Chapter 5: Silent Pact
The mountain forest was silent. Snow fell endlessly, muffling every sound, blanketing the world in a white so pure it felt unreal. Twisted trees stood like frozen statues, and icy winds whispered through the barren branches. In that wilderness, beasts lurked—ruthless and primal.
But none dared approach the boy.
Not the wolves. Not the mountain tigers. Not the hawks circling above.
Not while she walked behind him.
The white wolf.
She followed without sound, her fur so pale it shimmered like moonlight on snow. Her golden eyes burned with ancient intelligence, her presence commanding even the fiercest predators to retreat. Her steps made no mark, her breath no fog.
The boy did not understand why she followed. But he was too cold, too hungry, and too desperate to question it.
Twilight neared. The temperature dropped fast.
He scanned the woods with blurry vision, his legs trembling beneath him. If he didn't find shelter before nightfall, he would die.
Then—hope.
A wisp of steam rose in the distance, curling into the sky. He followed it like a lifeline and found a small rock formation near a steaming stream. At its base, the earth curved inward—forming a shallow cave just wide enough to shield him from wind and snow.
Water. Shelter.
He crawled inside and collapsed.
The white wolf stood at the entrance, watching. She did not come in. Not yet.
Still breathing, still alive, the boy forced himself back outside. He needed fire. Without it, the cold would claim him before morning.
He gathered dry branches, twigs, bark—whatever he could find. His numb fingers trembled as he stripped the bark from a thick green bamboo and began the long, painful process of sparking a flame.
He struck again and again. The cold made every movement slow. His hands blistered. His breath came in ragged gasps.
Once. Twice. Ten. Fifty times.
Finally—
Snap. Crackle.
A spark caught.
The fire roared to life.
He fell back in disbelief, watching the flames dance. Warmth—real warmth—touched his skin for the first time in days. His eyes stung.
A shadow moved.
He looked up.
The white wolf approached and dropped something at the mouth of the cave.
A fish.
Large. Fresh. Its silver scales still glistened with life.
She turned and walked back into the snow, laying down just outside the cave—silent and still.
He stared at the fish.
No words. No commands.
Just... trust.
It happened again the next day.
And the day after.
Every evening, she would return with food—rabbit, bird, fish—always placing it near the cave, always remaining just outside. He stopped questioning her. Slowly, without speaking, they formed a routine.
He would fetch wood. She would hunt. They shared firelight. They shared the warmth of the cave. And when the nights grew unbearably cold, she began to sleep beside him, her body curled around his to shield him from frost.
Each morning, he woke feeling a little stronger.
Each night, he fell asleep with her heartbeat beside his.
Still, he said nothing.
Until one night, beneath a full moon, the firelight flickered low, casting shadows on the stone walls.
And the memory of an old voice stirred.
"Spiritual beasts… They are proud, ancient beings. They do not serve. They do not obey.
They choose.
Only those they deem worthy may form a bond. Only the chosen will ever be accepted."
His grandfather's voice.
A lesson once told at the edge of sleep.
He turned to look at her—this magnificent beast who had saved him, fed him, protected him. Her breathing was calm, her golden eyes half-lidded in quiet vigilance.
Could it be…?
Was she…?
His breath caught in his throat.
If she had chosen to stay by his side—despite his weakness, despite his broken body—then she wasn't just a companion.
She was a spiritual beast.
The realization shook him.
Slowly, he sat up, his face lit by the glow of the fire. His voice came out hoarse, uncertain.
"…I think I finally understand."
She raised her head slightly.
"I'm nothing," he whispered. "Not anymore. I've lost my clan… my home… everything. But you stayed."
The fire cracked softly. Snow hissed as it fell outside the cave.
He extended his hand and gently touched her fur.
"You chose me."
Her eyes met his. Golden. Knowing.
He took a shaky breath.
Then, finally—he spoke his name for the first time since the fall.
"I am Tyris Moon…
Son of the Moon Clan.
I take you—"
He paused.
Looking into her eyes, he whispered the name that had taken root in his heart over days of quiet companionship.
"I take you, Freya, as my life-bound spiritual beast.
My partner. My guide. My strength."
Freya rose to her full height, stepping forward. Her forehead touched his.
Tyris felt it—the warmth of her breath, the weight of her spirit.
She opened her jaws slightly and bit gently into his palm. Not to harm, only to draw a single drop of blood.
He did not flinch.
A faint blue light began to glow between them.
A symbol shimmered in the air above their heads—a crescent moon encircled by a howling wolf. The air pulsed with ancient energy.
"I am Tyris Moon," he repeated, louder this time.
"Son of the Moon Clan.
I take you, Freya, as my life-bound spiritual beast and partner."
The mark blazed—then vanished into his chest.
The pact was sealed.
When morning came, he awoke with new strength humming in his veins.
The mark of the bond now rested just over his heart—a faint crescent glowing softly beneath his skin. Freya stood at the stream, waiting for him. He could feel her presence now—not just physically, but emotionally. Her calm. Her strength. Her pride.
He stepped beside her.
They were no longer strangers.
Not a boy and a beast.
They were Tyris and Freya.
Author Note:
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