The Shattered Prophecy

The dawn was still a whisper in the sky, a pale gray light spreading slowly over the jagged horizon. Eryk crouched low in the underbrush, his fingers lightly brushing the coarse leaves beneath him. His breath came out in shallow puffs, the cold of the morning biting at his skin as he peered through the trees. His bow was drawn tight, an arrow nocked and ready.

At fifteen, he had the agility and quiet stillness of a seasoned hunter. His father had taught him well, instilling in him the skills of survival—tracking, shooting, and skinning. But today, there was something different in the air. The wind carried with it a strange weight, and the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Eryk’s eyes narrowed as he spotted movement ahead. A herd of deer grazed peacefully by the stream, unaware of his presence. His heart quickened as he steadied his bow. Just a few more inches, and he could take the shot. His fingers were steady, his aim true—until a noise from behind startled him.

A low growl, deep and menacing, reverberated through the trees.

Eryk froze, his grip tightening around the bow, instinctively reaching for the hunting knife strapped to his leg. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. The growl came again, closer now. The underbrush rustled, and before he could react, a figure emerged from the shadows.

A wolf, its eyes gleaming with an unnatural intelligence, stepped into the clearing. It was massive, its fur a coat of silvery gray that seemed to shimmer even in the dim light. Eryk’s pulse quickened, but he didn’t move. The wolf’s gaze was unwavering, locking onto his with an almost human-like intensity.

Eryk knew he was no match for a creature like this. He’d hunted with his father, but nothing prepared him for this moment. His father had warned him about the pack that roamed these parts—an ancient group of wolves, known for their strength and intelligence. The pack, led by a creature unlike any other: the King of Wolves.

"Stay still," Eryk whispered to himself, his eyes never leaving the wolf. He had learned that predators sensed fear, and now was not the time to show weakness.

The wolf took a step forward, and then another, its massive paws silent on the forest floor. Eryk’s breath caught in his throat. He had heard rumors—old tales whispered by village elders—about wolves that were more than just animals. They were guardians of the forest, creatures tied to a power greater than any man could understand.

The wolf stopped just a few paces away. For a long moment, neither of them moved, the stillness of the forest pressing in on them like a heavy cloak. Then, a sound stirred the air—a voice, deep and ancient, though it came not from the wolf’s mouth but from somewhere within Eryk’s mind.

"You are not like the others."

Eryk’s heart raced. His mouth went dry, and he stepped back instinctively, but his feet caught on the ground, making a soft crunching noise. The wolf’s eyes narrowed, and its growl deepened.

"I can feel it," the voice continued. "The weight of destiny clings to you."

Eryk swallowed hard. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog in his thoughts. Destiny? He was no one. Just a hunter, a boy who barely understood his place in the world, let alone some great prophecy. Yet the voice felt familiar, as though it had always been there, waiting to speak.

The wolf took another step forward, closer now, its massive muzzle just inches from Eryk’s face. The weight of its gaze felt like a physical force, pressing down on him. His heart hammered in his chest, but he stood his ground, unwilling to show fear.

Then, the wolf spoke, but this time its words were clear, not in the depths of Eryk’s mind, but in the world around him.

“You carry a burden,” the wolf said, its voice low and resonant. “The Prophecy of the Shattered Dawn.”

Eryk's breath caught in his throat, his legs growing weak beneath him. His father had spoken of it once, in hushed tones, as a warning. The Prophecy. A tale of a chosen one, a child marked by fate to either restore balance to the world or send it spiraling into darkness. But that was nothing more than a story, wasn’t it? The stuff of old legends.

The wolf’s gaze softened, and for a moment, it seemed almost sorrowful.

“It is not by your will that you have been chosen,” it murmured. “But it is your choice whether you fulfill the destiny placed upon you. The darkness stirs, and the realms tremble. You will decide the fate of all that is.”

Eryk’s knees buckled, and he staggered backward, collapsing into the underbrush. His breath was ragged, his head spinning. The words of the wolf were like a weight pressing against his chest, a burden he hadn’t asked for but could not escape.

The wolf stepped back, its eyes never leaving Eryk’s trembling form. “You will not be alone,” it said softly. “But time is fleeting, and shadows grow long. Find your path before it is lost forever.”

With that, the wolf turned and melted into the forest, its form disappearing as silently as it had come. Eryk remained frozen, staring at the spot where it had stood, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and fear.

What had just happened? The Prophecy... The King of Wolves… What did it all mean?

The deer by the stream had long since scattered, and the forest was silent once more, save for the soft rustling of the wind.

Eryk stood, slowly rising to his feet, the bow still in his hand. His body was trembling, but his mind was clearer than it had ever been.

"You carry a burden."

The wolf’s words echoed in his mind. The weight of them was crushing, but they also felt like a call—a call to something greater than hunting, greater than surviving.

The Chosen One.

Eryk had never believed in such things. But now, as he stood alone in the forest, the Prophecy seemed impossible to deny.

And with the King of Wolves’ words still ringing in his ears, Eryk knew—his life was no longer his own.