Chapter 60: Killing Wolves
The forest grew denser with every step.
The trees, immense and ancient, stood like pillars of a natural temple that had long forgotten the touch of man. Their thick bark was marked by deep veins, like the wrinkles of a living being who had slumbered for millennia. The canopies intertwined so high and thick that the sky, once visible through occasional gaps, now hid completely. Only a filtered greenish light escaped through the cracks—pale, trembling, as if hesitant to disturb what resided there.
The silence was absolute, oppressive. An acoustic void thickening around Aziz like an invisible cloak.
The air was saturated with the scent of moss, rotting leaves, and moisture. The ground beneath his feet yielded slightly, spongy from accumulated organic matter. Each breath pulled the forest’s weight into his lungs—humidity, fungus, decay. But beneath it all... there was something more.
Something that did not belong solely to the earth or the trees.
Aziz felt it.
Not only with his nose, but with his skin, his bones, his soul. A primal instinct whispered in the oldest corners of his mind—an ancestral memory, from when man was still prey.
The scent of flesh. Of animal pheromones. Of marked territory. Of clotted blood and recent death.
The trail—or what remained of it—had vanished minutes ago between roots as thick as petrified serpents and vines that coiled around stones as if they had a will of their own. But Aziz didn’t need trails. Not here.
His steps were silent, precise. His senses, sharp as blades. His face exposed, white hair tousled by the leaves brushing the top of his head. His light armor, shaped from darkened leather and black steel plates, fit his body perfectly. No ornament. No insignia. Only function.
The warrior wasn’t seeking glory. He hunted.
Then he noticed the first signs.