Chapter 6: Guardian Beast
Snowflakes spiraled in the wind outside the cave, but within, warmth lingered. The fire crackled softly, casting shifting shadows across the rough stone walls. Tyris sat with his back against the wall, his hand resting gently on Freya's neck. Her fur was warm, alive with the bond they had just sealed. It was more than a pact. It was communion.
He closed his eyes.
And felt her.
Not just her heartbeat.
Her soul.
A flood of sensations crashed into him—smells, sounds, emotions so vivid they weren't just recollections. They were living memories, tangled with grief, love, duty. They weren't his own, yet they made his chest tighten and his breath catch.
Through Freya's Eyes
He stood on a high cliff, snow swirling like stars in a furious sky. But he wasn't Tyris anymore.
He was her.
Freya's senses were sharper, more primal. Every sound rang like a bell—each snowflake had a flavor. Before her stood a colossal figure. A giant wolf with fur like pure silver moonlight, eyes calm and ancient, filled with timeless wisdom.
Her mother.
Silver.
The matriarch of the Winter shade wolves. The great beast lowered her massive head, nuzzling Freya with such gentleness that Tyris's heart fractured. The warmth, the scent—lavender, snow-pine, starlight—engraved themselves into his very marrow.
Then another figure stepped forward. A woman. Graceful. Radiant.
She wore deep blue robes embroidered with constellations, her silver hair cascading behind her like flowing ice.
Tyris knew her instantly.
"Osa Moon..." he whispered, breath fogging.
His mother.
The woman smiled softly at Silver and extended a hand. "Silver," she called, her tone affectionate, reverent. "Protect the valley perimeter. I will reinforce the northern flank."
More voices echoed, memories piling on top of one another.
"Silver! You stubborn thing, I said not to chase the moon deer without me!"
"You'll always be my first spirit, no matter how many come after."
Her laughter, carried on the wind, cracked something open inside him.
Then—
Another figure.
A tall man, his aura like thunder held in stillness. He wore storm-grey armor lined with white fur. His hands, though calloused and scarred, held Osa's with reverence.
His father.
Theo Moon.
Tyris stumbled backward within the memory, pain and recognition flooding him.
The scene shifted again. Fire. Smoke. Screams. It was the valley—his homeland—now a battlefield.
Massive warriors in black and red armor stormed the snowy expanse. The Bull Clan. Their aura reeked of brimstone and iron. They wielded earth magic like battering rams, splitting the frozen ground, tearing through trees and stone alike.
Spirit beasts fought desperately—wolves, hawks, foxes, serpents. Tyris saw Silver, bleeding, limping.
Pregnant.
Her strength waned, but she did not retreat.
"No. Not here. Not now," Osa whispered, dropping to her knees beside Silver. Her voice cracked with despair. She placed her forehead against the beast's and whispered words in the ancient tongue.
A glowing sigil flared between them.
The bond shattered.
Silver did not cry out.
She understood.
She turned and disappeared into the blizzard, carrying her unborn child and the last fragment of the Moon Clan's hope.
Tyris sobbed through Freya's senses.
Birth of a Guardian
Now he saw the hidden den. A cradle of ice, moss, and snow. Silver panted, her strength nearly gone. She curled her massive body protectively around a tiny pup—so small it looked like a snowflake come to life.
Freya.
The mother nudged the infant, licking her gently. Her eyes shimmered with tears. She gathered her fading power, and from her chest emerged a small crystal—a shard of memory, of scent.
Osa's scent.
Silver placed the shard in Freya's fur, right behind the ear, and whispered through their bond:
"When you find her scent again... fulfill the bond, little one."
She was already injured and after giving birth to Freya She knew her time was limited. She transferred her All spiritual energy and Beast core to a newborn child and died. After absorbing all the energy, the small pup became a grown White wolf.
Flashback: Tyris as a Boy
His breath hitched—not from Freya's memory, but his own.
He was a child again.
Not yet broken. Not yet branded.
The fire crackled softly beside him, shadows dancing on the walls of the Moon Clan's ancestral home. He lay on his belly, eyes wide, lips slightly parted in wonder as his mother—Osa Moon—brushed a comb through his hair, humming a lullaby older than the clan itself.
"There are bonds, Tyris," she said, "older than kingdoms and deeper than blood. A true spiritual master does not command—he listens. Protects. Guides."
"Like you?" he had asked, curling his fingers around a silver pendant that hung from her neck.
A pause. Then, a smile.
"No. Greater than me. Our ancestors were chosen by a guardian beast—a giant white wolf, whose howl once stilled war. She was the first. Her name was Silver. And she will come again when the bloodline calls her."
He had laughed then. Not cruelly. Just innocently.
"Mother, you say that every time. But wolves don't live forever. And if we were so 'chosen,' why does no one speak of it at court? Why doesn't the Emperor kneel before us?"
She had paused.
The smile dimmed—but did not fade.
"Because truth doesn't always wear a crown," she whispered. "And fate waits in silence."
Tyris had scoffed. He didn't believe in wolves from the stars or sacred bonds. Not then. He was too young, too proud, too drawn to the easy joys of life. As he grew older, he traded stories for silk sheets, wisdom for wine, and destiny for distraction.
But fate… did not forget.
And it came—sudden and cruel.
Flames. Screams. Iron boots thundering across marble floors.
His father's sword shattered in two. His elder cousins cut down at the gates. The Moon Clan, once respected throughout the realm, labeled traitors overnight.
Not by war.
By decree.
By the Emperor's hand.
On a moonless night, they came not with accusations, but with judgment.
The entire estate was seized. Scrolls burned. Statues toppled. Blood stained the snow-white banners.
And in the city square, one by one, his family was led to the execution block.
Noble men and women. Warriors. Priests. Elders. Beheaded before cheering crowds.
He, too, was dragged into the light.
Iron chains bound his wrists and ankles, digging into his flesh. He was marched through the streets—naked, starving, shamed—as people spat and laughed.
The Emperor called it mercy.
"Let the boy live," he had declared. "So all may see what happens to those who dream of rebellion."
They thought he would die in the Dark Forest—cold, hungry, and alone. A symbol. A warning. A forgotten name.
But he lived.
And the boy who once mocked his mother's tales grew into a man who walked through ashes with no name, no home, and no faith.
Until now.
Until Freya.
Until her memory awakened something long buried.
The guardian beast wasn't a myth.
Silver was real.
His mother hadn't lied.
She had tried to prepare him.
And he had laughed in her face.
Now, as the visions faded and Freya curled beside him, Tyris felt his throat tighten.
He had spat on his legacy. Ignored his blood.
And for that, the Moon Clan had died.
He reached out with trembling fingers, brushing Freya's white fur, the same hue his mother once described in firelight.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, the words cracking from his chest.
"I didn't believe. And because of me… they died alone."
Freya let out a low, rumbling whine—not of blame, but of comfort.
He pressed his forehead to hers, eyes burning.
He had lost everything.
But perhaps… not forever.
Return to the Present
Tyris gasped as he returned, chest heaving, sweat and tears clinging to his skin. The firelight flickered as Freya raised her head and stared at him.
He touched her forehead. "So that's why... you found me. Because of that fragment. That scent. It wasn't just a memory. It was her last wish."
Freya gave a soft, soulful growl. Her eyes shimmered with an emotion too ancient for words.
Tyris's voice trembled. "You carried her dying wish. Her love. Her grief. All these years... alone?"
Freya nuzzled closer, her body warm, grounding him.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I wasn't ready. I was too afraid."
He leaned his head against hers.
"But not anymore."
The Vow
Tyris looked into the fire, eyes hardening. "I won't run anymore. Not from my name. Not from my clan. Not from myself."
Freya placed her paw over his hand.
Tyris laughed, softly. "I guess we both carry ghosts. But they brought us together."
Outside, the wind howled, but inside, the silence between them was sacred.
He turned to her, speaking clearly now. "My name is Tyris Moon. Son of Osa Moon and Theo Moon. Descendant of the last bondkeeper of the North. You are Freya Wintershade, daughter of Silver. The last guardian of the valley."
Freya gave a low, affirming growl.
He stood.
Snow drifted down in sheets beyond the cave entrance, but he didn't fear it anymore.
"They think the Moon Clan is gone," he whispered. "But the moon never dies. It always returns."
Freya joined him at the mouth of the cave, wind ruffling her fur.
Tyris clenched his fists. "Let them come."
The fire behind him flickered out.
But inside him—
a new fire ignited.