The midnight chill settled deep into Declan Wylde’s bones, gnawing past layers of worn leather and flannel. His breath fogged in the icy air as he pushed through dense undergrowth. Shadows shifted as his flashlight flickered, casting erratic beams through towering pines that leaned close, as if intent on guarding secrets. High above, slivers of moonlight sliced through the canopy, painting everything in shades of silver and shadow. He paused, straining to catch any sound that might lead him to the source of the howl that had shattered the silence. But the forest was mute, the silence thick and unnatural, broken only by far-off barks echoing faintly.
Declan’s rugged frame, broad and weathered by years as a wildlife ranger, stood firm. His graying hair and the scar that traced his jawline bore stories of encounters he barely survived. But tonight held a different kind of tension, one that pressed down on him, almost like a warning. He tightened his grip on the flashlight; its weak, flickering beam his sole comfort. Declan had tracked mountain lions, wolves, even bears in his time, but this was unlike anything he’d known.
That howl—raw and guttural—had felt like it ripped through the night itself. It lingered, its echoes dark and haunting before dissolving into oppressive quiet. The locals, in hushed tones, spoke of strange creatures glimpsed in the forest, beasts that belonged to legends. Declan had dismissed such tales as the wild imaginings of those living too close to the unknown. But here, tonight, with that terrible sound still hanging in the air, even his skepticism wavered.
He thought of Mara’s warning, her voice low, serious. “Declan, don’t be a fool,” she’d said, her eyes fierce beneath silvered bangs. “Some things aren’t meant to be found.” Her gaze had been weighted, haunted, as if she knew more than she’d admit. She had always been the one to pull him back from his reckless impulses, to remind him of things unseen.
The sharp crack of a branch brought his senses snapping back. His eyes darted left, his pulse spiking. He raised the flashlight, squinting through the murk. A dark shape moved among the trees, massive, fluid, shifting at the edge of his vision. He caught a fleeting glimpse of something—matted fur, reflective eyes gleaming with a strange intelligence.
“Who’s there?” he called, voice rough, breaking the silence.
Nothing. He took a step forward, feeling an inexplicable pull, something beyond reason drawing him deeper. He should turn back, heed Mara’s words, but curiosity burned hotter than caution. The shadows thickened around him, pressing in with a cold that stung his lungs and chilled his resolve.
And then he saw it.
The creature stood beyond the reach of his flashlight, a towering silhouette that melded with shadow. Its eyes gleamed faintly, an unnatural brightness holding a predatory intelligence that churned his insides. Its form was vaguely wolf-like, twisted and stretched, an animal shape dragged from nightmare. Low and crouched, muscles rippled beneath a coarse, bristled coat, watching him with an intensity that froze him in place.
Declan forced himself to speak, his voice little more than a whisper. “What…are you?”
The creature tilted its head, its eyes narrowing in a disturbingly human way that made his skin crawl. Silence hung thick between them, a silent, terrifying bond that seemed to reveal more than words ever could. Then, in a voice low and rumbling, as if dredged from the depths, it spoke.
“Witness.”
The word vibrated through him, chilling him deeper than any winter’s night. His flashlight flickered again, the beam trembling before dying completely, plunging him into pure darkness. Only those eyes remained, twin embers fixed on him, dissecting him with a depth that left him feeling flayed open, helpless.
He swallowed, his throat parched. “Why…why are you here?”
A growl rumbled from its chest, resonant and low, as if it held the weight of a coming storm. It took a step closer, and he could make out the curve of its elongated claws, sharp even in the dark. The voice returned, softer, carrying a mournful tone.
“You sought me, human. The forest remembers. Shadows remember. I am bound here, bound to the lost, to the forgotten.”
Declan’s fingers drifted to the silver cross around his neck, warm against his skin, a comfort passed down from his mother when he was a child. He took another step back, pulse racing. This wasn’t some animal, nor a creature of nature; this was something ancient, something woven into the land itself.
“Mara warned me,” he murmured, barely aware he’d spoken aloud.
The creature’s eyes flickered, a glimmer of recognition flashing in its gaze. “Ah, the woman. She knows us. Her blood remembers.”
Declan’s heart jolted. “What…what does that mean?”
But the creature’s attention drifted, as though drawn by a force beyond them, something that pulled it back into the forest’s depths. It released a low growl, more frustrated than angry, before locking eyes with him again, a burning intensity in its gaze that both anchored and terrified him.
“You are not the first, and you will not be the last,” it said, its voice layered with echoes, with something that spoke of agelessness. “Leave this place, human. Go while the forest allows mercy.”
Declan couldn’t move, rooted by a strange fascination. “Tell me why you’re here. Why haunt these woods?”
The creature’s stance shifted, almost weary, as if bearing the weight of endless years. “There are things older than your gods, older than your fears. I am bound to this place, to memories, to those who came before. Leave, or the forest will claim you, as it has claimed countless others.”
Before he could speak, the creature stepped backward, dissolving into shadows, its form fading until he wondered if he’d imagined it all. But crushed leaves underfoot and a lingering, wild scent reminded him he hadn’t.
His flashlight flickered to life, casting a weak glow on the empty clearing. Heart racing, he brushed his fingers over the cross as he turned back, the creature’s warning lingering in his mind, an echo that would haunt him for as long as he breathed.
When he broke from the trees and stumbled onto the familiar path to Ashmoor, Mara’s voice returned to him, soft, sad, as if she’d always known what waited for him in the dark.
“Some things aren’t meant to be found,” she’d told him.
And as he looked back into the depths of the forest, he understood.
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