Adrian's eyes snapped open to the taste of blood in his mouth and a single, terrifying thought:

  The dead shouldn't feel pain.

  He had felt the poisoned arrow pierce his heart on the battlefield. Had watched the purple venom spread through his veins. Had heard the silver-haired woman whisper of contracts and responsibilities as life slipped away. He remembered dying.

  So why could he feel moss beneath his fingers and smell the rich, alien scent of a forest that shouldn't exist?

  Adrian lurched upright, his hand instinctively reaching for the fatal wound in his chest. His fingers found only smooth skin beneath torn fabric. No blood. No arrow. No evidence that death had ever claimed him—except for the phantom pain and the echoing words of the silver-haired woman still ringing in his mind.

  "What I give you is neither curse nor blessing. It is a contract, a responsibility, and your soul's new journey."

  "What contract?" he rasped, his voice strange in the oppressive silence of the ancient forest that surrounded him. "What journey demands resurrection?"

  The trees—if they could be called merely trees—towered impossibly above him, their trunks wider than village cottages, their canopy so dense that sunlight filtered through as ghostly green shafts. Glowing fungi pulsed with blue luminescence at their bases, responding to his voice like living things. The air itself felt charged, heavy with magic so potent he could taste its metallic tang on his tongue.

  "No forest in Astor holds such power," Adrian whispered, a chill settling in his bones that had nothing to do with the cool air. "No forest in any of the Seven Kingdoms."

  He reached for Wind Howl, his academy-gifted sword, half-expecting it to be gone—another piece of his former life lost. Instead, his fingers closed around the familiar leather grip. The sword slid from its sheath with a sound like a sigh of relief, its runes glimmering in response to the magic-saturated atmosphere.

  "At least we're still together, old friend," he told the blade, finding strange comfort in the one piece of home that had followed him into this impossible place.

  Adrian took inventory of himself with growing unease. His officer's armor had vanished, replaced by leather hunting garments that fit him perfectly. A waterskin hung at his belt alongside basic survival tools. Everything a man would need if abandoned in wilderness.

  Or everything a pawn would need, placed carefully on a game board.

  "Someone expected me to wake here," he muttered, struggling to his feet on unsteady legs. "Someone prepared for my arrival."

  The realization sent a surge of anger through him—anger at being manipulated, at being torn from his duty, his kingdom, his death. It cut through the fear and confusion, focusing his mind with razor clarity.

  I will find answers. I will find my way back. I will understand this "contract."

  As daylight waned through the canopy, Adrian made a critical choice. Staying put meant waiting for someone or something to find him—perhaps whoever had placed him here, perhaps something far worse. The distant rustling in the undergrowth suggested he wasn't alone in this ancient place.

  "Uphill," he decided, selecting a direction where the massive trees thinned slightly. "Water flows downhill, settlements follow water."

  He moved through the forest with the calculated precision that had distinguished him at the academy, Wind Howl drawn and ready. Each step required careful navigation as the undergrowth seemed to intentionally tangle around his ankles, the forest itself resisting his progress.

  "I've faced northern barbarians and taken an arrow through the heart," Adrian told the obstructing ferns as he cut through them. "I won't be stopped by overgrown houseplants."

  His bravado masked the growing hollow in his stomach—both from hunger and the dawning realization that everything familiar might be lost to him forever. The stars appearing through gaps in the canopy formed constellations he'd never seen, erasing even the comfort of knowing which direction led home.

  Not even the stars are the same.

  When full darkness descended, the forest transformed from merely strange to utterly alien. The ambient magic intensified, manifesting as wisps of luminescence drifting between trees like spectral serpents. The massive fungi colonies pulsed in rhythmic patterns that suggested heartbeats. Distant wailing echoed through the trees, somewhere between wind and mourning.

  Stolen novel; please report.

  Adrian found shelter in the hollow base of a colossal oak, positioning himself with the tactical precision drilled into him through years of training. Wind Howl lay unsheathed across his knees, its familiar weight the only anchor in a world untethered from everything he knew.

  "Think, Adrian," he commanded himself. "The silver-haired woman spoke of a contract. What did she want from you?"

  He unconsciously rubbed his forearm where he'd seen the silver rune disappear beneath his skin. A tingling sensation responded to his touch, and in the darkness of the hollow, he watched in fascination as the skin momentarily glowed—a crescent moon surrounded by ancient script illuminating his shelter with ethereal light.

  The mark confirmed what part of him already knew: his encounter with the silver-haired woman had been real. Death had claimed him on that battlefield, but something—or someone—had refused to let him rest.

  A howl shattered the night—a sound that belonged to no natural wolf. It was answered by others, forming a chilling chorus that echoed through the ancient trees.

  "Your timing is impeccable," Adrian muttered, gripping Wind Howl tighter as he emerged from his shelter. Better to face whatever came with room to maneuver than be trapped.

  The first creature that broke through the ferns stole the breath from his lungs. It stood taller than a war horse, its emaciated body more shadow than substance, patches of coarse black fur clinging to gaunt limbs. Six amber eyes, arranged in pairs across an elongated skull, fixed on him with predatory intelligence far beyond any natural beast.

  "The academy bestiary failed to mention six-eyed shadow wolves," Adrian said, falling into a defensive stance. "I'll be filing a complaint with the scholars, assuming I survive."

  Two more monstrosities flanked the first, moving with bone-chilling coordination. Adrian's mind calculated angles and distances even as his heart hammered against his ribs. Three opponents, coordinated pack hunters, clearly faster than him. Direct confrontation would be suicide.

  "I don't suppose you're simply welcoming the newcomer to the neighborhood?" he quipped, gallows humor surfacing from academy days. "No? Pity."

  The lead creature bunched its haunches, and Adrian felt time slow as combat awareness took hold—the heightened perception that had saved him countless times on the training field and battlefield alike.

  When the beast lunged, Adrian was already moving. Wind Howl carved an arc through the air, catching the creature across its flank. The enchanted blade passed through shadow-flesh with minimal resistance, drawing an agonized shriek as the monster crashed into empty space.

  The other two attacked simultaneously from different angles, forcing Adrian into a desperate backward roll. He came up against another tree, momentarily pinned as the wounded leader rejoined its pack.

  "Wind Sword Second Form: Dancing Leaves," Adrian whispered, muscle memory taking over.

  His sword became a blur of constant motion, creating an almost impenetrable defense. When the nearest shadow wolf lunged again, it met Wind Howl's edge in mid-air, losing most of its muzzle to a precisely timed cut. Black ichor sprayed from the wound, dissipating into mist before touching the ground.

  Adrian pressed forward, flowing seamlessly into "Wind Sword Third Form: Sweeping Army," the horizontal slash catching the second creature mid-lunge, opening its throat in a spray of shadow-stuff.

  The third wolf circled warily while the wounded leader retreated several paces, its six eyes burning with malevolent intelligence. Adrian maintained his stance, controlling his breathing despite the exertion.

  Then the lead creature made a sound unlike any animal call—almost like words spoken through a mouth never designed for speech. At this signal, both remaining beasts melted back into the undergrowth with uncanny silence, their amber eyes the last to disappear.

  "Shadow wolves that communicate like sentient beings," Adrian muttered, scanning the darkness. "Either I've been transported beyond the known world, or I've slept so long the world itself has transformed."

  Neither possibility offered comfort.

  With the immediate threat withdrawn but certainly not abandoned, Adrian continued his trek uphill, senses hyperalert to every sound and movement. The ghostly lights between trees grew more numerous, and occasionally the air itself seemed to ripple like heat waves on a summer day.

  After what felt like hours, the dense undergrowth began to thin, and Adrian sensed a change in the air—a freshness that promised open space ahead. He pushed through a final curtain of ferns to find himself at the forest's edge, overlooking a scene that turned his blood to ice.

  A massive crater dominated the moonlit clearing, its edges unnaturally smooth as if carved by divine hand. At its center stood what could only be described as a tear in reality itself—a vertical rift of swirling energy, thirty feet tall and glowing with the same silver luminescence as the rune on his arm.

  Scattered around were the unmistakable remains of a battlefield—ancient weapons reduced to rust and splinters, broken stone monuments with worn inscriptions. Most disturbing were the humanoid figures frozen in various poses of combat or flight—not corpses, but perfect stone statues capturing each detail of their final moments. All faced toward the rift as if caught witnessing its creation.

  Adrian sank to his knees, Wind Howl's tip embedding in the soft earth for support. The scale of destruction, the impossible rift, the petrified warriors—all suggested a magical catastrophe beyond anything in recorded history.

  "What happened here?" he whispered, the question directed at the empty night air, at the silver mark on his arm, at the universe that had torn him from death only to abandon him in this shattered world. "And why was I chosen to witness it?"

  The silver rune pulsed once in response, a brief flare of warmth that offered no answers, only confirmation that his presence was no accident.

  As moonlight bathed the ancient battlefield, Adrian Felton faced the terrifying reality that everything he had known, everyone he had fought beside, might be dust in a history he had somehow slept through.

  And somewhere in the dark forest behind him, six amber eyes watched, waiting for his next move.

  The huntsman has awakened. The Rift calls. The Contract begins.