the beasts of the old world remembered their vow.
For they were made in the elder dream,
before crowns, before towers, before even the knowing of names.
The wolves walked beside him, not as pets nor prey,
but as kin—first among the Vowed.
The birds flew above him, reading the winds.
And the pig, lowest among the Forest’s children,
bowed its head to offer itself in flame.
Thus the prince did not hunger.
He did not track, nor trap, nor toil.
The Forest fed him—as it did once in Eden,
before the Fall of Root.
But know this:
It was not love that moved the soil,
nor faith that brought meat to mouth.
It was recognition.
For in the blood of the prince,
the Forest knew its lost son.
And all that crawls, flies, or speaks in wind and wing
turned toward him again,
like iron to the elder flame.
And lo—he was hunted.
Not by beasts, but by the Blinded Ones.
They who believe flesh holds salvation,
and bone holds the breath of God.
Yet the prince did not flee.
He turned as the hunter.
And the Vowed—oh, they followed.
One to the throat. One to the wing.
One held breath and truth.
And beneath the old stone,
where ivy wrote the true name,
the prince was remembered by stone before memory.
Not as man.
Not as soldier.
But as Gru.
They all slept fitfully, taking turns on watch.
Chen stayed awake most of the night, his newfound vitality keeping him alert. He kept mostly to Joya’s side, then later sat near Gloria, who was silent—busy with her mini-Calder tablet.
“That the same tablet you found when you were a girl?” Chen asked, just to break the monotony.
She looked up, a flush rising to her face. She nodded.
“Is… is it true you have five full Calders?” she asked in a whisper, almost lost to the night.
“Yes… Five… Guarded. To. Prevent. Ruin… war,” the Forest whispered in Chen’s mind.
“Yeah. They’re still around, somewhere. Forest says it’s guarding them.” He said it without thinking.
“The Forest… it speaks to you?”
Gloria’s fingers tightened around the tablet. Not fear—analysis.
She glanced toward Joya, asleep. “Don’t tell him that. Please.”
“Um… yeah.” He regretted the slip. “It sometimes whispers to me. Rarely. Well—I assume it’s the Forest, at least.”
“Yes. I am. Me,” the Forest whispered again.
“…And I hope it stays that way,” Chen muttered, almost to himself—but knowing exactly who was listening.
“Try to keep that to yourself, okay, Chen? I fear my Joya is already enchanted by the thought you might be the prophecy come to life. Protect him—again. Because when you meet the priest, this is sure to lead nowhere. Don’t drag him—don’t drag us—into this. I implore you,” she said, her voice trembling with emotion for the first time.
“You keep my secret… and I’ll keep it from all. As much as I can,” Chen said, watching her fold inward, arms crossed like armor.
“Agreed,” she whispered.
“So,” he said reluctantly, “you pulled Kildra’s files. Anything I need to know?”
“Too much,” she replied. “Let’s wait. When we reach the Clearing, we can talk properly—safely.”
She looked up at him now, voice tight, almost pleading.
“Just remember: you are you. Not what she carved you into. You’ve got your choice back, Chen. And that’s everything.”
For that brief moment she acted like she was trying to save a drowning man.
I’m not drowning… am I? he thought.
He let the silence take root, and with it, his thoughts.
Morning found them quietly, with Joya already gathering their things.
“We’re gonna ne’d ta hunt t’day,” he said, chewing on a long strip of jerky as he packed.
“T’is the last o’the jerky. Gon’ be a long trek wi’ no fu’d.”
“Thanks for sharing that then, Joya,” Chen said, flashing a sarcastic smile—one Joya returned with good humor.
Gloria just rolled her eyes.
“Children. I’m surrounded by children,” she muttered as they set out into the dark woods.
“Gloria!” Chen barked.
The small woman jumped like she’d been caught with her hand in a forge.
“Dagger. Now.”
“But… you have three others!” she protested with a wounded whine—knowing full well her argument was weak.
“I’m not giving you my Kobe Dagger, woman. Careful you don’t slice your hand off as is.”
“Fine! Here!” she snapped, tossing the ancient blade to the ground at his feet like it was worthless if she couldn’t keep it. Then she turned with exaggerated disdain and stormed off to the front of the trail, arms crossed, waiting for the others like a pouting sentinel.
Joya burst out laughing at the absurdity.
“Ja gut to luv her, eh,” he chuckled, still grinning as he followed her.
Chen bent down, picked up the dagger, and turned it in his hand. He wanted to be angry—really—but truthfully, this group was growing on him. It would’ve felt unnatural not to have Gloria try and claim one of his toys.
He sighed, extended his Ji to its full length, and planted it like a walking stick. Then he made his way to where the trail narrowed, leading deeper into the Forest’s waiting mouth.
“‘K. Now Ch’n,” Joya said, eyeing the treeline where subtle movement had begun. “’Bout ta For’st. She be keen ta ‘er ken—but nev’r easy. Twists ‘n turns in ev’ry root ‘n vine, tis norm. Three days from he’r ta th’re, at earl’st… ‘less ja can ask it for a stra’t run, mayb’?”
Five wolves emerged from the wood.
They passed Joya—who stood tense, shielding Gloria—without so much as a glance. Silent. Sure. One by one, they formed up around Chen, circling the group like an honor guard. Each gave him a slight bow as they moved past, heads lowered in quiet acknowledgment.
“Yeah… I guess a straight path would be nice,” Chen said, half to himself, caught in the strange reverence of the moment.
He hesitated, then added, “Maybe some birds for scouting.”
Three minutes later, a forest owl swept in above them, landing in the branches with barely a sound. Two hawks followed—noisier, sharper. A hoot. Two screeches. Above them now they had eyes.
The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
“Ask’n for a hog next, Ch’n! Ask’n for a hog!” Joya hollered, eyes wide as the birds landed, clearly impressed but not above teasing.
Chen paused, then spoke softly—almost testing the waters.
“And… a hog… to eat. Forest?”
They waited.
Chen hoped—prayed—nothing would happen.
He didn’t know which answer terrified him more.
If nothing came, maybe he was just a man again.
But if it did…
What kind of thing asks to be eaten?
The minutes crawled by.
The birds shifted above. The wolves sat, still and patient.
And Chen let out a soft breath—relieved.
“Guess not, Joya,” he murmured.
That’s when the brush parted.
Two boars emerged, slow and silent.
They passed the lead wolf, who gave them each a nod of respect.
Then stopped in front of Chen—lowered their heads—and took their place behind the group.
They had answered.
Joya just stared, mouth hanging open at the un-natural grace of it all.
Then he grinned.
“Hah! Now we be eat’n!”
Chen didn’t laugh.
He just watched the boars with a sinking weight in his chest.
“Ja got ta pow’rs o’ ta For’st, Ch’n. It luv’s ja, it does!” Joya said, still wide-eyed as he began to calm down.
“No,” Chen said, locking eyes with the burly man. “That’s borrowed power.”
He lifted his Ji into the air.
“This is mine. Years of practice. All earned.”
“Humb’le too,” Joya muttered under his breath.
Chen sighed.
Gloria shifted her weight from one foot to the other, visibly trying to keep composed.
“Okay,” she said, voice clipped. “Let’s… let’s just get moving.”
Hours later found them at dusk, still following the clear path that had opened to them after setting off.
The three of them were flanked by five wolves—and one hog.
Earlier in the day, they’d stopped to slaughter, smoke, and prepare wet jerky for the journey ahead. The wolves had eaten too—thick, clean-cut shanks shared without hesitation. The Forest reclaimed what was left of the hog with unsettling speed, its roots folding the remains gently back into the soil.
The surviving hog grew more sullen with every step.
Above, two hawks circled wide. They took turns scouting ahead and flanking to the sides—often flashing impressions back to Chen that he could feel more than hear. It wasn’t so different from the drone feeds he used to receive from Kildra, if he was honest.
The last rays of sun filtered through the mottled boughs overhead. The trees stood tall, ancient—a cathedral of roots surrounding them as they walked.
Wherever they passed, birdsong dimmed. Not in fear, but reverence.
It felt as if the canopy itself had gone quiet to whisper.
Not to him.
About him.
A guest, they seemed to say.
A secret, finally returned.
Branches cracked softly in the distance—animal observers keeping pace, moving only when they thought they wouldn’t be seen.
“Where’s the owl?” Gloria finally asked.
“Sleeping,” Chen said. “He’s our night scout.”
“Ah.” She still couldn’t quite believe how easy the travel had been. Eighteen hours of movement done in a single day—unheard of.
“T’is For’st feels diff’r’nt, me says,” Joya muttered, eyes scanning the tree line.
“Yeah,” Chen said, thoughtful. “Something’s happening.”
The wolves began repositioning—most drifting off to their right, all but one vanishing into the underbrush. Chen could feel their strategy align with his thoughts, almost instinctively.
Chen’s eyes narrowed. He’d felt the shift. Not danger—interest.
“Hawks report a group,” he said after a moment. “Dressed in blue and grey. Headed this way. Sounds like cultists. They’ve been following our trail for the last four hours.”
“Four hours!? Why na told ta us b’fore!?” Joya roared, raising his axe to a forest gone suddenly too quiet.
“I want to see what they want,” Chen said calmly.
Joya shot Chen a look, arms crossed. “Next time a buncha brig’diers be trailin’ us, ya best be sayin’ so, Ch’n!”
“Fair,” Chen admitted. “Apologies. But we’ve got this.”
He lifted his Ji into a ready stance.
They waited. It felt like ages—only minutes in truth—before the first man stumbled through the underbrush, haggard and sweat-drenched. A machete swung lazily in his grip, clearing branches as he emerged. Three others followed in tight formation, flanking to his right and left.
The fifth slid quietly around to flank.
“We claim the Herald’s body!” the first one shouted. “Surrender what’s ours and die swiftly, heretics!”
What they didn’t know—four others were flanking them. Two wolves on each side, eyes gleaming, waiting.
The alpha growled low, shoulders taut. He stepped forward, nearly past Chen’s hip.
Chen held out his hand—no words, just presence.
The great beast froze, eyes locked on his master’s.
Stillness. Tension. One breath from blood.
“Cultist,” Chen said flatly. “I’m afraid I’m using my body at the moment. I have a good idea who wants it, though—and to that, I say no.”
The lead cultist blanched as realization dawned.
“My lord—apologies—but we must bring you back. Your god has summoned you home.”
“God?” Chen looked back at Joya.
Joya simply nodded, eyes solemn.
Chen turned back.
“Then yes… Now I am the god.”
He raised his hand.
The wolves lunged—two per flank, graceful and silent. The alpha charged the leader. A hawk struck each of the remaining men’s eyes in a coordinated blur. None died outright—but all were blinded, tangled, or downed.
Chen moved.
His Ji swept in a blur. Two clean strikes. Two heads fell—severed at the base—his movements careful not to strike his beasts.
One cultist managed to stagger back, losing only an ear. He turned and fled, speaking frantically into a comm implanted in his right arm.
The wolves chased him.
Behind them, the remaining hog gave a single satisfied snort—
as if pleased to have company on the road to the afterlife.
Chen raised his hand again, and the roots began to stir—coiling toward the bodies.
“No! Wait!” Gloria shouted. “I get to loot them! That was the agreement!”
She sprinted toward the corpses, waving her tablet.
“We have a life debt, Chen! Life debt!!”
Joya laughed at his wife’s absurdity.
Chen turned without a word, approached the hog, and gave a silent nod.
The wolves understood.
One peeled off toward the woods—tracking the runner for Gloria’s inspection.
Night fell as they walked, until even their uncanny vitality gave way to fatigue.
“There’s a rise over there,” Chen said, pointing ahead. “Looks over the… ‘Pyre’? What does that mean, Joya?”
The bulky man had been walking in silence, murmuring what might’ve been hymns. He blinked back to attention.
“Ta Pyre? Nah. Nothin’ overlooks the Pyre, Ch’n.”
“Hm. There is now,” Chen muttered, eyes narrowing as he took the first step uphill.
Gloria stared ahead, out of breath. “Where did this hill come from? The Forest doesn’t have hills!”
A wolf nudged her gently.
“Get on,” Chen said. “She’ll get you to the top.”
Gloria blinked, then mounted side-saddle—half laughing, half stunned—as the wolf carried her up the incline.
“Ch’n… m’one fa’ me?” Joya asked, eyes full of childlike hope.
“You need a horse,” Chen said, without stopping. “And there are none anywhere near.”
Joya’s face fell like a disappointed toddler.
They reached the top, where a narrow clearing revealed itself—just wide enough for camp.
The wolves fanned out immediately, forming a loose perimeter. Each lay down like a well-trained guard dog.
Chen moved among them, offering strips of cooked meat. The wolves nodded—yes, nodded—and accepted the food with slow, deliberate bites, savoring it.
The hog looked at Chen, expectant. Then it caught the scent. Its snout crinkled, and it looked away.
“Ta Pyre…” Joya whispered, breath catching.
Ahead, across a stretch of quiet land, the Forest broke into open space. The Clearing.
From this height, they could see the faint glow of the Pyre’s crown, about three kilometers west. A wall of living vines blocked the old road, and figures—sentries, maybe pilgrims—had already gathered. Reinforcements were arriving, building a checkpoint.
Joya explained what it meant: the Forest only made new paths for the chosen. The last time had been eighty years ago—for a Saint.
“So,” he said to Chen, reverent. “This… this be a day remembered.”
Chen exhaled slowly.
“Great. More politics.”
He turned from the view.
“Best we wait ‘til morning. We’ll want to be rested… for whatever theater waits down there.”Gloria didn’t laugh.
She stood near the edge, arms folded, watching the checkpoint grow in the distance.
“They’re not going to see you,” she said quietly. “Not you. Just what you represent.”
Chen looked at her.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means be careful. The last Saint the Forest guided in?” She nodded west. “He was dead a week later. Killed by the ones who claimed to worship him.”
She met his eyes.
“You’re walking into legend. And legends don’t get to stay human for long. Especially when that means sharing power already secured.”
Chen gripped his Ji tighter and tried to relax his mind and body.
So the prince made camp upon the hill,
and the ever lit Pyre burned violent in the distance—
flame rejoiced with fervor,
and no hand could smother it.
Below, the faithful stirred.
Some prepared hymns.
Others readied knives.
For word had traveled faster than wind:
A Vowed walked again; for they knew not this was their prince.
And where his shadow touched the vine,
the Forest parted in reverence.
But far from the clearing,
in chambers wrapped in velvet and iron,
the widow heard no birdsong.
Only footsteps.
And when she asked, “Who knocks?”
the answer came not in voice,
but in memory,
in grief,
in the shape of a man who was not her husband—
but knew his name, and wanted to know him more.