Inside the forest, as I feared, I couldn’t see a thing. I moved slowly, stumbling over tree roots or bumping my head on branches every so often. I stretched my hands ahead to avoid crashing into trunks. Progress was tough, and the sense of direction I’d hoped to maintain by aiming for the castle was lost early on.

  Through the dense canopy, the sky was invisible, making it impossible to spot the moon again, let alone the castle. Sometimes the wind rustled the branches, sparking a flicker of hope that quickly died when I turned and realized it was just noise.

  Worst of all seemed to be the wolf. It breathed beside my ear, and I felt it circling me with its body. The heat radiating from its skin suffocated me psychologically. Its red eyes, closer than ever, glimmered in the darkness. Yet, I preferred its presence to its absence. Better its company than the forest’s solitude, its sounds, its creatures.

  At times, I heard it leave my side to fight other monsters trailing and watching us, eager to attack. Not all shared the same patience. I heard them insult it, call it a traitor with crude curses. They unleashed cries and noises—each distinct, all chilling, like war cries. After some attacks, their footsteps grew less loud and numerous, but soon the parade resumed, hoofbeats intensifying, signaling new assaults.

  “Give him to us, why protect him?”, “Let us have some fun, since you’re with us.”, “Didn’t you tell us to get rid of them all, kill them, show no mercy?” The forest creatures shouted this and more. They never stopped—rather, it worsened. Curses, terrifying sounds, a relentless drip of torment in my ears. Sometimes the trembling forced me to halt, curling up on the ground, praying for it all to end.

  “I won’t go back on my word, come what may,” the wolf replied. “I won’t become like them—don’t ask that of me.”

  The wolf explained to them what it had promised me, insisting it couldn’t break its word, challenging them to defeat it. If they won, they could feast on my body, it told them. The attacks persisted, pausing only briefly each time. Then it returned to my shoulder, almost embracing me, its presence stifling.

  When we had brief moments alone, it whispered in my ear:

  “Don’t you think this is enough? Don’t you want me to take you out, back to the road? Don’t you want this to end? I can, if you ask. Know that your direction is wrong, and you won’t find it again until you’re back on the road.”

  I couldn’t always respond. Sometimes I shouted for it to leave me in peace, and it pressed harder. Other times, I stayed silent, but my breathing betrayed my fear. I held back tears as long as I could, though sometimes they flowed uncontrollably. The darkness made it worse. My imagination ran wild, conjuring what my eyes couldn’t see, crafting new worlds and giving the beasts even uglier faces.

  “Leave me, all of you—why chase me, what did I do?” I asked once—or rather, shouted, screamed from my lungs.

  Laughter and mocking cries followed, the creatures reveling in my pain. They showed no pity or compassion. But I trusted the wolf and its promise. It was the strongest in the forest, invincible, with no one daring to challenge it. Sometimes I heard the creatures lunge, the air slicing as they moved. Then a louder tear, a whistle lingering seconds after the action, silenced all else.

  Another time, I asked why it hated us so much, given we were weak before it—ants, incapable. Both princes and the forest treated us as toys, disposable goods.

  “Ha ha ha, little descendant, you still don’t get it? It doesn’t matter. No one cares if you know or don’t, did or didn’t. The greatest pain for a human is watching the seeds they leave behind destroyed. No matter how many of you die, it’s never enough—until you’re all gone, until the Lion dies once and for all,” the wolf answered. “And don’t deny your immoral nature, for I’ve seen you—three times causing others’ death and pain. The lion’s gene, that same wretched character, that same behavior seems etched, carved into your soul.”

  “And what are you then—appointed by whom as punishers, for how long? I’ve sinned, but you commit barbarities too. Not all who came like me are the same; not all wish to fight. Some could’ve helped your cause, those who oppose the princes’ game,” I shot back.

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  “Ha ha ha, little lion, we appointed ourselves, for if we didn’t set limits to the king’s demands, there’d be only road and no forest. But even if our actions against you keep us punished in the forest, unable to see the moonlight, so be it—all is worth sacrificing if even one tear of remorse falls from the great lion’s face,” it retorted.

  The discussion was futile. Once, twice, three times—I didn’t try again. I clenched my teeth to endure the sounds, the screams, the curses. Still, I feared leaving the forest. I didn’t know what trap the wolf might spring—perhaps another girl like with Kopos, or something new and unknown, something I’d realize too late. It might return me to the old road or set another snare; I didn’t know its full capabilities. But I knew it wouldn’t break its promise. That was the one thing I clung to, the only trust I had until I found something else to replace it.

  Sleep was also hard. Only exhaustion forced my eyes shut; otherwise, the noise and anxiety denied me that luxury. I woke tired, as if only five minutes had passed. My skin was damp, sticking from sweat and humidity, the stench of my body choking my nostrils. My clothes reeked, to the point I didn’t know why I wore them.

  The cold offered no relief either, denying me a moment’s peace. I shivered, my head intermittently heating—perhaps a fever—to withstand the physical strain. For food, I groped blindly up trees to find fruit or searched the ground when I heard something drop. Often, the forest creatures laughter mocked my plight. They never let me rest.

  I wondered where the wolf found the cooked meals on plates it gave the girl so generously. I tried sniffing for a kitchen or sign of civilization—futile. With so many strange, alien things happening, I questioned if it was worth wasting thought on it.

  Lost and exhausted, my mind grew hazy. The turns it took led me down dangerous paths. I no longer knew if I was mad or if all this—sounds, sensations—was real. Reality warped, my memory blending with imagination, offering no help. I couldn’t tell truth from lie anymore.

  The situation seemed worse than ever. Perhaps crossing and continuing on the road would’ve been better—I might’ve found something to survive on. Maybe where I could use my mind, I’d have had hope. But when I did, it led me here. My pride hadn’t helped; it likely condemned me.

  I saw nothing ahead. I didn’t know where the road was or how far the castle lay. The wolf sensed my state and seemed to revel in it. I couldn’t think clearly, channeling all my strength into survival.

  I grew tired again. I found a tree root, felt my way to its trunk, and curled up like a ball. My heart pounded. My body trembled. I thought I’d die any moment. The wolf didn’t speak, though. Maybe it pitied me—that’s what I wanted to believe. After traveling together, even briefly, perhaps it felt some goodwill toward me. Or, like the princes, it grinned at my torment. The sadist called it “master,” so it might be sadistic too.

  “Run,” I heard the wolf say.

  As I lifted my eyelids, I saw glowing eyes—many pairs, in various colors like the wolf’s, surrounding me. Blue, white, orange, green, yellow, purple, brown. A symphony of radiant gems. Beautiful to behold together. But their breaths, heavy like the wolf’s, their large, threatening, coordinated steps—not chaotic like the other creatures—warmed the air around us. They didn’t speak, only stared at me.

  “Run, I said,” the wolf shouted again.

  I didn’t linger to think. I ran, fell, rose, crashed into branches and trees, but didn’t stop. The air sliced from their movements and the wolf’s battles. Blows rained down, shaking trees, hurling me to the ground with the waves they created. They chased relentlessly, attacking, the air cutting as they nearly grazed me, then another force yanking them away.

  Wild beasts, cries of pain, calls, forest sounds—gods in my ears, meddling with an ant, me, a powerless ant, incapable of affecting them. Why me, why, why? I fell again. My clothes were torn, nearly shredded. Blood surely flowed from wounds covering my body. Yet I kept running.

  I don’t know how long I ran until the sounds ceased and the air stopped vibrating. Nothing alive was near me—no creatures. I heard nothing. The wolf no longer guarded my shoulder. I heard nothing. I walked on, now cautiously, until a faint light emerged between the trees. I quickened my pace toward it, eyes fixed, joy indescribable.

  Reaching the light, I saw the forest end—or rather, a lake began. It wasn’t lit by moonlight but by fireflies circling it. Those small lights reminded me of the city’s glow. The wolf had said the city was part of the forest. Perhaps this was too. I didn’t step beyond the trees, fearing exposure to danger. But I was already on the brink of collapse, with danger right behind me.

  I glanced back at the forest’s darkness, clenched my teeth, and stepped out. I couldn’t take it anymore—I wanted to see again. I ran to the lake, plunged my face in, and drank, washing my face. I tried cleaning my wounds, tore my shirt to wash it, and tended to the cuts on my legs. Sitting there helpless, I cried like a child, shouting with whatever strength my lungs had left. I beat myself against the lake’s rocky shore, striking my hands on the stones, then my chest. When I finally tired of crying and shouting, my body let me collapse onto the grass and dirt, and I fell asleep.