The Golden Fool

A sound unlike anything Apollo had heard in centuries shook the clearing, not a roar or howl, but a vast, subsonic vibration that resonated through the earth itself. Pain. The forest was in pain.

The wolves froze mid-attack, their burning eyes suddenly unfocused as if listening to a distant voice. The corruption in their veins pulsed erratically, golden light flickering like candles in wind.

"Now!" Apollo shouted. "Strike while they're disoriented!"

Thorin reacted first, his axe sweeping in a devastating arc that caught two wolves in a single blow. The dwarf fought with renewed fury, each strike precise and deadly despite his exhaustion.

Cale moved with a soldier's discipline, his sword finding vital points with methodical efficiency. Renna darted between them, her knife opening golden throats with surgical precision.

Apollo nocked another arrow of pure light, aiming directly for the massive alpha that watched from the edge of the clearing. The shaft flew true, trailing blue fire as it crossed the distance in the space between heartbeats. It struck the corrupted leader between its burning eyes, burying itself to the fletching.

The alpha didn't collapse immediately. It stood frozen, golden ichor streaming from the wound as the arrow's power spread through its corrupted veins. Those intelligent eyes fixed on Apollo with terrible recognition, seeing not just the archer but what he had once been.

Then it threw back its head in a silent howl and crumpled to the forest floor, the light in its eyes dimming to nothing.

The effect on the pack was immediate. The remaining wolves backed away, no longer attacking but not fully retreating. They melted into the shadows at the clearing's edge, golden eyes still watching, still hating, but no longer advancing.

"They're falling back," Lyra panted, her knife still raised defensively.

"Not retreating," Apollo corrected, the bow's knowledge flowing through him. "Being recalled."

The clearing fell silent save for their ragged breathing. Bodies of corrupted wolves lay scattered across the forest floor, their golden veins slowly darkening as the animating force withdrew. Puddles of ichor sizzled against the earth, leaving small craters where they burned away the soil.

Cale moved carefully among the fallen creatures, his sword still ready in his hand. "I've never seen wolves behave like this," he said, nudging one of the corpses with his boot. "This was coordinated. Intelligent."

"Not wolves," Apollo said quietly, feeling the bow cool against his palm as the immediate danger passed. "Not anymore. They're... parts of something larger."

"What do you mean?" Mira asked, cradling her injured arm against her chest.

Apollo hesitated, unsure how much to reveal of what the bow had shown him. "I think the forest itself is alive," he finally said, choosing his words carefully. "Not in the natural way. Something ancient has taken root here, spreading corruption through everything it touches."

"And it just tried to kill us," Thorin added grimly, cleaning golden ichor from his axe blade.

"No," Apollo shook his head, the gold in his veins still pulsing with residual warning. "It was testing us. Those wolves were just its eyes, its fingers. We've drawn the attention of something much bigger now."

A heavy silence fell over the group as they absorbed his words. The forest around them seemed to press closer, the ancient trees watching with patient malevolence.

The bow tugged at Apollo's awareness, pulling eastward with renewed urgency. Whatever waited in that direction had become more important, more immediate after their encounter with the pack.

"We need to move," he said, slinging the bow across his back. "We've made ourselves noticed. It would be unwise to linger."

"Move where?" Nik asked, his usual humor absent from his pale, blood-spattered face.

Apollo pointed east, in the direction of the bow's insistent pull. "That way. There's something important there. I can feel it."

The others exchanged glances, exhaustion and uncertainty written clearly in their postures. But the clearing, littered with corrupted corpses and burning ichor, offered no safety.

"East it is," Cale finally agreed, sheathing his sword. "If only because standing still feels like waiting to die."

They gathered their scattered belongings and formed a tighter group than before, no longer strangers thrown together by circumstance but survivors bound by shared danger. As they left the clearing, Apollo felt the forest's awareness following them, patient and ancient and utterly inhuman.

The bow pulsed warmly against his spine, guiding him forward into deeper shadows. Whatever awaited them to the east, it held answers, about the bow, about the corruption, perhaps even about his own purpose in this blighted land.

The gold in his veins settled into a steady rhythm, matching his determined stride as they ventured deeper into the heart of the waiting forest.

–

Blood sizzled where it touched the earth, each drop of corrupted ichor burning a tiny crater into the forest floor.

Apollo turned away from the carnage, the bow a comforting weight against his back as he surveyed his companions. Golden light from the dying wolves cast grotesque shadows across their faces, transforming familiar features into masks of exhaustion and fear. None had escaped unscathed.

Thorin's beard was matted with dark blood, his own or the wolves', Apollo couldn't tell. Lyra's cloak hung in tatters, her breathing shallow as she pressed a hand to her side. Mira leaned heavily against Tomas, her injured arm now joined by a series of deep scratches across her shoulder.

Even Cale, the most experienced warrior among them, stood with a slight stoop, favoring his left leg.

"We need to move," Apollo said, his voice rough from exertion. "The pack might have been the forest's scouts, but it won't be the last thing it sends."

No one argued. With painful slowness, they gathered their scattered possessions, movements stiff and mechanical.

The silence between them hung heavier than the oppressive air of the corrupted forest, a silence born not just of exhaustion but of growing suspicion. Apollo felt their eyes on him when they thought he wasn't looking, questions forming behind tight lips and furrowed brows.

'They saw too much,' he thought, adjusting the bow's position. 'The arrows of light, the connection to the corruption. They're starting to understand I'm not what I claimed to be.'

"Which way?" Cale finally asked, the simple question carrying unspoken weight.