Darius stood frozen, breath caught in his throat.
A lion.
He had never seen one outside of a zoo. Never like this. Never wild. Never free.
There was something ancient about it—something that didn't belong in this century or the last. Its mane flowed like wind over a battlefield, its eyes burning with the weight of survival. This wasn't just an animal.
It was a king.And it had come to kill.
Its left eye was milky white—blind, probably. A weakness. A chance. The only one he had.
His mind raced. He had twelve arrows, a short sword, a knife... and the wolves.
He looked at the one beside him—Red. He had named him days ago, after watching his white coat stained crimson from the blood of their kills. The others still had no names. Not yet. And the alpha… the alpha was just that. A title. A force.
Darius glanced at each of them. Eight shadows of fur and breath and raw muscle. They had followed him this far, hunted at his side, accepted his presence.
But this... this was no hunt.
This was war.
The wolves were tense, ears back, tails low. But slowly, instinct pushing them forward, they began to fan out, surrounding the beast. Silent. Reluctant.
Darius drew his bow, nocked an arrow, and aimed for the legs.
Quick shots to the limbs, maybe one to the eye. That should be enough. It has to be.
He let the first arrow fly.
The lion didn't dodge.
It swatted it.
A blur of golden muscle and bone, the creature struck the arrow mid-air with a front paw and lunged.
It moved like lightning.
Before Darius could draw again, the lion had crossed the clearing and leapt on one of the wolves flanking it from behind. Claws raked the air—then met flesh. A heartbeat later, it had the wolf's neck in its jaws, snapping bone like twigs. Blood sprayed in an arc as the corpse was flung aside like garbage.
Darius stood stunned, bow trembling in his hand.
Thirty seconds. That's all it had taken. Thirty seconds, and one wolf was gone.
He had underestimated it.
This wasn't just a lion. This was a monster. A survivor. A killer seasoned by battles long before Darius ever touched a sword.
The remaining wolves didn't flee.
They snarled.
Grief turned to fury. Caution into rage. Their fear was gone, burned away by the death of their own.
They attacked again—together.
And Darius moved.
His chest was tight, breath shallow. He knew the wolf's death had shaken them all—himself included. It wasn't just the violence. It was the realization that they might all follow.
But fear wasn't useful now.
Action was.
He darted right, toward the lion's blind side, arrow ready. He gave the alpha a look—distract him. The great wolf growled low, then lunged, weaving through his pack like a phantom, snapping and feinting to keep the lion turning.
The lion didn't care.
The boy wasn't the threat.
The alpha was.
He focused on the pack leader, lashing out with terrifying speed. One wolf got too close—just one step too bold—and paid the price. A paw swept low and shattered its hind leg, blood pooling under its body as it cried out in pain.
But then it happened.
The lion shifted, and Darius saw his opening.
Now.
He loosed the arrow.
It struck true—burying deep into the lion's rear leg.
The beast faltered. Just for a breath.
A wolf lunged, thinking it was over.
It wasn't.
The lion twisted mid-turn and caught the leaping wolf in its jaws, crushing it before it hit the ground.
Now only five remained.
Darius. Red. The alpha. And two others.
The alpha's stance changed. No longer confident. No longer willing.
This was not a battle they could win.
It wasn't survival anymore—it was suicide.
And so the leader made his choice.
With a final, sharp howl, the alpha turned.
He ran.
And the others followed.
Except one.
His son.
The lion's roar cracked the forest like thunder.
But Red didn't move.
He stood firm between Darius and the beast, low to the ground, snarling deep from his chest. His coat was already streaked with blood—not his own—but his stance never wavered.
Darius stepped forward beside him.
He had nine arrows left.
He nocked one. Aim for the weak side. Blind side.
He loosed it.
The arrow struck true, sinking into the lion's rear leg. The beast stumbled, a low growl rumbling through its chest—but it didn't stop.
Darius fired again, fast—another arrow, this time at the shoulder.
The lion twisted, the shaft grazing its side, just shy of anything vital.
Seven.
It came for them.
Darius threw himself aside just in time as the lion barreled past, claws churning the soil. Red darted in, snapping at the flank. The lion spun, jaws wide, and lashed out—but Red was already gone.
Darius drew and fired again.
Six.
This one struck deep into the lion's upper back, just below the mane. Blood poured down, but the monster roared louder, stronger, as if pain only sharpened it.
It turned on Red.
Darius didn't think—he ran, knife drawn in one hand, sword in the other. His chest burned. His ribs screamed from earlier hits, but he pushed through.
The lion lunged for the wolf—missed. Red dashed to the side.
Now.
Darius charged in from behind and plunged the sword deep into the lion's side. The blade met resistance—bone, muscle, rage. The beast bucked and let out a roar that nearly deafened him.
It threw itself backwards—crashing into a tree and slamming Darius with it.
Pain lit up his world. He collapsed to the ground, air gone, vision spinning. The sword was gone from his grip.
He couldn't move.
The lion limped toward him, one leg dragging, arrows like thorns in its flesh. Blood soaked the grass beneath its paws. Its breath came shallow now. But it was still coming.
Darius reached for another arrow—fingers fumbling—and drew it just as the lion loomed over him.
He let it fly.
Five.
The shaft slammed into the lion's chest—deep, clean.
It staggered.
And then Red leapt.
He sank his teeth into the lion's blind side, clawing for the face. The beast roared in fury and shook violently, trying to throw him off.
Darius crawled.
His hand found the knife.
The moment the lion turned to crush the wolf, Darius drove the blade up beneath its front leg, angled for the heart.
It connected.
The lion froze.
Red was flung off like a rag.
But the beast didn't roar.
It took two slow, heavy steps.
Then collapsed, the earth shuddering with its fall.
Dead.
Darius dropped the knife, his hands slick with blood. He could barely breathe.
He didn't move until he felt warm fur against his arm.
Red had returned, limping, his side cut, breathing ragged.
Darius placed a trembling hand on his back, feeling the uneven rise and fall of his breath. He didn't know what to say. Didn't know if Red understood the words. But it didn't matter.
They had survived.
Together.
Darius looked at him, and for a moment, neither said anything.
Then he whispered:
"...You stayed."
Red didn't respond.
He simply lay beside him.
From the shadows, Arkantos watched.
He had been there long before the lion appeared—perched high on a ridge, obscured by branches and stone, eyes locked on the boy and the wolves below. He hadn't moved a muscle. Not even when the beast roared its challenge. Not even when blood began to spill.
He was ready to intervene.
The bow across his back was strung. His grip on the javelin was firm. One breath, one step forward, and he could've ended it. He knew where to strike, how to kill quickly. Years of war had taught him that.
But he held back.
He needed to see.
He needed to know what the boy would do.
When the wolves began to circle, when the alpha took position, when Darius raised his bow with a steady hand—he watched. When the lion struck like lightning and the boy stood frozen in awe and fear—he waited.
And when the alpha turned and fled, he wasn't surprised.
They were animals. Creatures of instinct. That's how they survived.
Darius had lost his chance.
It was time to move.
But then… something changed.
One wolf stayed.
Not out of confusion. Not out of stubbornness.
Out of loyalty.
And the boy… he didn't run.
He didn't freeze again.
He fought.
Arkantos narrowed his eyes, chest tight.
He saw the arrows fly—fast, sharp, well-aimed. He saw them hit. He saw the boy move like a hunter, like a warrior, like a creature born not only to survive but to conquer.
He saw Red leap.
He saw Darius crawl, bleeding, broken, and still reach for the knife.
And he saw the end.
When the lion finally collapsed, when silence returned to the woods, Arkantos remained still.
But his hands trembled.
Not from fear.
From awe.
This… this was a warrior.