The air was biting cold, the kind that clawed at your skin and crept into your lungs like ice. Arya's breath came in sharp clouds as she trudged through the forest, each crunch of snow underfoot echoing into the endless white. Beside her, Isha hugged her jacket tighter, glancing around with unease.
"Arya... are we even going the right way?" Isha whispered.
Arya didn't answer at first. Her eyes were fixed ahead, her heart racing not just from exertion, but something else—something older. An echo. A pull.
They had been wandering for hours, searching for any hint of an exit. The sun had vanished behind thick gray clouds long ago. And then, just when despair threatened to swallow them whole, they heard it.
A howl.
Low. Powerful. Ancient.
They turned.
There, on a ridge above them, shrouded in mist and moonlight, stood the wolf.
Massive.
Majestic.
Golden eyes gleaming like molten fire in the dark.
It didn't move. Didn't growl. Just stared. At Arya.
And Arya… she stared back. The world around her fell away. The forest. The cold. Even Isha's gasp. None of it mattered. Just those eyes. Familiar. Agonizingly familiar.
Then, the wolf tilted its head—not in aggression, but like it was… pointing. A subtle gesture. A nudge.
Arya blinked. She looked in the direction it gestured. A narrow trail half-hidden by snow.
"That way," Arya said, her voice distant.
Isha followed, reluctant but trusting her best friend's instincts.
When they reached the edge of the forest, a familiar wooden sign creaked in the wind. The cabin wasn't far.
The wolf had shown them the way out.
Inside the cabin, silence reigned for a few long minutes. Isha wrapped herself in a blanket, hands still trembling.
"What just happened?" she finally whispered.
Arya didn't respond. She sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands as if they might hold answers.
"He looked at me like he knew me," Arya said. "Like I mattered to him."
Isha rubbed her arms. "I've never seen a wolf like that. He didn't look normal. That size... those eyes... it felt like something out of a myth."
Arya nodded. "He's not just a wolf. He's part of this. All of it."
A buzz broke the silence.
Isha picked up her phone. Her eyes widened. "Arya… it's from the tape recovery agency. They've recovered 80% of the data. Raw clips and photos."
Arya's breath caught. "Show me."
They watched the screen load. Blurry thumbnails appeared—images of the forest, of snow, of something—or someone—moving fast through the frame.
Arya's fingers trembled. One clip had a golden glint.
"It's him," she whispered.
The next morning brought fresh snow and a heavy sky. Determined, they headed to the only place that might offer more answers: the inn they had first stayed at during Rihaan's birthday.
The man at the counter—a middle-aged villager with a thick beard and wary eyes—froze when he saw them.
"You're back," he muttered.
Arya stepped forward. "You warned us. When we first came. About the forest. About... the past."
He looked at her a long moment, then motioned them to sit.
"People think I'm crazy," he said. "But I just tell what my father told me, and what his father told him. That forest isn't cursed. It's haunted. By a love so tragic, even time couldn't bury it."
Arya leaned in. "Tell us everything."
He hesitated. "I can't tell you all. Because I don't know it all. But if you're serious, come tomorrow. I'll take you to my village. The old ones there—they remember things. Things the rest of us were told to forget."
Isha exchanged a glance with Arya. "We'll be here."
After hearing about the villagers, Arya's eyes lit with a rare mix of hope and urgency. "Did you hear what he said, Isha? The villagers might know. Maybe they've seen the golden-eyed wolf before… maybe they know what this all means." Isha nodded, her voice trembling slightly with excitement. "It feels like we've been walking blind, but now—now we're getting closer. What if they know about the curse? About your visions? The mark?" Arya's fingers brushed her wrist unconsciously. "They might even know who he is. And maybe… who I was." Isha placed a hand on her shoulder, grounding them both. "He said he'll take us tomorrow. That village could hold all the missing pieces. If those stories are true, Arya, we're not just chasing myths—we're chasing answers." Arya exhaled slowly, a flicker of determination in her voice. "Then let's be ready. Whatever we find, it's time we finally face it."
That evening, back at the cabin, they sat in front of the fireplace, reviewing the clips. The visuals were murky, but one thing was clear—Arya wasn't hallucinating.
In one video, the camera shook violently, but for a split second, it caught a shape. Towering. Covered in dark fur. Eyes glowing like fire.
Isha clutched the blanket tighter. "He was there. That night."
Arya nodded slowly. "Watching. Protecting, maybe. But why me? Why do I feel like... like I left something behind in that forest, not the other way around?"
That night, as snow tapped the windows and the fire crackled low, Arya dreamed.
Not the usual dream.
This time, she stood under a blood-red moon. A man was calling out to her, his voice raw with pain.
She turned away.
He reached for her—but shadows dragged him back.
Arya awoke with a start, tears on her cheeks.
She sat up and whispered, "He wasn't chasing me. I left him. I turned away."
"I thought I came here for answers, but the truth feels heavier than the questions ever did. Every time he looks at me—with those golden eyes—I feel it. Guilt. Longing. Loss. Like I wronged him, like I left him behind in a world where time forgot to move forward. And yet, he's still here. Watching. Guiding. Haunting. If this is love, it's the kind that doesn't die. It waits. And I don't know if I'm brave enough to remember what I did… or who I was. But something tells me—he never stopped remembering. Even when I did."