The woods beyond Eldoria were ancient.
Dark.
Wild.
And forbidden after sunset.
Children grew up hearing tales of shadow creatures and whispering trees. Of fae lights that lured wanderers off the path. Of wolves that weren't wolves at all.
Lyra had never believed the stories. Not really.
Until the day she met one.
---
It began with a dare.
Theo had found a half-buried map behind his grandfather's barn—faded, torn, and supposedly ancient. On it was a small circle drawn near the river bend deep in the forest, marked with one shaky word:
"Sanctum."
"It's probably just an old hunting post," Mira said, squinting at it. "Or a root cellar."
"Or treasure," Theo whispered dramatically.
Lyra shook her head. "We're not supposed to go past the elder oaks."
"Exactly why we should," Theo grinned.
So on a cloudy morning, with woven baskets packed with dried fruit, bread ends, and a borrowed flask of water, they set off—three children chasing whispers through leaves.
---
The forest swallowed them quickly.
The light shifted as the trees grew thicker. Ferns brushed their ankles. Birds called high overhead, and once, Lyra thought she saw a deer watching them from behind a thicket of moss.
She loved it here, despite the unease. The forest felt... familiar. Like an old song she couldn't quite recall.
Theo led with the map. Mira followed with her sketchbook. Lyra walked last, glancing back every so often as though expecting something to follow.
By midday, they reached the river bend—and found nothing.
No ruins. No treasure.
Just stones, water, and silence.
Mira threw a pinecone at Theo. "Nice 'sanctum'."
"Maybe we missed it," he muttered.
But Lyra wasn't looking at the river.
She was staring at a tree.
Unlike the others, it stood alone—tall and blackened at the bark, as if struck by lightning years ago. Its roots twisted around a small rise of earth, and something shimmered faintly at its base.
She stepped closer.
There, hidden under a curl of moss, was a carved stone disk—etched with a symbol she couldn't name but knew with her bones.
It was the same as the one from her dream.
A star inside a circle, wrapped in wheat.
---
"Guys... I think this is something," Lyra said softly.
But before she could kneel to examine it, a low growl cut through the air.
All three of them froze.
From the brush, a pair of glowing yellow eyes stared back.
A wolf.
No—too large for a wolf. Its body was lean, but monstrous. Black fur matted with dirt. Its breath steamed in the air, though the day was warm.
Then it stepped forward, and Lyra gasped.
Its legs shimmered, faintly translucent near the paws—as if it weren't fully part of this world.
"Run," she breathed.
They didn't need to be told twice.
---
Branches whipped past them as they tore through the forest. Lyra heard Mira stumble, but Theo grabbed her arm. The wolf snarled behind them, too fast, too close.
Lyra turned suddenly, heart pounding, and raised her hands.
"Leave us!"
Her voice rang louder than it should have—echoing strangely, as if the forest itself listened.
The wolf skidded to a halt.
Its eyes widened.
For one terrifying moment, it crouched... then yelped and darted back into the trees, vanishing like smoke.
Silence fell.
Theo and Mira turned slowly.
"...Did you just scare it away?" Mira asked.
"I—I don't know," Lyra said, shaking. "I just shouted."
"No," Theo said. "It stopped when you spoke."
---
They hurried home before anyone noticed they were gone. Their clothes were torn, their arms scraped, and their nerves frayed.
Lyra said nothing of the tree. Or the disk.
But that night, she dreamed again.
She stood in a hall of stars, wearing a cloak of wheat and flame. At her feet, a wolf bowed—not out of fear, but reverence.
And a voice echoed in her ears:
"Even the wild things remember your name."
---
The next morning, Mira showed her a sketch.
It was the wolf.
Every detail perfect—except one.
Its eyes, in the drawing, were not yellow.
They were gold.
---
> In the woods where gods once whispered,
A girl met a beast not born of this world.
And though she ran in fear,
It was not fear that saved her.
It was a name older than forests,
And a voice still laced with stardust.