1 A Forest of Blood and Gold
The first thing he knew was the smell. Iron, thick and coppery, clogged his nostrils. The second was the pain, a dull, throbbing ache that seemed to radiate from every part of his body. The third was the sound—a chorus of chirping birds and rustling leaves that was far too cheerful for the state he was in.
He opened his eyes.
A canopy of emerald green and dappled sunlight swam into focus. He was lying on his back, nestled between the roots of a giant, ancient tree. He tried to sit up, and a wave of dizziness forced him back down, his head spinning. His hands, trembling, moved to his chest. They came away sticky and rust-red.
Blood. So much blood.
Whose is it? Mine?
He patted himself down, his movements frantic, clumsy. There were no gaping wounds, no source for the crimson stain that painted his tattered, unfamiliar clothes. It was just… there. A dried, flaking crust of someone else's tragedy—or his own.
Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle at the edges of his consciousness. He didn't know where he was. He didn't know how he got here. He didn't know…
…Who am I?
The question echoed in the void of his mind, meeting nothing but empty silence. No name. No memories. No past. He was a blank page, smeared with blood and confusion. The only thing that remained was the ability to form thoughts, and the words to label the world around him. Tree. Sky. Blood. Fear.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, he forced himself to sit up, leaning against the rough bark of the tree. He was a boy, he could tell that much. Slender limbs, small hands. He raised a hand to his face, touching hair the color of sun-bleached wheat. Blond.
Driven by a sudden need, he crawled towards a nearby rain puddle, its surface a perfect, murky mirror. He stared at his reflection. A stranger stared back. A boy, maybe twelve years old, with a pale, smudged face and wide, frightened eyes. Light brown eyes. They were… ordinary.
Then, as if in answer to his unspoken plea for something, anything familiar, a shaft of sunlight broke through the canopy and fell directly upon his face. The light caught his irises, and for a breathtaking moment, they were not ordinary at all. They shimmered, transforming into a brilliant, molten gold.
He gasped, stumbling back from the puddle. The gold faded as quickly as it appeared, leaving the light brown once more. But the image was seared into his mind. Gold. My eyes… they shine gold.
A twig snapped somewhere to his left.
Instantly, every muscle in his body tensed. The philosophical terror of amnesia was shoved aside by a primal, immediate fear. Something was in the forest with him. He wasn't alone.
His head whipped around, his senses straining. The birds had stopped singing. The forest had gone silent. His heart hammered against his ribs, a frantic drumbeat in the eerie quiet. He didn't think; he moved. Scrambling on all fours, he shoved himself into the hollow space between the giant roots of the tree, pressing his back against the rough wood, making himself as small as possible.
Don't see me. Don't smell me.
He held his breath, listening. There was a soft, padding footfall. Heavy. Deliberate. Then a low, guttural growl that vibrated through the forest floor and up into his bones.
Peering through a gap in the roots, he saw it. A creature, lean and wolf-like, but larger than any wolf had a right to be. Its fur was a mottled grey, and its jaws were parted in a snarl, revealing yellowed, dagger-like fangs. Drool dripped from its maw, and its eyes, a sickly green, scanned the clearing. They passed over his hiding place once, then twice.
It knew he was here.
The beast took a step closer, its nose twitching as it caught the scent of blood. Paralyzing fear threatened to consume him. He was going to die here, nameless and forgotten, in a forest he didn't know.
But then, something else surfaced. A cold, analytical calm that felt alien and yet intimately familiar. The blind panic receded, replaced by a hyper-awareness of his surroundings. He could see the way the beast's muscles coiled before it moved. He could hear the subtle shift of its weight from one paw to another. His vision seemed to sharpen, the world coming into a focus so clear it was almost painful.
The puddle, the cold part of his mind whispered. It's on your left. The beast is wary of the unstable ground there. It will circle to the right. When it does, run for the thicket behind you. Don't hesitate.
The thought wasn't in his voice. It was colder. Older. And it was right.
As if on cue, the beast shifted, bypassing the muddy puddle and beginning a slow, predatory circle to the right, directly towards an opening in the roots. This was his chance.
He didn't question the instinct. He exploded from his hiding place.
The beast let out a surprised yelp and then a roar of fury, lunging after him. The boy ran, his legs pumping, fueled by pure adrenaline. Thorns ripped at his clothes, branches slapped his face, but he barely felt them. His entire being was focused on the path ahead, his body moving with an unnatural grace he didn't understand, ducking under low-hanging branches and leaping over fallen logs as if he'd run this course a thousand times.
He could hear the beast crashing through the undergrowth behind him, its hot breath ghosting on his neck. It was faster. He wouldn't make it.
A memory, sharp and painful, flashed behind his eyes: White walls. The smell of antiseptic. The cold grip of a metal restraint on his wrist. The image was gone as quickly as it came, leaving only a residual ache of terror.
He risked a glance back. The beast was mere feet away, preparing to leap. This was it.
And then, he heard it. A sound that didn't belong in this deadly chase. A soft, gentle humming. A melody.
It came from his right. Without a second thought, he veered towards it, bursting through a final wall of ferns and into another, smaller clearing.
He skidded to a halt, his chest heaving.
The humming stopped.
Standing in the middle of the clearing, a wicker basket hooked over her arm filled with herbs, was a girl. She was a few years older than him, with kind, brown eyes and hair the color of rich earth, braided neatly over one shoulder. She was staring at him, her eyes wide with shock and pity, her hand frozen mid-reach for a blue-flowered plant.
The beast snarled as it emerged from the thicket behind him, but the boy couldn't look away from the girl's face. It was the first friendly face he had ever seen, even if he couldn't remember the others that must have come before.
Her gaze swept over him, taking in the tattered clothes, the pale skin, the blood—so much blood. Her expression softened from shock into profound compassion.
"By the spirits..." her voice was a whisper, gentle as the forest breeze. "Are you alright? You're covered in blood!"
The boy tried to speak, to warn her about the monster, to ask for help, to say anything. But all that came out was a ragged, broken stammer, the first words of his new, empty life.
"I... I don't know."