The Great Forest of Naruun stretched for hundreds of miles along the northern border of Inhevaen, a vast expanse of ancient trees and hidden valleys that few outsiders ever ventured into. This was the sacred territory of the Naruun people, who lived in harmony with the forest and the Anirû beasts with whom they shared a spiritual bond.
Ithor moved silently through the undergrowth, his steps making no sound on the moss- covered ground. Beside him padded Faaron, a massive gray wolf whose intelligent eyes constantly scanned their surroundings. The bond between them was visible as a faint silver thread of energy connecting man and beast — the sacred Naruun bond that allowed them to share thoughts, senses, and strength.
"They're close," Ithor whispered, though he didn't need to speak aloud for Faaron to understand him. The wolf's ears twitched in acknowledgment, and Ithor felt a gentle pressure in his mind as Faaron shared what his superior senses had detected: the scent of strangers, the subtle disturbance of the forest's natural rhythm, the faint metallic tang of weapons.
Poachers. Or worse, traffickers in exotic creatures and rare herbs that grew only in the protected heart of the Naruun territory. Either way, they were trespassers who threatened the delicate balance of the forest.
Ithor's hand went to the knife at his belt — a simple weapon, but deadly in the hands of a skilled hunter. As a forest warden, it was his duty to track and apprehend those who violated Naruun borders. Usually, such trespassers were simply escorted out with a stern warning. But these particular intruders had evaded capture for weeks, suggesting they were more organized and determined than the typical poacher.
Through his bond with Faaron, Ithor extended his senses beyond human limitations. He could smell what the wolf smelled, see with the wolf's superior night vision, hear the faintest rustle of leaves hundreds of yards away. It was this expanded awareness that had made him one of the most successful wardens in his tribe, despite his relatively young age of twenty-five.
There. Faaron's thought came clearly through their bond, accompanied by a mental image of a small clearing ahead where several figures moved around a carefully concealed camp. The wolf's night vision revealed details that would have been invisible to human eyes in the darkness: six individuals, armed with various weapons, gathered around what appeared to be a collection of cages and containers.
Definitely traffickers, then. The cages suggested they were capturing live specimens — perhaps the rare silver foxes that were prized for their fur, or even young Anirû wolves, which some wealthy collectors in distant cities kept as exotic pets, unaware or uncaring of the sacred nature of these animals to the Naruun.
Ithor's jaw tightened with anger. Taking from the forest was one thing — even the Naruun harvested what they needed to survive. But capturing living creatures for profit, especially Anirû, was an abomination.
We should alert the patrol, came Faaron's cautious thought. There are many of them, and they are well-armed.
It was the sensible course of action. The nearest Naruun patrol was less than an hour away, and with their help, the traffickers could be surrounded and captured with minimal risk.
But something made Ithor hesitate. A feeling he couldn't quite identify, a pull toward the clearing that seemed to bypass his rational mind. Before he could analyze this strange impulse, he found himself moving forward, drawn by a compulsion he didn't understand.
Ithor? Faaron's mental voice held concern and confusion. What are you doing?
"I just want a closer look," Ithor whispered, though even as he said it, he knew it wasn't entirely true. Something else was driving him, something beyond curiosity or duty.
Faaron growled softly but followed, loyal despite his misgivings. The wolf's unease transmitted clearly through their bond, adding to Ithor's own growing sense that something was wrong — not just with the traffickers, but with his own actions.
They crept closer to the edge of the clearing, staying within the shadows of the massive trees. From this vantage point, Ithor could see the traffickers more clearly. They were a mixed group — two appeared to be Sangor mercenaries, recognizable by their ritual tattoos; one was clearly Zhyren, with the characteristic amber eyes of that race; the others were harder to identify in the dim light.
But it was what they were trafficking that caught Ithor's attention. The cages didn't contain animals as he had expected. Instead, they held plants — or what appeared to be plants at first glance. Looking closer, Ithor realized they were actually crystalline growths that resembled vegetation but glowed with an inner light. Shyrr fragments, but unlike any he had seen before. These seemed almost alive, pulsing with energy.
And in the center of the camp, carefully placed on a pedestal covered in protective runes, was a larger fragment that glowed with a blue-tinged light. Even from a distance, Ithor could feel its power, a resonance that seemed to call to something deep within him.
We should go, Faaron urged, the wolf's instincts sensing danger beyond the obvious threat of armed traffickers. This is wrong. These are not ordinary Shyrr fragments.
Ithor knew his companion was right. Whatever these crystals were, they were clearly dangerous and powerful. This was a matter for the tribal elders, not a single warden, no matter how skilled.
Yet still he hesitated, that strange compulsion holding him in place. It was as if the blue- tinged fragment was calling to him specifically, pulling at his consciousness.
And then one of the traffickers turned, looking directly at their hiding place, and Ithor realized with a shock that it was a woman — and not just any woman, but one he recognized. Nora, a trader who occasionally visited the Naruun settlements at the forest's edge, bringing goods from distant cities to exchange for herbs and crafts. She had always been friendly, respectful of Naruun customs, seemingly trustworthy.
What was she doing here, in the heart of forbidden territory, with these traffickers and their strange cargo?
Before Ithor could process this betrayal, Nora smiled — a cold expression that never reached her eyes — and spoke a single word that seemed to ripple through the air with unnatural power.
"Found."
Instantly, the other traffickers were alert, weapons drawn, eyes scanning the darkness. But it was already too late for Ithor and Faaron to retreat unnoticed. Their presence had been detected, though Ithor couldn't understand how. They had been downwind, silent, hidden in shadow — perfect stealth by any standard.
Run! Faaron's mental command was urgent, accompanied by a surge of adrenaline through their bond. The wolf was already turning, ready to flee into the depths of the forest where they could easily lose any pursuers.
But Ithor still couldn't move, that strange compulsion now a paralyzing force that held him rooted to the spot. He watched in horror as Nora approached their hiding place, her steps confident, her smile widening.
"Ithor," she said, his name sounding wrong on her lips. "I knew you would come. You've always been so... curious. So willing to bend the rules."
How did she know his name? He had never introduced himself during her visits to the settlement, had always kept his distance from outsiders as was proper for a warden.
"Who are you?" he managed to ask, fighting against the invisible force that held him.
"A friend," she replied, stopping just a few feet away. "Or I could be, if you're willing to listen to a proposition."
Faaron growled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Through their bond, Ithor could feel the wolf's intense distrust and the urge to attack, to protect his bonded human from this threat.
No, Ithor commanded silently. Wait.
He didn't know why he was hesitating, why he wasn't allowing Faaron to defend them or at least create a distraction so they could escape. It was as if his normal instincts had been suppressed, replaced by this strange fascination with Nora and the blue-tinged Shyrr fragment.
"What proposition?" he heard himself asking, the words coming from his mouth without conscious decision.
Nora's smile deepened, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes. "Simple. We need safe passage through a specific part of the forest — a route that avoids the regular patrols. You know these woods better than anyone. Guide us, and you'll be rewarded generously."
It was absurd. Unthinkable. Helping traffickers transport illegal and potentially dangerous materials through sacred Naruun territory? It would be treason against his people, a violation of everything he believed in.
"Never," he said, but the word lacked conviction, coming out weak and uncertain.
"Are you sure?" Nora asked, her voice taking on a hypnotic quality. "Think of what you could gain. Not just wealth, but knowledge. Access to powers your elders keep hidden from you. Freedom from the constraints of tradition."
As she spoke, she gestured toward the blue-tinged fragment at the center of the camp. It pulsed brighter in response, as if acknowledging her words, and Ithor felt that strange pull intensify.
"What is that?" he asked, nodding toward the fragment.
"A key," Nora replied cryptically. "A piece of something greater. Something that could change everything for all races of Inhevaen." She took another step closer. "Help us, Ithor, and I'll share its secrets with you."
Faaron was practically vibrating with tension beside him, the wolf's thoughts a chaotic mix of fear, anger, and desperate urging to flee. But Ithor found himself considering Nora's offer, weighing it in his mind as if it were a legitimate proposition rather than the obvious trap it surely was.
"Just guide us through the forest," Nora pressed, sensing his wavering. "No one needs to know. No one will be harmed. And afterward, you return to your life with new knowledge and resources that will benefit you for years to come."
It was wrong. Every instinct, every teaching, every value Ithor held dear screamed that this was wrong. Yet somehow, he found himself nodding slowly.
"One condition," he heard himself say. "I need to know what you're transporting. What these crystals really are."
Nora's smile became triumphant. "Of course. Knowledge is part of your payment, after all." She gestured for him to follow her into the clearing.
NO! Faaron's mental voice was a desperate howl. Ithor, this is wrong! She is using some magic on you!
The wolf was right. This wasn't natural, this compulsion, this fascination. Ithor was being manipulated somehow. He tried to resist, to reassert control over his own actions, but his body moved forward as if controlled by another will.
As he stepped into the clearing, the other traffickers watched him with varying expressions — wariness, amusement, contempt. They clearly hadn't expected their lookout to actually convince a Naruun warden to help them.
Nora led him to the pedestal where the blue-tinged fragment pulsed with its strange light. Up close, it was even more mesmerizing — a piece of what appeared to be the Dome itself, but unlike the common black Shyrr fragments that occasionally fell to earth, this one contained swirls of blue energy that moved like liquid within the crystalline structure.
"This is a special fragment," Nora explained, her voice low and intimate. "One of only a few in existence. It contains... let's call it a message. A truth that has been hidden for centuries."
"What truth?" Ithor asked, unable to look away from the hypnotic swirls within the crystal.