The Legacy of Elyn Vane

Elyn stood perched on a thick branch, his boots pressing lightly against the rough bark. The tree swayed ever so slightly beneath him, but he remained steady. He was on high ground, a small hill where the land sloped downward both in front and behind him, creating a natural vantage point. Below, the snow-covered forest stretched out in all directions, cloaked in dense fog. The terrain was uneven, ridges and dips forming natural traps, and something was watching somewhere in that white haze.

The wind picked up, fluttering his cloak around him. It rustled softly, the only sound in the frozen silence. Then, like a gentle whisper, the snowfall returned, tiny flakes drifting down, catching the pale light of the hidden moon.

These heights were where Shadow Mane Wolves were most often found. They thrived in high, uneven terrain, using the slopes and ridges to launch their attacks with terrifying speed. Albert had told him that once. 

"They don't fight on even ground. They make the terrain their weapon." 

Elyn knew that was true. He had seen it before. 

Not long before they entered the forest, his sharp eyes had caught the remnants of a massacre ,a place where the snow was stained dark, where death had come swiftly and without mercy.

It was a natural deadfall, a very large basin enclosed by high ridges on three sides. The slopes were steep, covered in a mix of frostbitten pines and barren trees with skeletal branches reaching toward the sky. Patches of jagged rock jutted out from the snow, and the ground itself was uneven and treacherous. Any creature that wandered in would find itself trapped, its escape routes cut off without realising it.

And in the centre of that silent graveyard, the remains of beasts lay scattered across the snow, half-buried in the frost.

A stag's lifeless body had been torn open, its ribcage exposed to the cold air. Nearby, a fox lay twisted, its throat slit so cleanly that its blood had frozen in a dark line across the ice.

But the most disturbing sight was a great boar , its body flung across the basin, its limbs sprawled at unnatural angles. Its head, however, was missing.

Elyn had followed the trail of disturbance, his eyes landing on the shattered remains of a fallen tree. The boar's massive skull was wedged between the splintered bark, pinned there as if something had rammed it into place with immense force. The tree itself was frozen, the impact strong enough to leave deep cracks along its surface.

Elyn had crouched by the remains, his fingers brushing the frozen ground. The snow told the story there had been no struggle. No chase. No signs of panic.

"It didn't overpower them," Albert's voice murmured. "It didn't give them a chance to fight. They never even knew they were being hunted." Only the brutal efficiency of a perfect ambush.

A gust of wind had blown through the hollow, kicking up loose snow, and erasing the last traces of the kill.

Standing on his perch in the tree, looking down into the snow-covered fog, Elyn felt the same weight settle over him. He exhaled slowly.

"Now stop thinking like a hunter and start thinking like prey. Where would you be looking from?"* 

Albert's voice was in his mind, calm and patient. 

Elyn narrowed his eyes. He wasn't searching for the beast itself only for the signs it left behind. The snow below was fresh, undisturbed in most places, but not everywhere. There is a faint break in the whiteness. A place where the snowfall had been interrupted just minutes ago. The spacing was odd. Too light for a deer. Too wide for anything smaller. 

"A Shadow Mane leaves almost nothing behind. Almost." 

Elyn crouched slightly, adjusting his balance on the tree branch. His breath was slow, and controlled, misting the air before fading into the cold night. If he had used mana, he would have sensed the beast already. But that wasn't the point of this lesson. 

His eyes followed the faint traces in the snow. They didn't form a straight path. Instead, they curved subtly, deliberately. The realisation settled in his chest like ice. 

"It's circling." 

A pause. 

Then Albert's voice returned, steady as ever. 

"Good. Now tell me why?"

Elyn's fingers twitched near the hilt of his dagger, but he didn't draw it. He forced himself to think. The Shadow Mane wasn't retreating. It wasn't just passing through. 

It was testing him. 

A gust of wind swept through the trees, sending another flurry of snowflakes dancing through the air. The fog shifted slightly, revealing more of the terrain below. And then just for a fraction of a second , something moved. 

Not in the open. Not directly. But at the very edge of his vision, where the human eye would fail to register it. 

"Don't look at it." Albert's voice was firm. "If you see it, it's already too late."

Elyn's heart pounded, but he remained still. The Shadow Mane was patient, waiting for him to make a mistake. 

A flicker of black in the snowfall. 

Elyn moved.

A blur of black shot toward him, faster than an arrow. Instinct roared through his body, and he reacted , his daggers crossed in front of him just in time to meet the crushing force of the Shadow Mane's strike. Claws screeched against steel, sparks flashing in the darkness as the impact nearly wrenched his arms apart.

The force sent him flying backward. His boots scraped against the rough bark of the branch, but the sheer momentum was too much. He was blasted off balance, his back slamming against the trunk of another tree. The impact cracked through his ribs, forcing the air from his lungs, but he had no time to register the pain. The moment he collided, he pushed off, twisting mid-air to regain control.

The Shadow Mane was relentless. It rebounded off another branch, using the uneven terrain to strike from above. Elyn barely brought his dagger up as the beast's claws raked toward his throat. He deflected the blow, angling his blade to redirect the attack, but the sheer weight behind it sent him careening through the trees.

Branches snapped as he tumbled through the air. He twisted his body, catching a lower limb with his free hand, but the speed of his fall wrenched his grip loose. He spun downward, his cloak whipping in the wind, before he slammed hard against another thick branch.

Pain flared up his spine, but he forced himself to move. His boots skidded against the wood as he steadied himself, his dagger still clenched tightly in his grip. He sucked in a sharp breath, pushing past the ache in his ribs.

Above him, the fog swirled, the snowfall thickening once more.

And somewhere in that haze, the Shadow Mane was already preparing for its next strike.