The forest deepened, trunks twisting like frozen waves, moss glowing faintly underfoot. Alex padded after the fox-creature, trying to be quiet. Each step made a soft thud, hooves slipping on roots slick with dew. He still felt ridiculous: a high-schooler's brain in a lamb's body, sneaking through an enchanted forest at the heels of a flaming-tailed guide.
The fox moved like liquid fire, weaving between branches, never disturbing a twig. Occasionally it glanced back, as if measuring Alex's resolve. After a few minutes it dropped from a branch and padded along the ground beside him. Its fur smelled faintly of cedar and smoke.
"You're slower than I expected," it said in a voice like rustling leaves.
Alex startled. He had been thinking words but not expecting to hear them in return. "I… can you understand me?" he whispered — and was surprised to hear his own voice: low, rough, more a growl than a bleat. The sounds weren't human, but the meaning travelled anyway, like thoughts wrapped in sound.
The fox's ears twitched. "Good. The mark quickens your tongue. You'll be speaking clearly by moonrise."
"The mark?" Alex asked, glancing at the blue glow beneath his fleece.
The fox's eyes glimmered. "You wear an old sign, little one. The elves have been searching for it since before your kind learned fire. They fear it, yet crave it. It's a key to an ancient vault — and a weapon."
Alex's heart thudded. Weapon. Vault. Key. It sounded like every fantasy RPG rolled into one. "And what do you want with it?"
The fox smiled without showing teeth. "To see if you'll survive long enough to use it. Most don't."
A cold thrill ran through Alex. He had always imagined himself as the hero in these worlds, but something about the fox's tone ignited a darker ambition. They think I'm a prophecy. They think I'll come to them. What if I don't? What if I decide the game's rules?
He raised his head, meeting the fox's gaze. "Then tell me how to survive."
The fox flicked its tail. "First rule: don't trust elves. Second: don't trust me either." It leapt onto a fallen log. "But if you must learn, you must begin at the ruins."
It trotted off again, and Alex followed, hooves crunching dried leaves. "Why me?" he asked after a moment. "Why a lamb?"
The fox chuckled. "A vessel must be underestimated to pass unnoticed. A lamb can walk into places a wolf cannot. You were chosen because you think like a hunter inside a prey's skin."
Alex chewed on that. A hunter in a prey's skin. Antihero, not hero. He could live with that.
They climbed a ridge where the trees thinned and sunlight poured through. Below, a valley opened — a scar of stone and vines, scattered with marble pillars broken like teeth. Ruins sprawled across it, humming faintly with a power Alex felt in his hooves.
The fox sat, tail curling around its paws. "Down there," it said. "Old knowledge sleeps. Take it before the elves do."
Alex stared at the ruins. They looked both inviting and deadly, like a puzzle designed for someone just like him. He felt the blue glow under his fleece pulse faster, as if urging him on.
Behind him, somewhere far away, a horn blew. The sound rolled over the hills like thunder. The elves were moving again.
Alex turned to the fox. "Then let's not waste time."
It bared its teeth in a grin. "Good. Perhaps you'll be interesting after all."
It bounded downhill. Alex followed, heart hammering, mind already calculating. He wasn't the helpless nerd anymore, not the sheep to be herded. He was the one holding the key. And for the first time since waking in this body, he felt something like power.