Legacy Wolves

Chapter 8: Awakening in the Woods

The world spun around Cassian as darkness enveloped him, a heavy blanket of darkness pulling him under. The chaos of battle faded, the sounds of snarling wolves and frantic hunters dissolved into a distant murmur. He felt weightless, like he was floating away from the pain and fear that had consumed him, and surrendering to the void.

Cassian...

The name echoed through his mind like a fading whisper, the voice familiar yet distant. Images flickered across his mind.

He saw himself in the high school gym, the air thick with the smell of sweat. He stood at the center of the field, helmet gleaming under the bright lights, surrounded by the roar of cheering fans. He was the star quarterback of Sherbrooke High, and this was his moment to shine.

With adrenaline coursing through his veins, the whistle blew and he lunged for the ball. The crowd erupted in cheer as he shouldered a player out the way, scooped up the ball and sprinted towards the touchdown line.

But then, the scene shifted. He was sitting at the kitchen table, his parents across from him. His father, pushed his glasses further up his nose and smiled. He was tall against the small sink in their kitchen.

"Cassian," he said. "That touchdown was the highlight of that game! You've got a talent, son. Just keep working on that sprint."

His mother, petite and nurturing, leaned in closer, worry etched on her face. "Just be careful, alright? I don't want you to push yourself too hard."

He looked to the couch. It was ageing and brown. He could feel his sister's giggles bubbling over as she peeked from behind the couch, her innocent laughter filling the room with light. But he couldn't see her.

Where is she? A deep pang of worry surged through him, twisting his stomach.

He walked to the couch but she was nowhere in sight. Her giggles echoed around him.

Cassian. Come and play!

Cassian began searching frantically for Addy. He swirled about the room but he couldn't find her.

Where is she?

He looked at his parents in the kitchen.

We wouldn't know. His mother echoed her warm nature turning dark as blood began to pool at her lips.

You killed us. Remember?  His father laughed wickedly as blood began pouring out from wounds that weren't there a second a go.

What did I do?

The memories flickered like a film reel, and he felt a jolt of pain through his shoulder, sharp and biting. He groaned. The sun filtering through the trees was too bright. He felt his hand snag on a bush as he was dragged through the underbrush. The weight of the world pressed down on him, but he couldn't fight it.

Cassian groaned again before he saw himself in the school cafeteria, sitting with his friends, the table cluttered with lunch trays and laughter. He had been joking about the upcoming game, his confidence shining as he recounted their last victory.

I'll throw the winning touchdown, just you wait!" They cheered him on, believing in him without question.

But then, another flash: his parents were arguing, the tension thick in the air.

His mother's voice was strained, pleading. He's just a boy, Greg!"

His father's response was harsh, full of frustration. He needs to toughen up! This is life, not a game!"

A sudden noise jolted him back to the present. He was being dragged across the forest floor, rough twigs and leaves scraping against his skin. The scent of damp earth and pine filled his lungs, the bitter tang of smoke lingering in the air.

Shadows danced around him. Figures moved quickly, but they were obscured, the details lost in the haze of his feverish mind.

He fought to stay conscious, images flashing back to his life, interspersed with the sensation of being lifted. He felt gentle hands working swiftly to bandage his wounds. He was in and out of awareness, caught in a dreamlike state, memories merging with reality. He recalled running through the halls of school, the thrill of victory as they won a championship game, and the celebration afterward, the feeling of invincibility. But there was always a shadow, a sense of something lurking beneath the surface.

What if they're in danger? What if the hunters—

Suddenly, he was back in the forest, dragged deeper into the woods by strong, steady hands. He could feel the warmth of the sun through the trees, hear the faint rustle of leaves. A smoky aroma filled the air, and soft chanting reached his ears, a rhythmic melody that seemed to pull him closer to consciousness.

"The poison on the arrow is killing him. Quick!"

Poison?

Cassian's heart raced as he tried to focus, but the sensations were overwhelming. He felt hands on him, cool and steady, healing him, the touch both strange and familiar. A healer, he realized, working to mend the damage inflicted by the silver arrow.

Through the fog of his fever, he glimpsed the old healer, a graying old lady with deep-set eyes, chanting low and steady, her voice weaving through the air like an incantation. The healer held the shaft of the silver arrowhead in her hand.

She yanked at it.

The pain surged, and Cassian screamed, feeling the burning sensation of the metal being ripped from raw flesh.

A healing agent, a concoction made from crushed herbs and the essence of the forest, was applied to the wound, soothing the throbbing ache. The healer's chanting grew more intense, resonating with the rhythm of the forest, a sound that echoed deep within Cassian's bones. It felt as if the very earth was responding to the song, the air thickening with energy.

As the chanting continued, Cassian felt warmth spreading through him, a radiant glow that chased away the darkness. He wriggled and wreathed as the burning in his shoulder intensified.

"Now, now," the old woman whispered. "Relax."

Cassian took a deep, gasping breath.

"It'll be alright."

He felt his eyes get heavier as he slipped into a deep sleep. His thoughts flickered back to his family—his mother's smile, his father's laughter, the warm embrace of his little sister as they played in the backyard.

Will I ever see them again?

He felt himself fading, drawn back into the void, the images of his life slipping through his fingers. The scent of smoke and herbs filled his lungs as he drifted further into unconsciousness.