Into the Wildfire - Elara
The golden eyes faded into the shadows behind him as we moved, but I knew they were still there—watching, waiting, a promise I couldn’t yet understand. And as I stumbled after him into the forest, leaving the river and the horrors of the dungeon behind, I realized something I’d never felt before:
I was no longer just a blacksmith. I was a survivor. I was a warrior. I was Elara, and the fire inside me had finally ignited.
The forest stretched endlessly, dark and whispering, every branch and root clawing at my arms and legs as though the woods themselves wanted to hold me back. My ribs burned with every breath, my muscles trembled under the weight of exhaustion, but I ran. I stumbled, slipped in the mud, cursed under my breath—and yet I ran.
Ahead, the golden eyes glimmered between the shadows along with the man. Steady. Unblinking. Watching. They didn’t move, didn’t speak, yet somehow they pulled me forward, tethered to something I couldn’t yet understand. My chest tightened with a mixture of hope and dread, the sense that someone—or something—was guiding me through this darkness.
I stumbled over a root, scraping my hands and knees, but the figure walking beside me remained flawless, silent, confident. At first, I thought it was real—a companion in the night, someone strong enough to shield me from the dangers I didn’t even know were near.
“Keep moving,” it said, the voice low, calm, impossibly steady. I didn’t know who it belonged to. I didn’t care. The words were a lifeline.
I forced myself upright, leaning on the projection as if it were tangible, and pressed onward. Pain shot through my body with every step. My ribs screamed with each inhale, every scratch and bruise on my skin throbbed. My hands burned where the ropes had cut deep, and a dull ache pulsed behind my swollen eye. Yet the shadow beside me never faltered. Step by step, it moved through the forest with the certainty I didn’t have—but was learning to claim.
I realized, slowly, that it wasn’t real. My mind had created it—my fear, my pain, my desperation given form. Every word it spoke, every calculated step it took, was my own will made visible, a voice I had ignored for far too long. And yet, as I followed, I felt strength I didn’t think I possessed. Strength that had been there all along, buried beneath bruises, blood, and fear.
The golden eyes in the distance didn’t move, but I felt them: a pulse beneath the forest canopy, quiet and steady, guiding me toward something greater than survival. Someone was out there, waiting. Someone I hadn’t met yet, but whose presence had already shaped my path. The eyes were real, unlike the companion beside me, and the thought filled me with both dread and determination.
“Pain is temporary,” the shadow said. “Fear is temporary. But you… you endure.”
I wanted to argue. I wanted to scream that I couldn’t, that my body was failing me. My legs felt like lead. My lungs burned. But I could still move. Still breathe. Still fight. And the shadow beside me didn’t let me stop.
Branches whipped across my face. A sharp snap to my left made me lurch sideways, but I didn’t hesitate. My projection stepped forward, guiding me around a tangle of roots I couldn’t have navigated alone. My vision blurred with tears, blood, and sweat, but the figure kept me upright, kept me moving.
The forest began to thin, and a sliver of moonlight spilled across the ground. Below, I glimpsed a river—silver and rushing, a dividing line between the forest and safety. My ribs screamed as I pushed through, mud sucking at my boots, muscles quivering, but the projection beside me remained steady, silent encouragement made flesh.
“Almost there,” it said, voice merging with my own thoughts, merging with my heartbeat. “Almost there.”
I reached the edge of the bank, slipping, nearly toppling into the river. But the shadow caught me—not with hands, but with a force of will that came entirely from me. I forced my legs to move, heart hammering in my chest. Step by step, I crossed the cold, rushing water, pain lancing through my muscles, until I reached the opposite shore.
I collapsed onto the damp earth, chest heaving, the spear still clutched like a lifeline. And there they were: the golden eyes. Still glowing, still waiting. Someone real. Someone who would not let me falter. My body ached, every nerve screaming, but a spark inside me—the same spark that had kept me alive in the dungeon—flickered to life.
I didn’t know who they were yet, or why they had been there. But I knew one thing: they had been watching all along, waiting until I could reach them. Until I could endure.
The shadow beside me—my creation, my courage given form—faded into the darkness. My steps slowed as exhaustion claimed me, but the golden eyes didn’t move. They were patient, unwavering, and somehow full of promise.
I realized then that survival wasn’t enough. Survival had gotten me here, yes. But the fire inside me—the wolf stirring beneath the human—was what would carry me forward. The shadow had only shown me what I already had.
And as I pushed myself to my feet, trembling, bleeding, and alive, I whispered into the night:
“I am not just surviving. I am becoming something more.”
The golden eyes held my gaze. Waiting. Watching. A promise yet to be fulfilled.
And I knew, deep in my bones, that the fire had only just begun to burn.