Blood Hounds

The forest stretched endlessly before him, its towering pines whispering secrets to the wind. Kael pulled his cloak tighter against the evening chill, his weary steps crunching against the frost-laced ground. He had walked for days, seeking solace in the wilderness, far from the ruins of his past. But no matter how far he traveled, the ghost of Lysara lingered in his thoughts, her laughter echoing through the hollow chambers of his heart.

A howl shattered the quiet night.

Kael's hand went instinctively to the hilt of his sword. The sound was close—too close. His sharp gaze scanned the darkness between the trees, and there, illuminated by a sliver of moonlight, lay a wolf. Not just any wolf—an alpha, its thick silver fur matted with blood, its breathing ragged and shallow.

Cautiously, Kael approached. The wolf's golden eyes flickered open, meeting his with a strange intensity. It did not growl, did not bare its fangs. It only watched him, something ancient and knowing in its gaze.

"You're wounded," Kael murmured, kneeling beside the beast. He should have left it. A lone, injured wolf would not last the night. But something rooted him to the spot, something deeper than logic, deeper than fear.

The wolf did not flinch as Kael reached out, pressing a steady hand to its side. Warm blood coated his fingers. The gash was deep, likely from a hunter's arrow or a battle with another predator. It should have been dead by now.

And yet, it lived.

Kael sighed, unfastening the small satchel at his hip. He wasn't a healer, but he had enough knowledge to clean a wound. As he worked, the wolf did not fight him. It only watched, silent and unmoving, its great chest rising and falling in labored breaths.

"Fenrir."

The word was not his. It whispered through his mind like a breath of wind, foreign yet familiar. Kael froze, his pulse pounding in his ears.

"Is that your name?" he asked, glancing at the wolf.

The golden eyes blinked once, slow and deliberate.

A chill ran through Kael that had nothing to do with the cold.

He should have been afraid. A voice that was not his own should have sent him fleeing into the night. But instead, he felt something else.

Recognition.

As if he had always known this creature. As if their souls had been entwined long before this moment.

Kael exhaled, binding the wolf's wound with strips of cloth. "Rest, Fenrir. You'll live."

The wolf's eyes fluttered closed, its body surrendering to exhaustion. Kael sat back, staring up at the vast sky above, his fate unknowingly sealed in that moment.

For in saving the wolf, he had unknowingly saved himself.