Jason Grekor

The journey north was proving far more arduous than I had anticipated. A vast, desolate expanse stretched before me, punctuated only by the occasional, lonely village clinging to existence. It was October, the heart of autumn, yet the wind seemed to mock the season. Above, the sun, a pale specter hidden behind a thick curtain of clouds, offered no respite.

For days now, I had been traversing the Whitewoods, a dense, ancient forest. Towering oaks, pines, and spruce crowded the narrow path, their branches interlaced like grasping claws. Small creatures darted amongst the trees, their movements a fleeting distraction from the monotony of the journey. Beside me flowed the Vine River, the lifeblood of Elaecia. Its waters were a dark, swirling mirror reflecting the somber sky.

My loyal horse, Raven, pressed onward, his hooves drumming a steady rhythm against the frozen ground. My shoulders ached from the constant sway of the saddle. A gnawing weariness settled over me, blurring the edges of my vision. The wind howled like a banshee, whipping my cloak around me and stinging my exposed skin with icy needles. I pulled my hood tighter. But the cold seemed to seep through every layer of clothing, numbing my fingers and toes.

At last, after what felt like an eternity, I reached the infamous Last Bridge, a skeletal structure spanning the turbulent river. Bleached white by countless seasons of harsh weather, its weathered timbers groaned under the weight of the wind. Its sagging chains, rusted and creaking, swayed precariously in the gusts, threatening to snap at any moment.

Despite its precarious appearance, the bridge miraculously held firm as I urged Raven across its creaking planks, a silent prayer escaping my lips. With each step, I felt a tremor run through the aged structure, a shudder that echoed the trepidation in my own heart. But I pressed on, my gaze fixed on the opposite shore, where the forest's edge promised a semblance of shelter.

Past noon, the overcast sky offered no respite, only a deepening gloom that painted the forest on the other side in shades of menace. I hesitated, weighing my options. Should I risk venturing into the treacherous woods under the cloak of night, or seek shelter among the abandoned ruins that dotted the riverbank?

As I pondered my next move, a sudden sound pierced the tranquility – the rhythmic clip-clop of approaching hooves, sharp against the frozen ground. My hand instinctively sought the hilt of my sword, its comforting weight a familiar presence. I turned towards the sound, my eyes scanning the shadows, searching for the source of the disturbance.

A lone rider emerged from the forest's edge, his silhouette a dark smudge against the fading light. He sat astride a magnificent steed, its coat as black as a moonless night, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural intensity. The rider himself was clad in the somber uniform of the Northern Garrison, his face hidden in the shadows of a hooded cloak.

"Hold there, traveler!" a voice boomed through the twilight. A young rider emerged, a grin splitting his face. "Rudolph Fichtner, at your service! Thirty-second recruit, best in the bunch. You heading to the garrison, eh? Looks like you could use a good night's rest!"

I eyed the young recruit, taking in his eager demeanor. Green, I thought to myself, but there was a spark of genuine warmth in his eyes that disarmed me slightly. "Jason Grekor," I replied, offering a weary smile. "And yes, the garrison is my destination." I made a show of rummaging through my saddlebag, feigning a tired sigh. "Been on the road for days. This old decree needs delivering." I flashed the royal seal briefly, gauging his reaction.

He took the bait, eyes widening with a mix of awe and suspicion. "Ooh, straight from the capital! Important business, eh?" He dismounted, a touch too quickly, eagerness radiating off him. "Don't worry, Ser Grekor," he said, puffing out his chest. "Your secret's safe with me." He winked, and I had to suppress a smile. Easy to read, this one.

"Much appreciated," I said, matching his enthusiasm with a tired smile.

"We can rest for the night in our camp," Rudolph continued, gesturing towards the forest path. "A comrade awaits us there. We're on patrol, you see." He puffed up his chest slightly, clearly proud of his duty.

"Patrolling for what?" I asked, feigning casual curiosity while subtly scanning the treeline.

"Bandits, wildlings, the usual scum," Rudolph replied, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "But this time," he added, leaning closer, "it's something a bit more... exotic."

I raised an eyebrow, playing the part of the intrigued traveler. "Do tell."

Rudolph grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Dark wolves," he whispered. "Nasty beasts, shouldn't be anywhere near here. They say they hail from the Dragsula itself!" He shivered dramatically. "Gives us a chance to prove our mettle, wouldn't you say?"

"Dragon Peninsula," I echoed, letting a hint of apprehension color my voice. The temple elders would scoff at the mention of such a place, but I always kept an open mind. There was more to this world than most believed.

"Don't you worry, though, sir," Rudolph assured me, his voice brimming with youthful confidence. "We'll be safe as houses. We're not far from the garrison, and we have a Visir with us. He could take down a whole pack of those overgrown pups with his bare hands!" He laughed, oblivious to the dangers that might lurk in the shadows.

This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

I nodded, offering a reassuring smile while my mind raced. A Visir, was it? That might prove useful. Still, a dark wolf – or whatever was out there – wouldn't rely on brute force alone. This encounter was becoming more intriguing by the minute.

I nudged Raven forward, following Rudolph down the rough, wooded path. We had barely ventured into the forest. Suddenly, a deadly arrow, seemingly materializing from thin air, streaked through the twilight. It found its mark with a sickening thud, embedding itself in the skull of the man riding before me. Rudolph's body stiffened for a fleeting moment before collapsing onto the forest floor. He was gone, just like that.

The sight of his lifeless body sent a jolt of horror through me. The suddenness of the attack, the brutal efficiency of the kill, left me reeling. My mind struggled to process the scene, the image of the arrow protruding from Rudolph's skull seared into my memory.

For a heartbeat, there was only silence. The wind seemed to hold its breath, the river stilled its flow, as if the whole world were in shock. Then, a low growl shattered the quiet, a sound that sent a shiver down my spine. Before I could even react, a creature leaped from the depths of the forest, its jaws agape, its eyes burning with primal fury. I was thrown from my horse, the impact jarring my bones.

The world seemed to hang suspended for a breath. Then the monstrous wolf was on me, its size defying belief, its icy blue eyes boring into mine as its jaws clamped down on my unsheathed sword. Its immense weight pinned me to the unforgiving ground, the force nearly unbearable. Its foul saliva dripped onto my face, hot and reeking, as I struggled desperately to break free. It was like trying to move a mountain.

Instinctively, I tapped into the reserves of essence within me. The essence coursed through my body, a smooth sensation flowing through my veins. The air crackled as energy hummed around me. With a primal roar, I channeled this force outward, pushing against the wolf's immense weight.

The force of my aura was enough. The wolf's grip loosened, its jaws releasing my sword with a metallic clang. A surge of raw mana coursed through my veins as the monstrous wolf's weight lifted. I scrambled back, my heart pounding a war drum against my ribs, my breath ragged in my throat. The wolf snarled, a shadow against the bleak landscape, its eyes burning with primal rage.

But then an arrow struck me in the leg from behind. I groaned in pain, the world tilting, but my one eye never left the predator. The archer! I thought, panic flaring.

The second arrow didn't come, but I could hear a scuffle behind the trees and bushes. The Visir, I realized with a surge of grim hope. He's here.

My aura prevented a fatal wound, but the arrow seemed unusual. Poisoned, I thought grimly, a wave of dizziness washing over me. Of course.

I forced myself to stand, swaying, to face the danger before me. The wolf lunged, its icy breath hot on my face, and the stench of carrion filled my nostrils. I threw myself backward, narrowly evading its snapping jaws. My boots skidded on the treacherous mix of mud and ice, and for a heart-stopping moment, I teetered on the brink of falling. But I regained my balance, my muscles screaming in protest.

Damn it! The poison was a searing fire in my leg, and a wave of dizziness threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn't afford to lose focus, not for a second.

The wolf circled me, a predator savoring the hunt. Its low growl echoed through the trees, a chilling counterpoint to the frantic beating of my own heart. I gripped my sword tighter, the cold steel a familiar comfort in my trembling hand. This was a dance I knew well, a deadly ballet of steel and fury.

The wolf attacked again, a lightning-fast strike aimed at my throat. I parried, the steel of my blade ringing against its fangs, a shower of sparks erupting in the dim light. I countered, forcing the creature back. Its eyes, burning with malevolent fire, never left me.

We clashed, a whirlwind of steel and fur. Each strike was a thunderclap, each parry a desperate gamble. The wolf was impossibly strong, its jaws a vise, its claws raking across my armor, leaving trails of fire in their wake. But I was faster, more agile. I weaved and bobbed, my sword a silver flash in the twilight, deflecting its savage attacks.

The forest floor was a treacherous battleground. My boots slipped with every move, and I stumbled, barely recovering in time to avoid a snapping jaw. The wolf's ragged breathing filled my ears, a terrifying counterpoint to the thudding of my own heart. A searing pain ripped through my arm as its claws found their mark, tearing through my tunic. I tasted blood—coppery and warm on my tongue—and gritted my teeth.

I have to end this quickly before I bleed out or the poison finishes me off, I thought desperately.

With a desperate lunge, I feinted left, then spun right, driving my sword deep into the wolf's flank. A howl of pain ripped through the silence, and the creature staggered. I pressed my advantage, channeling every ounce of my remaining strength into a final, devastating blow.

The world seemed to slow as I plunged my sword towards its heart. I felt the resistance, then the sickening give as the blade found its mark. The wolf's momentum carried it forward, its massive body slamming into mine. We crashed to the ground, a tangle of limbs and fur.

Then, stillness.

I lay there, gasping for breath, the weight of the dead wolf pressing down on me like a mountain. Slowly, I pushed myself free, the creature's lifeless eyes staring blankly up at the darkening sky. My body screamed in protest, every muscle, every bone aching. The poison pulsed through my veins, a searing cold that threatened to consume me.

But I was alive.

As I caught my breath, I forced myself to scan the forest, my eyes darting from shadow to shadow. But there was nothing. The archer had vanished. And the Visir? Nowhere to be seen. The forest had fallen eerily silent, save for the incessant buzzing of insects and the distant rush of the Vine River.

A dull ache pulsed through my muscles, and the wolf's bite burned like fire. The arrow wound in my leg throbbed in time with my heartbeat, a pounding drum against my raw nerves. My lungs burned, and a sharp pain lanced through my crown—the price for drawing on so much Wyrd. With trembling fingers, I desperately rummaged through my pockets until I found the familiar feel of bandages. Relief, brief and fleeting, washed over me as I began to tend to my wounds, the cool cloth a momentary balm against the raw flesh.

But as I worked, a wave of nausea surged over me, icy fire in my gut. The world seemed to tilt and sway, the trees blurring into a of swirling colors. I swayed, my legs threatening to buckle. I gritted my teeth, fighting to remain upright, to finish bandaging the wounds. But it was no use.

The backlash hit me with the force of a tidal wave. The mana I had expended, the energy I had poured into the fight, it was all crashing down on me now. My vision dissolved into a blinding white, my head spun, and the forest floor rushed up to meet me. I tried to fight it, to cling to consciousness, but the darkness was a suffocating blanket, pulling me down, down, down...