When I woke up, a sensation of floating enveloped me, as if my soul were suspended, detached from my body, lingering somewhere between life and death. The silence around me was almost tangible—dense and oppressive, as though the entire world was holding its breath, waiting. Each beat of my heart seemed to echo, reverberating through an endless, empty space. I could barely grasp what was happening, my mind clouded and heavy like lead.

My eyes opened slowly, reluctant to accept the strange darkness surrounding me. Everything seemed distorted, as though I were peering through a thick veil of mist. The moonlight, filtered through the trees, was faint and diffused, just enough to outline indistinct shadows. The air was fresh, carrying an earthy scent of herbs and wild plants that filled my nostrils. It was a smell that was both soothing and unsettling, like something familiar I couldn’t quite place.

I tried to move, but it felt as though my body was trapped. With effort, I turned my head, my fingers brushing against the cold, hard surface beneath me. Stone. My legs and arms, however, refused to obey—unresponsive, as if my own body had rebelled against me. It was a cruel reminder of the battle that had nearly cost me my life.

‘My body…’ I thought, as the realization hit me like a cold blade. ‘I really did break myself completely.’

‘But what… happened? I… I should have died… again.’ The words formed slowly in my mind, each one crawling through the fog that clouded my thoughts, a heavy veil of confusion obscuring everything.

I couldn’t make sense of it. In that fight with the bear, I… I was supposed to leave this world. And yet here I was, breathing, in a physical body that seemed intact—or almost—though it didn’t feel the same as before. This wasn’t the white dimension. So where was I? Who had brought me here?

Amid the haze of my thoughts, a sound broke through the silence. First, a distant howl. Then another. And another still. A series of howls, the echoes of a pack. Something deep in my mind warned me of imminent danger, but my body was paralyzed, unable to react.

‘No, I can’t… ‘I thought, but the fear didn’t come. There was a strange calmness instead, as though, against all logic, I had made peace with whatever was coming next.

Suddenly, the sound of irregular footsteps reached my ears. They weren’t human. Quick, erratic, as if the creature responsible for them was constantly on the move, ever-watchful. Whatever it was, I couldn’t immediately identify it, yet my curiosity remained, unshaken by the uncertainty.

Suddenly, something heavy landed on my face, plunging me into darkness for a brief moment.

But when my eyes opened again, I saw the creature. A massive, shadowy figure, covered in black, wavy fur. Its ears were pointed, and its nose—or rather, its snout—exuded an odd warmth. Its gaze, fixed and curious, studied me with an intelligence that felt eerily familiar. Sharp teeth glinted under the light of the full moon, visible even in the faint illumination.

‘A wolf?’ The question emerged in my mind with a clarity that contrasted sharply with the fog of confusion clouding me.

‘First a bear, now a wolf? I must be... quite the delicacy,’ I thought, oddly devoid of fear, resigned instead to a strange acceptance of my vulnerability.

The creature began moving around my body in slow, deliberate circles. I couldn’t see clearly, nor could I move to get a better look. For several minutes, it prowled, its movements irregular and enigmatic, until it approached again. One of its large, firm paws pressed against me with a surprising gentleness.

Then, without warning, it spat out a green, viscous substance directly onto my skin. The sensation was alien—cold, sticky, and faintly unsettling.

“There was no need for that,” I murmured weakly, my voice barely a whisper.

‘Even a wolf finds me worthy of spitting on’, I thought, the irony pulling a faint, tired smile from my lips.

The wolf ignored my words entirely. Instead, it began spreading the green, viscous substance over my skin with its large paws. Its movements were deliberate, careful even, but the sensation sent shivers through me. It was unsettling, and I wanted to protest, to demand answers about what it was doing, but the words remained stuck in my throat, unspoken.

It continued its work methodically, with a precision that belied its animalistic form. Its breath was steady and warm, and I could feel the weight of its presence, even though my body refused to cooperate enough to let me fully observe it.

This wasn’t mere instinct; there was intention in every action, a purpose I couldn’t decipher. Its crimson eyes, glowing like embers in the dim moonlight filtering into the cave, hinted at something far beyond the natural.

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For a moment, I fixated on the creature. ‘This is no ordinary wolf’, I thought as my weary eyes followed its fluid, calculated movements. It wasn’t acting like a predator, not entirely. It wasn’t hunting me—it seemed to know exactly what it was doing.

The wolf paused, lifting its snout to sniff the air, as though checking its surroundings. Then it turned its piercing gaze toward me, its glowing eyes locking onto mine. The intensity of its stare was almost unbearable, as if it were peering into my very soul. It let out a low, rumbling sound—somewhere between a growl and a grunt. It wasn’t hostile. If anything, it felt like a warning.

“Who… who are you?” I croaked, my voice faint and strained. I knew I wouldn’t get an answer in words, but I asked anyway. Some part of me hoped, irrationally, that this creature could respond, that it could somehow explain what was happening.

The wolf didn’t answer, of course, but the glow in its eyes seemed to flicker, like a spark responding to a breath of wind. Its gaze lingered, heavy with meaning I couldn’t yet grasp, before it returned to its strange, deliberate task.

The wolf didn’t answer. Instead, it let out a low howl that echoed through the walls of the cave. Before I could process the sound, it returned to its task, spreading the remaining substance over my body with the same methodical precision as before.

When it was done, the wolf simply lay down beside me, like a guardian who had fulfilled its duty but still remained watchful. For a moment, I stayed silent, observing it. It seemed so calm, so serene, that I almost forgot the danger that still loomed around me.

“You’re… helping me? Why?” My voice was barely a whisper, almost lost in the cool, heavy air of the cave. The wolf, until then completely still, turned its head to look at me. Its eyes, glowing a pure, vivid red, held a depth that made me question everything I thought I knew about the world.

Even in Alexander’s memories, in the countless books he had read and the stories he had listened to so eagerly, there had been no mention of wild animals behaving the way this wolf was.

It didn’t answer, but in that deep, enigmatic gaze, one thing was clear: for now, I was safe.

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I didn’t know how much time had passed. The darkness felt endless, but my mind, sluggish and muddled as it was, had begun to adjust. Then the growl of my empty stomach shattered the silence, pulling me back to reality.

‘Ah, right. I haven’t eaten in hours’ The thought came, cold and resigned.

‘Not that there’s anything I can do about it in this state.’ I sighed, a faint, ironic smile tugging at my lips. ‘I’ve been saved, only to starve to death.’

As if it had heard my grim musings, the wolf beside me rose. It was large, yet its movements were incredibly fluid, almost graceful. Lifting its snout, it let out a deep, resonant howl that echoed through the cave—a melody that stirred something primal in the air.

Seconds later, other howls answered in the distance. They were faint at first, but quickly grew louder, closer. My brow furrowed. ‘What is it doing now?’

It didn’t take long for me to hear the sound of approaching footsteps—quick, rhythmic, the unmistakable patter of paws on damp earth. And then I saw them: three smaller wolves entered the cave, their movements cautious and alert. They glanced at me briefly, their sharp eyes assessing, before turning their attention to the wolf that seemed to lead them.

The wolf that had been guarding me stepped aside, making way for the newcomers.

‘Even animals have shift changes?’ I thought, incredulous, though I lacked the energy to laugh at the irony.

Before I could make sense of what was happening, the new wolves began to nudge my body. One pushed my head, another supported my torso, and the third held my legs. Their touch was surprisingly gentle, almost careful.

‘What…?’ Before I could finish the thought, I felt myself falling, but the impact was cushioned by something soft. My position shifted, and I realized I was now lying face down.

‘They… put me on his back!?’ I glanced at the wolf that had been guarding me earlier. Now, it was carrying me, moving slowly as if afraid I might slip off.

The journey was slow, marked only by the sound of steady paws against the ground, but I couldn’t see where we were going. My head hung low, and my vision was limited to the dirt and leaves passing beneath us.

When we finally stopped, the wolf carefully lowered itself, and the other wolves moved me again, positioning me so I was leaning against a smooth rock. Now I was sitting, though still unable to move.

‘My babysitters are wolves… does this count as animal exploitation?’ The thought flickered in my mind, only to be replaced by something far more profound.

The first thing I noticed was the moon. Enormous, majestic, and full, its silver glow illuminated the clearing with an almost ethereal light. I was transfixed by the sight for a few moments, until something else drew my attention.

In front of a rocky formation stood a white wolf, larger than any of the others. Its fur shimmered under the moonlight, and its golden eyes stared at me with an intensity that was almost overwhelming. Around it, small pups were scattered—some nursing, others clumsily playing with their still-uncoordinated paws.

‘It must be a mother,’ I thought, watching the scene with a mix of awe and bewilderment. But there was something unsettling about the white wolf. Its gaze—it was far too human.

“Child, do not be afraid,” a feminine voice echoed in my mind, soft yet brimming with authority. “Come to me. There is room for you still.”

‘What?’ My heart raced. I looked at the white wolf, its golden eyes locked on mine. There was no doubt—the voice was coming from her.

“Child, come,” the voice spoke again. “Do not be shy. Feed yourself.”

My mind froze as I processed her words. I glanced at the pups still nursing and felt a shiver run down my spine.

‘Feed?’ I thought, horrified. The idea was so absurd, so grotesque, that for a moment it made me forget my dire situation entirely.