The infant rested weakly against the old man's chest, storm-gray eyes flickering faintly in the dim light. Every tiny wail was a sharp note in the symphony of the storm—the rain drumming against leaves, the wind lashing, and the forest alive with murmurs of unseen eyes.
The old man adjusted the infant in his arms, wrapping him carefully in his soaked cloak. He remembered the herb—the Silver Nightroot, glowing faintly through the shadows. Its veins pulsed crimson, tinged with demonic energy. It was more than a cure for his ailing wife—it radiated power, sentience, and danger all at once.
Before he could reach it, the forest erupted in low, guttural growls.
From the mist emerged wolves unlike any mortal creature. Their bodies were hulking, each muscle defined beneath soaked, bristled fur. Their eyes glowed with feral crimson intelligence. Fangs, jagged and yellowed, dripped with rainwater and anticipation. Claws dug deep into the earth, gouging mud and roots as they advanced. Steam rose from their warm bodies in the cold, stormy night.
The first wolf leaped, jaws wide, aiming for the old man's throat. He twisted, narrowly avoiding its teeth, and slashed with his iron dagger. The blade met flesh and bone with a wet, sickening snap. Blood sprayed, the wolf yelped violently, and then fell, lifeless. Its massive body thudded into the mud with a finality that echoed through the forest.
The second wolf lunged with terrifying speed. Its claws slashed arcs through the rain. The old man rolled under the attack, feeling the wind of its strike whip past. In a flash, he drove the dagger deep into its chest. The beast's chest cavity burst, sending a spray of crimson into the puddles. It convulsed violently before collapsing, leaving a lasting, haunting imprint on the earth.
Three wolves remained. Their snarls shook the trees. One stepped forward cautiously, its head cocked, sniffing the air. Its red eyes glimmered with cunning, as if it had learned from the deaths of its pack. Another circled high, using the shadows and rain as cover, muscles coiled for the perfect strike.
The old man exhaled slowly. He had survived worse—but the sheer presence of these monsters, the unnatural aura, made his pulse quicken. He was methodical, every movement measured, every strike designed to kill decisively.
The largest wolf charged with a speed that belied its size, colliding mid-air with the old man. Both crashed into the mud, rain washing over the struggle. The beast snapped, teeth sinking into the sleeve of his cloak. He twisted sharply, pivoting to drive the dagger deep into its skull. The wolf thrashed violently, leaving grooves in the earth with its claws, before falling still.
Two remained. The old man's dagger sliced through the first one's spine as it lunged low. Its blood painted the roots red, a grim testament to the battle's intensity. The last wolf, enraged and desperate, attempted to strike at his legs. He dodged, countered, and slammed it into a tree, the crack of breaking bones echoing like thunder. With a final, precise thrust of the dagger into its heart, the last beast collapsed.
The forest was silent again. The storm continued, but the unnatural presence had retreated—for now. The bodies of the fallen wolves littered the ground, grotesque and physical reminders of the night's violence. Their crimson eyes, once so full of cunning, now stared blankly into the dark.
The old man adjusted the infant, who whimpered softly against his chest. Carefully, he approached the Silver Nightroot. Its veins writhed faintly, pulsing with power, but he did not hesitate. One handheld the child; the other plucked the herb. Its warmth pulsed like a heartbeat, tinged faintly with demonic energy that hinted at secrets beyond comprehension.
The forest seemed to hold its breath. The path home was slippery, lined with the remains of beasts and shadows alike. Every drop of rain and every crack of lightning felt like the first step toward a destiny larger than the old man—or the child—could yet fathom.
Cradling both the child and the herb, the old man whispered, "We will survive… and rise." The forest responded with an almost imperceptible sigh, as if acknowledging the spark of a power that would one day shake worlds.