Date: March 24, 541 years since the Fall of Zanra the Dishonorable.
The darkness thickening between the trunks was not like the darkness of night. Night darkness was calm, it sheltered, promised rest and sleep. This one was different — alive, tense, pressing down on the shoulders, making the heart beat faster and breath become shallow and ragged. Ulviya walked, and every step echoed in her temples with a dull, throbbing pulse.
She did not know how much time had passed. Perhaps an hour. Perhaps two. The forest around her did not change — the same bare, black trunks, the same gray, dead ground beneath her feet, the same heavy, stagnant air that made her dizzy. She had begun to think she was mistaken, that no one was here, that her fear had been just fear and not a premonition, when she heard the first sound.
It was a rustle. Quiet, dry, as if someone had dragged claws across bark. Ulviya froze, listening. Her heart pounded somewhere in her throat, but she did not move. The rustle repeated, closer now, and another — from the other side.
She slowly turned, trying not to make any sudden movements. Her gloved hand was clenched into a fist, and the metal plates, cold and heavy, gave her a strange sense of confidence. Or at least its semblance.
From behind the trunks surrounding a small clearing, they began to emerge.
At first, Ulviya took them for wolves — the same squat, muscular bodies, the same gray, patchy hides, the same burning red eyes. But then they turned, and she saw.
The maws. Not one, as in ordinary beasts, but several. The main one — wolf-like, with long, yellowish fangs from which viscous, green saliva dripped. And two more — on the sides, where a normal wolf would have its ribs. These maws were smaller, but their jaws moved constantly, clacking as if chewing the air. Slime oozed from their depths as well, and when the creatures moved, their sides heaved, creating a horrifying impression that they were about to burst apart.
There were three of them.
The first, the largest, came out directly in front of her and froze, baring its main maw. The second and third spread out to the sides, surrounding her, and their side jaws clacked more often, faster, as if anticipating a quick meal.
Ulviya felt the fear, the one she had tried to drown out the entire way, rise again from her chest. It was here, in her throat, in her temples, in every cell of her body. Her hand trembled. Not the glove — her hand. The glove was heavy, reliable, but the hand beneath it trembled with a fine, unpleasant tremor.
"These are them," she thought. "The ones I was looking for."
She clenched her fist, and the metal plates creaked. The creatures froze, as if waiting for a signal. Their red eyes stared at her unblinkingly, and in their depths there was nothing but hunger.
"I'm not afraid," she said aloud, and her voice sounded hoarse, foreign. "I'm not afraid."
The first wolf stepped forward, and its side jaws clacked so hard that spittle flew in all directions. Ulviya stepped back, but her back hit a trunk. She hadn't noticed how they had driven her to the tree.
"This is it," a thought flashed. "Now they'll jump, and..."
No. She clenched her fist so hard her knuckles cracked under the metal. She hadn't come here to die. She had come to win. Or to try.
The first one leaped.
---
Ulviya managed to dodge aside at the last moment. Claws scraped against the bark where her head had just been. She spun, punched with her fist into its side, and the metal plates sank into its hide with a dull, wet sound. The wolf yelped, jumped back, but did not fall. The second was already there.
Claws slashed across her shoulder, tearing fabric and skin, and a sharp, searing pain flared in her arm. Ulviya hissed through her teeth, recoiled, but the third was already coming up from behind. She felt hot breath on her neck, lunged forward, and jaws clacked shut on empty air, almost snapping around the back of her head.
They were fast. Very fast. And they knew she was alone.
Ulviya pressed her back against a trunk, breathing heavily. Blood ran down her shoulder, soaking her sleeve, dripping to the ground. The wolves circled, unhurried. They sensed her weakness, her fear, her blood.
"Don't look at them," she told herself. "Watch their movements. Look for the moment."
The first leaped again, but this time she was ready. She stepped forward, directly into the strike, and at the moment when its paws should have dug into her chest, she dropped down sharply, letting the beast's body pass over her. Her fist met its belly from below, and the metal plates sank into the soft flesh. The wolf howled, flipped in the air, and crashed to the ground, convulsing.
But the second and third did not wait. They attacked simultaneously, from both sides. Ulviya managed to cover her head with her arm, but the claws of the second slashed her forearm, and the third clamped onto her thigh, and she felt teeth sink into muscle.
She screamed. Not from pain — from rage. She wrenched herself sideways, pulling her leg from the maw, and punched the wolf in the face. Metal met bone, and the bone crunched, but the beast did not release its grip. It shook its head, tearing at the muscle, and blood poured from the wound, soaking her boot.
Ulviya struck again. And again. Only on the third try did the jaws unclench, and the wolf, leaving a bloody trail, rolled aside.
Her shoulder burned, her forearm stung, blood poured from her thigh. But she was standing. The three wolves were also standing. The first, which she had struck in the belly, had risen but moved slowly, dragging its hind legs. The second shook its battered snout, trying to focus its gaze. The third, the largest, bared its bloody maw and looked at her with hatred.
They waited. She waited.
Blood dripped onto the ground, and in that sound, heavy and steady, there was something soothing. "I wounded them," Ulviya thought. "I hurt them. I'm not just lying down waiting. I'm fighting."
The first wolf, the one wounded in the belly, tried to approach, but its legs gave way and it collapsed onto its side, breathing heavily. The second, the one with the battered snout, slowly, staggering, moved toward her. The third, the largest, did not move. It was waiting.
Ulviya clenched her fist. Blood oozed between her fingers, the glove became slick, but she did not unclench her hand.
"Come on," she whispered. "Come on."
The wolf leaped. She stepped forward, towards it, and at the moment when its maw was about to close on her throat, she went low, letting the strike pass over her. Her fist met its neck from the side, and the metal sank into the flesh. The wolf wheezed, collapsed onto her, and they rolled across the ground, tangled in a mass of claws, teeth, and steel.
She struck. Without stopping, without counting, just striking until the body beneath her stopped moving. When she rose, covered in blood, breathing heavily, she saw that the second wolf, the one with the battered snout, lay motionless by the trunk. And the third, the largest, had risen.
It did not hurry. It circled her, baring its maw, and its side jaws clacked in rhythm with her heartbeat. She turned towards it, raised her fist. Blood filled her eyes, but she did not wipe it away. She looked at it, and in her gaze, perhaps, there was something that made it slow down.
It was wounded. She was wounded. They stood facing each other, and time seemed to stop.
Then it leaped. She stepped forward. Their collision was dull, heavy. Claws slashed her side, she drove her fist into its snout. They fell, and the ground received them, cold, gray, indifferent.
She lay on her back, breathing heavily, feeling her strength leave her. The wolf was on top, its maw very close, and she could smell its breath — rotten, sickly-sweet, unbearable. Her arm was pinned; she could not strike. She looked into its red eyes and thought this was the end.
But it did not bite. It just held her, pinning her to the ground, and stared. Perhaps it was tired too. Perhaps it was afraid too.
Ulviya closed her eyes. In the darkness before her, images flared — the forest, the beluki, her hand flying off somewhere, blood on the grass. She remembered lying there waiting. How she couldn't even scream. How she thought she was about to die.
But she hadn't died. And she wouldn't die now.
She wrenched herself, freeing her arm, and in that same moment her fist, heavy, bloodied, crashed into the wolf's snout. Metal met bone, and the bone crunched. The wolf recoiled, and she struck again. And again. And again.
It fell. She rose.
---
She stood in the middle of the clearing, covered in blood, breathing heavily, looking at the three bodies lying around. Three wolves. Three creatures that were supposed to kill her. She had won.
No. She had survived. That was different.
She sank to her knees, feeling her strength leave her. Blood still flowed, but she felt no pain. Only exhaustion. Only emptiness, slowly filling with something new. Not joy. Not pride. Just knowledge. The knowledge that she could. That she was not the girl who had lain on the ground waiting.
She looked at her hands — one clenched into a fist, and the stump that never stopped reminding her of what had happened. And for the first time in a long time, she felt no pain from it. Only heaviness. Only memory.
"I did not die," she said quietly, and her voice was hoarse, foreign. "I did not die."
And in that moment, something inside her changed.
Ulviya felt it immediately — not as a blow, not as a flash, but as a slow, deep current rising from the very depths. There, where her spirit dwelled, where a small, weak spark had flickered for years, warmth suddenly spread. It did not burn, did not press — it flowed through her body, filling the emptiness, mending wounds, knitting torn muscles together, restoring strength.
Her channels, previously narrow, barely conducting energy, suddenly widened. A stream surged into them — not stormy, not destructive, but calm, steady, like a full river that had finally found its bed.
Ulviya opened her eyes. The world around her was different. She saw every blade of grass, every crack in the bark, every speck of dust in the air. She felt the ground beneath her — alive, breathing, even here on this dead clearing. She felt the roots reaching deep down towards water, towards life. She felt them, and they felt her.
The strength left her, leaving behind only emptiness and a strange, almost forgotten feeling of peace. She looked at the gray sky, at the bare branches, at the three motionless bodies, and thought that tomorrow would be a new day. New training. New fears. But today, she had done what she had to do.
She had conquered her fear. She had become stronger.