Viana sat brooding before the campfire, her gaze empty as it pierced through the twisting flames devouring the dry wood. The crackling and small sparks were the only sounds breaking the night's silence in the Beastfolk camp. Her head was crowded with confusing new information, like a thick fog shrouding her thoughts.
How did all this happen?
The question spun endlessly, accompanied by a rumbling anxiety unsettling her heart. Memories of her meeting with the Fenrir Beastfolk Chief and Shaman Elara that afternoon were still fresh, leaving deep trails of uncertainty.
"Indeed, curiosity can kill a cat..." she murmured softly, her voice almost drowned by the crackling fire.
"Maybe that phrase fits my condition now." A bitter smile twitched at the corner of her lips.
From Lycan the Beastfolk who saved her in the forest to Chief Eldric's hidden prophecy, it all felt like pieces of a massive puzzle forced into her hands. And Elara? The Shaman only added to the confusion with the list of high-ranking races directly serving Lord Luthein, including the Fenrir who were now her neighbors in this camp.
Her thoughts drifted to Elara's explanation about the Fenrir. Mythical wolves from her old world's legends, yet here in Lumare, they were stalwart guardian Beastfolk.
They lived on the eerie border, the Deadwood Forest. The name alone was enough to make her hair stand on end.
Land contaminated by miasma for centuries, where the World Tree Yggdrasil couldn't reach, making it a deadly forbidden zone. The Deadwood Forest wasn't just a physical boundary; it was also a protective wall. Because Yggdrasil, the heart of life in Lumare stretching across almost the entire continent of Eldoria, was coveted by the greed of humans from the Eldorian Empire, whose holy Temple powers could only contain, not cure, the miasma.
If Luna the spirit guards the Argentum Mansion, Viana thought, staring into the blazing embers, then these Fenrir... they are the guardians of the Labyrinth gate.
The Labyrinth was the underground space comprised of hundreds of passages, all converging on the void chamber beneath the sacred tree.
Her sigh was long and despairing. All of this... a new world, mystical races, a tree of life, a demon prison, a hidden prophecy, had happened within just 24 hours since she set foot in Eldoria. Her head felt heavy. From the shadows of the trees at the camp's edge, a pair of blue eyes watched her calmly. Lycan. He had been observing every heavy sigh and the crease on Viana's forehead.
One by one, the other Beastfolk members began retiring to their makeshift tents made of hide and wood. The camp atmosphere slowly quieted, leaving only the roar of the fire and the sigh of the night wind beginning to bite the bone. Viana remained seated, wrapping herself tighter in the thin cloak Elara had given her. Not because she wasn't tired—her body felt trampled—but because of a greater confusion.
Where am I supposed to sleep?
Lycan, noticing the confusion, finally moved. His steps silent as a shadow, he approached Viana from behind. His sudden presence made Viana jump, her heart pounding.
"Come with me," Lycan commanded, his voice low but firm in the night's silence.
Viana turned, startled, her eyes wide as she looked up at the tall Fenrir. "W-Where?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.
Lycan raised one eyebrow, his expression hard to read in the dim firelight. A click of his tongue sounded annoyed. "Just come. Better you get inside before the cold freezes that little brain of yours already full of question marks."
Without waiting for further answer, Lycan turned and walked along the camp's edge. Viana was forced to scramble to her feet, her legs slightly stiff, and follow the broad back moving nimbly between the tents. They passed the last cluster of tents, heading towards a smaller, more secluded one, hidden behind a formation of large boulders. This tent was also made of well-cured animal hide, looking sturdy and tightly sealed.
Lycan stopped in front of the tent flap, which was merely a hide curtain. "Sleep here tonight," he stated, pointing inside.
Viana peeked into the dark tent, then looked at Lycan full of questions. "Whose... is this?" she asked carefully.
"Mine," Lycan answered shortly, his hand resting on his hip.
Viana gaped. "Yours? Then... if I sleep here, where will you sleep?" Guilt began to prickle her. "I won't sleep well knowing you have to sleep on the cold ground just because—"
"Enough, woman!" Lycan cut her off, heaving a long sigh as if his patience was truly tested. He stepped closer, his shadow falling over Viana.
"We Beastfolk won't freeze to death even if we sleep on that ground you're worried about, and i have another place. Now," he pointed firmly at the tent flap, "go. Inside. And sleep. Tomorrow you'll need more strength than just brooding by the fire."
Before Viana could protest further, Lycan's strong but not rough hand pressed gently on her shoulder, pushing her slowly but surely towards the tent entrance. Viana stumbled slightly, grabbing the hide curtain to steady herself.
"But—" her protest still tried to escape.
"Sleep!" Lycan's voice was louder, firm, and final. "Or do you want me to tie you to the bed?"
Viana fell silent, her mouth snapping shut. Behind that annoyed tone, somehow, she caught a shred of... concern? Or maybe just his desire to be free of babysitting duty.
With mixed feelings of guilt, exhaustion, and lingering questions, Viana took a deep breath and pulled aside the hide flap. She glanced back one last time at Lycan, still standing tall, his silhouette stark against the moonlight. Without another word, she stepped into the warm darkness of the tent, leaving the guardian wolf and the mystery-filled Eldorian night outside. The hide curtain closed, separating her from the still-alien world, yet now offering a little warmth for a brief rest.
Questions about the prophecy and the Labyrinth still loomed, but for tonight, exhaustion finally won.
.
.
.
The full moon hung like a silver coin in Eldoria's pitch-black sky, illuminating the Beastfolk camp with cold light.
In front of the hide tent occupied by Viana, Lycan still stood as rigid as a guardian statue. His blue gaze seemed to pierce the hide curtain, as if he could see the shadow of the woman who had finally succumbed to exhaustion inside. His own breath misted white in the bone-chilling night air. Only after a while, when Viana's steady, rhythmic heartbeat inside the tent reached his sharp hearing, did Lycan finally move.
He stepped slowly to the right side of the tent, approaching a large, withered tree. Its leaves were blackened as if scorched, killed by the touch of miasma settling in this borderland soil.
With a weary movement, Lycan leaned his muscular back against the rough tree trunk. His thick hide and muscle offered scant protection from the wood's cold bite. He closed his eyes, trying to calm his turbulent thoughts.
But the calm didn't last. His eyelids snapped open again, emitting a pale, clear blue light in the darkness. A long sigh, full of pent-up frustration, escaped his broad chest. He stared at the vast, empty night sky, as if seeking answers among the cold stars.
"Why..." he murmured hoarsely, his voice rough with deep annoyance and confusion.
"Why did Shaman Elara order me to stay close to that woman?" The question gnawed at his mind like rats gnawing wood. "A nursemaid? A personal guard? This... this is uncomfortable."
Memories of that afternoon came flooding back, vivid as if just happening. After escorting Viana out from the meeting with Chief Eldric and Shaman Elara, Elara had signaled him to wait. The atmosphere in the Shaman's tent felt different, more secretive, heavier than when Viana was present.
"Lycan," Elara's voice, usually melodious, was lower, more serious. "There is one matter I must entrust to you."
Lycan nodded respectfully, but wariness flickered in his eyes. "What command, Shaman?"
Elara leaned closer, her signature scent of herbs and damp earth enveloping the small space. "I want you to remain near Miss Viana," she stated, each word emphasized.
"Every possible moment. Observe her, guard her, and aid her if she faces difficulty while she remains in our territory. Ensure she feels... safe."
Lycan jolted. His lips parted to protest, but Elara had already raised her delicate hand.
"But, Shaman Elara..." Lycan finally forced the words out, a furrow appearing on his brow. "Why me? I mean, you and Chief Eldric are clearly more experienced, more suited to..." He searched for the right word. "...oversee this human guest."
A small, mysterious, and utterly unsettling smile appeared on the Shaman's lips. "Ah, Lycan," she said, her wise eyes narrowing as if reading his thoughts.
"Was it not you who first found her? At the edge of the Deadwood Forest, alone, nearly becoming sustenance for miasma or other dark creatures?" She paused, letting the effect of her words hang deliberately.
"Threads of fate are already woven. And you are part of that weave. Why do you hesitate? Is there something... that makes you reluctant?" Elara's tone shifted, becoming slightly teasing, yet her gaze was sharp as a dagger, piercing directly into Lycan's discomfort.
A flicker of panic crossed Lycan's face. "No! Not at all, Shaman!" he denied quickly, his voice slightly higher than usual. He tried to compose himself.
"I just... feel inadequate. And she's a human woman. Wouldn't it be more fitting if a Beastfolk woman, one of our sisters, accompanied her? So she feels more comfortable?"
Elara shook her head slowly, the mysterious smile not fading, seeming to deepen instead. "Trust my instincts, Lycan. And trust the weave that is already spun."
She placed a light hand on Lycan's arm, her touch cold but searing. "You are the right choice. Do not doubt this."
At that moment, Lycan could only feel chills running from Elara's touch, not from cold, but from deep uncertainty and discomfort. He gave a stiff nod, wordlessly accepting the command that felt more like a curse.
Back under the miasma-contaminated tree, Lycan grumbled inwardly.
Threads of fate? Weave? Shaman nonsense and the Chief's prophecy!
He looked back towards his tent, now occupied by Viana. The sound of the woman's calm breathing was still audible.
What am I supposed to do? Watch over her like a lost pup? Be her nursemaid? The frustration boiled again. He was a Fenrir warrior, a guardian of the Labyrinth, not a babysitter for a confused human!
The night wind blew stronger, carrying the scent of rotten earth and miasma from the nearby Deadwood Forest. Lycan took a deep breath; the foul air didn't affect his adapted body.
But the discomfort in his heart, the Shaman's confusing command, and the presence of the mysterious woman in his tent—all felt more biting than the polluted night air. For tonight, his task was clear: guard. Though his heart rebelled, his loyalty to the Shaman and his clan won out. He closed his eyes again, this time with the resolve to at least try to rest, while his ears remained tuned to the tent, listening to every breath from the human who was his new, unwanted responsibility.
Why her? And why me?The questions kept spinning, accompanying the thick silence of the night.