Got it
The moon hung low over the treeline, a pale shard of silver drifting through the dark as Zikura pushed deeper into the forest. The night air was cold enough to bite at his skin, but he didn't slow; his instincts were louder than the frost, louder even than the quiet ache blooming in his chest. Hours earlier, he had escaped a band of rogue trackers—men who claimed to serve the villainous Order but carried too much fear in their eyes to truly understand who they served.
Now he wasn't running from them.
He was running toward something else.
The forest whispered as he moved. Leaves shivered, branches bowed, and the earth itself seemed to pulse with a soft, rhythmic energy that tugged him forward. Zikura had lived his whole life surrounded by magic—shaman chants, war spells, healing runes—but this… this was different. This magic felt alive. Watching. Listening. Remembering.
He paused when the path split into two narrow ways, each swallowed by shadow. A faint wind drifted from the left path, carrying the scent of ash and something metallic—blood, maybe. The right path, though darker, smelled like damp moss and old stone.
Zikura closed his eyes, letting his wolf senses expand. A faint pulse thrummed beneath his feet, weaving upward like a heartbeat in the soil.
Right.
He turned and followed the darker path.
For several minutes, he moved through a corridor of ancient trees draped in silver moss. Fireflies blinked faintly, like floating embers drifting through the dark. Slowly, the forest shifted around him—the air thickened with layered energy, pressing against his mind. It wasn't hostile. But it wasn't welcoming either. It was evaluating him.
Then he felt it—a sudden, sharp tremor that raced up his spine.
Someone was watching him.
Zikura stopped.
"Show yourself," he said quietly, eyes narrowing.
The forest responded with silence… then a soft ripple of movement. Something stepped onto the path ten paces ahead—a figure cloaked in green and brown, face hidden beneath a hood woven with glowing vine threads. A staff rested loosely in their hand, topped with a crystal that pulsed softly like a heartbeat.
A forest mage.
Zikura stiffened.
The figure tilted their head slightly. "How curious," the stranger said, voice soft but echoing slightly, as though the forest itself spoke through them. "The wolf who was once the village's pride… then became the villains' blade."
Zikura's throat tightened. His jaw flexed. "I don't know who you are, but I'm not here to fight."
"Good," the mage replied. "You wouldn't win."
A flicker of irritation sparked in him, but he forced his voice to stay neutral. "Who are you?"
The figure lifted their hood just enough to reveal part of their face—a woman, sharp-eyed, her irises a vivid green that glowed faintly.
"My name is Lumea," she said. "Guardian of the Forest That Remembers."
Zikura frowned. "Remembers what?"
"Everything," she murmured. "The memories of the land, the past lives that walked it, the lies spoken, the truths buried."
Her gaze sharpened.
"And it remembers you."
Zikura took a step back. "What does that mean?"
Lumea walked toward him, each step soundless despite the dry leaves beneath her boots.
"It means the forest knows what happened to you. The real story beneath your missing memories."
His breath hitched.
He hadn't told her about the gaps. The blank spaces. The flashes of strange symbols, the voices in his head that didn't belong to him. The dream of staring into a pool of dark water and seeing a pair of glowing red eyes staring back—his own, but twisted.
"How do you—"
"The villains did not simply brainwash you," Lumea interrupted softly. "They carved into your mind. They buried memories that weren't meant to be touched. They sealed away parts of your spirit. And they bound you with a curse that still clings to your aura like poison."
Her staff crystal brightened.
"And the forest wants to free you."
Zikura's heart pounded. "Why? You don't even know me."
Lumea's eyes softened. "Because this forest was once protected by the same ancestors who blessed your village. Your people and this land share an ancient bond. And you, Zikura… are the last surviving heir to the Wolf Wardens."
The air fell silent.
Zikura blinked. "That can't be true. My family—my clan—they were wiped out when I was a child. There's no one left."
"Your blood remembers," she replied gently. "Even when you don't."
He opened his mouth to argue again, but the forest trembled suddenly—so violently that the trees groaned and birds scattered in panicked bursts of feather and chirps.
Lumea's expression darkened. "They found you."
Zikura's body tensed instinctively. "The Order?"
"No," she said, voice low. "Something worse."
A howl echoed through the forest—long, chilling, a cry that made Zikura's wolf instincts recoil in fear. It wasn't a natural sound. It was twisted, warped, laced with dark magic.
Lumea raised her staff. "A Soul-Hunter. They must have sent it when your trackers failed."
Zikura's blood went cold.
Soul-Hunters weren't beasts. They weren't spirits. They were corrupted wolves—once warriors like him, now hollowed out, turned into monsters that fed on life essence.
A branch snapped to their left.
Another howl rang, closer.
Lumea glanced at him. "We don't have time. I can open a memory gate—something that will let you reclaim one lost piece of your past. But once I open it, you must choose quickly. The Soul-Hunter will attack the moment it senses the gate's energy."
Zikura swallowed hard. His pulse hammered in his ears. "And what if I choose wrong?"
She met his gaze, steady and unwavering.
"Then the forest will swallow your consciousness. And you will never wake again."
A cruel choice. A terrifying one.
But he nodded. "Do it."
Lumea drew a glowing sigil in the air with her staff. Light rippled outward, forming a shimmering oval doorway filled with swirling mist. His heart pounded painfully. Deep inside, something stirred—something old, something familiar.
Another howl—right behind them.
The Soul-Hunter lunged through the trees, eyes burning violet, fangs dripping shadow.
Zikura clenched his fists.
Lumea shouted, "Go! The gate will hold for only a moment!"
He took a breath, stepped forward—
And plunged into the gate.
As the mist swallowed him, Zikura felt the forest's ancient heartbeat surround him—warm, powerful, overwhelming.
Then everything went white.
And he opened his eyes into a memory he didn't know he had.