for your strong sister?"
Yuuta sniffled and looked up at her, his red eyes confused, searching her face for the truth, for the lie, for any sign that she was not as strong as she claimed.
Sophia closed her eyes and raised her hand. Her palm began to glow—soft, golden, warm, like sunlight filtering through leaves on a summer morning. The light spread down her arm, across her wound, and the flesh began to knit together. The bleeding stopped. The skin closed. The pain faded. The warmth spread through her body, chasing away the cold.
Yuuta's eyes widened. "Wow," he whispered, his tears forgotten. "Magic. Magic!"
He raised his arms, mimicking her gesture, his small hands glowing with nothing but enthusiasm.
Sophia smiled. "See? I told you. Your sister is strong."
"Sophia is strong!" Yuuta declared, puffing out his chest. "Sophia is the strongest! No one can touch Yuuta!"
He jumped up and down, his laughter filling the forest, echoing off the trees, chasing away the shadows.
Sophia looked at the wolf. Its massive body lay in the snow, steam rising from its wounds, its blood staining the white ground red. Its fur, once white as snow, was matted with blood and dirt. Its eyes, once yellow and predatory, were glassy and still. It was dead, but its body was still warm, still fresh. The meat would be good. Yuuta would have a warm meal tonight. Not jerky, not dried meat, but fresh, hot, nourishing food.
"Little Yuuta," she called. "Come here."
Yuuta jumped over a snowdrift and ran to her side, his face bright with excitement, his red eyes shining. "Yuuta is here! Yuuta is here!"
Sophia pointed at the wolf. "Do you want to see how your sister removes meat today?"
Yuuta's eyes widened. "Meat? Big dog meat? Yahhh!"
Sophia smiled and walked toward the wolf.
Erza watched, her heart pounding, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She knew what was coming. She had seen this before, in the reports, in the histories, in the stories told by hunters who had barely survived.
"No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
The Froven wolf had one final gift for those who killed it—a death roar, a sonic blast that could stun or kill predators even after its heart had stopped beating. It was a defense mechanism, evolved over millennia, designed to protect the pack. The wolf's body would go still, its heart would stop, its eyes would glaze over. But its throat would fill with one last burst of sound, one final weapon to strike down those who thought they had won.
Only those from the Atlantica continent knew about it. Only those who had grown up with the wolves, who had hunted them and been hunted by them, understood the danger.
Sophia was not from Atlantica. She did not know.
She knelt beside the wolf's head, examining the meat, planning her cuts. Her hands moved with the skill of someone who had spent years surviving on what she could scavenge. She pointed to the flank, the haunch, the places where the meat was thickest and easiest to remove.
Yuuta stood near the wolf's massive jaws, his small face inches from its teeth. The teeth were longer than his fingers, yellowed with age, stained with the blood of countless kills. He reached out, curious, wanting to touch the fur, the fangs, the beast that had almost killed him. His small hand hovered over the wolf's snout, trembling with excitement.
Sophia felt something wrong. A chill ran down her spine, colder than the winter air, colder than the snow beneath her knees. Her instincts screamed at her, a voice that had kept her alive in the well for years, that had warned her of danger before it struck.
This is not over.
She looked at the wolf's throat. It was moving. The muscles were twitching, contracting, expanding. The chest, which should have been still, was rising and falling. The lungs, which should have been empty, were filling with air.
No, she thought. No, it cannot be.
She remembered now. She had heard stories, in the courts of her mother, from hunters who had traveled to distant lands. They spoke of a beast, a wolf that could kill even after death. They called it the Froven, and they warned that its death roar could shatter bones and burst eardrums.
She covered her hands with dense mana, ready to block the sound. She could survive it. She could protect herself.
Then she saw Yuuta.
He was playing near the wolf's head, his small hands reaching for its fur, his face inches from its jaws. He did not know. He could not know. He was too young, too innocent, too unaware of the danger. He was smiling, laughing, his red eyes bright with wonder.
The wolf's mouth opened.
The sound began to leak—low at first, a rumble that vibrated in the chest, that shook the trees, that rattled the snow from the branches. Then it grew louder, building, growing, becoming something terrible.
Sophia ran.
She ran toward Yuuta, her legs pumping, her arms outstretched. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath came in short, sharp gasps. The snow was deep, slowing her down, pulling at her feet, but she did not stop.
Yuuta saw her running. He thought she wanted a hug. He lifted his small arms, his face bright with joy.
Unaware. Innocent. Doomed.
The wolf's mouth widened, its jaws stretching open wider than should have been possible, wider than any natural creature's jaws should ever stretch. The muscles of its throat bulged, and the bones of its skull seemed to shift, to rearrange, to accommodate the terrible sound that was building inside it. Its mouth was so wide that it could have fit a full-grown adult human inside—teeth, tongue, throat, all of it exposed, all of it vibrating with the force of the roar that was about to come.
Yuuta saw it. His eyes widened in fear, his small body freezing in place. He sensed something wrong, something terrible, something that his child's mind could not name but his instincts could feel. The air around him grew heavy, thick, charged with a power that made his skin crawl and his teeth ache.
Before anyone could process what was happening, the death roar began.
The sound was not loud in the way that thunder was loud. It was something else—something deeper, something that bypassed the ears and struck directly at the soul. It was a sound that did not travel through the air but through the bones, through the blood, through the very fabric of existence. The snow exploded outward, thrown into the air by the force of the blast, creating a massive white fog that swallowed the forest whole. Trees bent, their branches snapping like twigs, their leaves torn away by the sonic waves. The ground shook, and the air itself seemed to scream.
It was like a tornado had hit the forest—a tornado of sound, of fury, of death.
Erza and Isvarn watched, but they could not see. The snow fog was too thick, too dense, too white. Erza's heart pounded in her chest, each beat a hammer blow against her ribs, each second an eternity. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms, drawing blood. Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, and her eyes strained against the white, searching for any sign of movement, any sign of life.
Isvarn watched too, and something stirred in his ancient memory. The Sylvaris kingdom. The great tragedy that had befallen the elves centuries ago. The princess who had lost her sense. He remembered now. He understood. This was how it had happened. This was why the elf princess had been lost to her people.
The snow began to settle. The fog began to clear.
The wolf lay dead, its final roar spent. Its eyes had burst from the force of the sound, leaving dark, empty sockets that stared at nothing. Its throat was torn, its vocal cords shredded, its body broken by the power it had unleashed. Blood seeped from its ears, its nose, its mouth, pooling in the snow around its massive head.
Yuuta was alive.
His eyes were closed, his small body trembling in fear, his hands pressed against his ears. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, and his heart pounded so hard that he could feel it in his throat. He did not know what had happened. He did not know why the world had screamed. He only knew that he was scared, that the sound had been everywhere and nowhere, that something terrible had passed over him like a shadow.
Slowly, he opened his eyes.
The wolf was dead. Its massive body lay in the snow, still and silent, its fur matted with blood. The forest was quiet now, the only sound the soft whisper of the wind through the trees. Yuuta was okay. He had not heard a single thing—not the roar, not the scream, not the death cry of the beast.
His ears were still covered.
He reached up and touched the hands that were pressed against his head. They were soft and hard at the same time—soft like skin, hard like bone, trembling like leaves in a storm. They were Sophia's hands.
They were shaking.
Yuuta looked down. The snow beneath him was red. Blood pooled around his feet, spreading outward, staining the white ground crimson. The blood was warm, steaming in the cold air, and it seeped into the snow, creating a dark, spreading stain.
He looked up.
Sophia stood over him, towering above his small form like a guardian angel made of flesh and blood. Her hands were still pressed against his ears, her arms trembling with the effort, her fingers locked in place. Her face was pale—paler than the snow, paler than the moon, paler than anything he had ever seen. Her green eyes, once bright and warm, were now glazed, unfocused, staring at something he could not see.
Blood dripped from her ears, ran down her cheeks, and fell from her chin. It landed on the snow, on Yuuta's face, on his hands. Her nose was bleeding, her mouth was bleeding, her eyes were bleeding. Blood was everywhere—on her face, on her clothes, on the snow around her. It seeped from her pores, from her hairline, from the corners of her lips.
Yuuta's face twisted in horror. He had never seen anything so terrible. He had seen the lab, the experiments, the torture. He had seen children die and monsters feed. He had seen the dark elf carve runes into living flesh and the vampire surgeon drink blood from a glass. But he had never seen this. He had never seen someone he loved bleeding from every part of their face, their body, their soul.
"Sophia," he whispered. "Sophia!"
She did not respond. Her eyes were fixed on something far away, something he could not see, something that might not even exist. Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her hands, still pressed against his ears, were cold—colder than the snow, colder than the wind, colder than death.
Before the roar, she had used her arms, wrapped in dense mana, to cover Yuuta's ears. She had blocked every sound, every vibration, every wave of force from reaching his fragile eardrums. She had shielded him with her own body, her own magic, her own life.
But doing so had left her exposed. The sound had struck her directly—not her ears, but her head, her brain, her mind. The mana that should have protected her had been focused on Yuuta, leaving her vulnerable. The sonic blast had torn through her skull, through her thoughts, through her very consciousness.
Her ears had burst. Blood poured from them, thick and dark, staining her neck, her shoulders, her chest. Her eyes, once bright and alive, were now leaking red tears—not tears of sorrow, but tears of blood, the vessels in her eyes ruptured by the force of the sound.
Her mind was gone.
She was not unconscious. She was not sleeping. She was something else—something broken, something lost, something that could not be fixed. Her thoughts, her memories, her personality—all of it had been scrambled, shattered, scattered like leaves in the wind.
She was mindless now. A living shell. A body without a soul.
Yuuta did not understand. He was too young, too innocent, too unaware of the horror that had just occurred. He saw her bleeding, saw her trembling, saw her staring at nothing, and he thought she was hurt. He thought she would get better. He thought she would smile at him and ruffle his hair and call him her little troublemaker.
"Sophia," he said again, reaching up to touch her face. His small hands were gentle, careful, afraid of hurting her more. "Sophia, is okay?."
She looked at him.
Her green eyes, once filled with warmth and love and fierce protectiveness, were empty. Hollow. Vacant. They saw him, but they did not recognize him. They looked through him, past him, beyond him, at something he could not see.
"Yu... Yuuta..." she said, her voice weak, broken, barely a whisper. The words came out slurred, wrong, as if her tongue had forgotten how to form sounds. "Yu... Yuuta..."
She said his name, but there was no recognition in her voice. No love. No warmth. Just the mechanical repetition of sounds she had once known.
Her hands fell from his ears. They hung limply at her sides, dripping blood onto the snow.
"Yuuta," she said again, and then she smiled.
It was not her smile. It was not the smile of the elf who had shared her food and her fire and her hope. It was the smile of something else—something that had been broken and put back together wrong.
She collapsed.
Her body fell forward, crumpling into the snow, her face pressing into the cold white powder. She did not move. She did not breathe. She simply lay there, still and silent, her blood spreading around her like a dark halo.
Yuuta stared at her. His red eyes were wide, wet, terrified.
"Sophia?" he whispered. "Sophia, wake up. wake up."
She did not answer.
He knelt beside her, his small hands shaking, and touched her face. Her skin was cold. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing.
"Sophia," he said, his voice breaking. "Sophia, please. Yuuta is scared. Sophia wake up."
The forest was silent. The wind had stopped. The snow had stopped falling.
Only the child's voice echoed through the trees, calling for a sister who would never answer again.
To be continued...