The Golden Eyes - Elara
The forest welcomed me like a dark, secret friend, its shadows swallowing my battered form. Every rustle of leaves and snap of a twig made my heart leap, every breeze carrying the scent of danger. I stumbled over roots, my feet slick with mud, my ribs screaming with every step, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. The memory of the dungeon—the cold stone, the pain, the cruelty—burned in my mind like embers I couldn’t let die.
Then, among the blackness, I saw it: two points of golden light glinting in the trees. I froze, my chest heaving, my body trembling. They weren’t fireflies. Not the moon. Not anything natural in this forest. They stared at me, steady, unblinking, almost… guiding.
A part of me wanted to turn and run, to hide until exhaustion claimed me. But something in that glow—ancient, patient, wise—pulled me forward. One careful step. Then another. My toes slipped in the wet earth, mud coating my hands as I used them to balance on the roots and low branches. Yet the golden eyes stayed there, unwavering, waiting.
“Lead me,” I whispered to the darkness, though no one heard. My voice was hoarse, dry from screaming and the smoke of the forge that still clung to me. “Lead me out.”
And somehow, they did.
The forest thickened, gnarled branches brushing my arms, tearing at my hair. I scraped my palms across bark, leaving streaks of blood that mixed with dirt and mud, marking the path I forced myself along. My breath came in short, jagged gasps. Every step was agony, every shift of weight sending shards of pain through broken ribs. But the golden eyes waited, never shifting, never wavering, as if they were the pulse of the forest itself, drawing me toward safety.
A low growl vibrated beneath the earth, and I stumbled back, heart hammering. My spear—still clutched in my bloodied hands—was useless against whatever might be down there. I thought of my wolf, my Mate, my unfinished transformation… and cursed myself. Not yet. Not now. But the eyes—oh, the eyes—moved closer, golden and unwavering. They were patient. I wasn’t being hunted. I was being guided.
Branches whipped across my face, but I didn’t falter. I pressed on. My legs screamed. My chest begged for rest. My wrists burned where the ropes had cut deep, and I could still taste iron in my mouth from blood I hadn’t realized I’d swallowed. But the golden eyes pulsed ahead, and I followed, step by painful step.
The forest began to thin. Shadows stretched longer, blending into the night, and the faint outline of a river glimmered in the moonlight. My legs gave out, and I sank to the ground, panting. My hands pressed into the wet earth, the mud soft and cool beneath my fingertips. My eyes—my one clear, unbruised eye—locked onto the golden glow again.
“Keep going,” it seemed to say. “You’re almost there.” I didn’t understand. How could a pair of glowing eyes know? Know where the borders were? Know which way to go? But in this moment, logic and reason were luxuries I couldn’t afford. Survival was the only law, and those eyes—my strange, impossible guides—were showing me the way.
I crawled through underbrush, clambered over fallen logs, and slipped in shallow streams, water soaking through my tunic. But the eyes stayed ahead, unwavering. And slowly, I realized something incredible: the closer I got, the stronger I felt. Not physically—my body was a warzone—but inside. Inside, my chest filled with heat, a fire that no whip, no fist, no boot had been able to extinguish. I could feel it—the power of my wolf, dormant but alive, stirring at the edges of my human form.
A snapping branch to my left made me freeze, every nerve alive with tension. A shadow moved, larger than any human could be. My spear felt light, almost weightless in my hand, and instinct surged. My body tensed, not in fear, but in readiness.
Then the golden eyes shifted—not away, not back—but forward, down a narrow path between moss-covered boulders. They flickered as if urging me faster. I stumbled, coughing and choking, mud and blood mixing on my face, but I followed.
At last, the forest opened. The moonlight spilled over the edge of a cliff, and below, I could see the border of the territory: a river winding like liquid silver between thick woods. Across the water, the faint glow of campfires—friendly, safe. My pack. Or at least, allies.
And then I understood. The golden eyes weren’t just guiding me. They were leading me to freedom.
My hands shook violently, but I forced myself upright, leaning against the nearest tree to catch my breath. The pain in my ribs was unbearable, but adrenaline masked it, whispering lies of invincibility. I took a deep breath and whispered, “Almost there. Just a little further.”
A low rustle behind me made my heart leap, but the golden eyes appeared at the edge of the clearing, just a few paces ahead, reflecting the moonlight in a way no ordinary eyes could. And then, I saw it—faintly, barely perceptible—a shadow moving behind the eyes, a figure almost blending with the forest. Strong. Silent. Protective.
I didn’t hesitate. I ran, the spear clutched tight, every step echoing like a drumbeat in my chest. My legs ached, my lungs burned, but the golden eyes didn’t waver. The river came into view, rushing and silver, the current swift but shallow near the bank. I leapt, mud spraying, and landed with a harsh splash in the cold water. Pain shot through my legs, but I pushed forward.
The other side of the river came closer. The glow of the eyes moved with me, leading me across slippery rocks and uneven terrain. And then—suddenly—the forest behind me erupted in noise. Shouts. Barking. Footsteps. The patrol had discovered my escape.
But I didn’t look back. The golden eyes were ahead. Safety was ahead.
With a final burst of strength, I lunged from the riverbank, collapsing onto the dry earth, soaking and exhausted but alive. I didn’t have the energy to stand. I only had the energy to look at the eyes—golden, glowing, impossibly bright. And then, the figure stepped forward, human-shaped but somehow more, and extended a hand.
“Get up,” a voice said, deep and calm, like molten metal. “You’re safe now. Follow me.”
Pain lanced through my body, but hope—raw and blinding—flooded over me. I grasped for his hand but touched nothing, staggering to me feet on my own. My legs shook violently beneath me, but I didn’t care. I was free. Alive. Guided. Protected.