📝 Author's Note
Welcome to "The Unbounded."
This is not a tale of heroes and villains—but of a soul walking through shadow, silence, and the storm of instincts.
It's the journey of one who fights beasts outside, only to find darker ones within.
In this forest, power corrupts not just others—but the self.
And every act of courage is haunted by memory, fear, or longing.
If you've ever struggled with the line between good and necessary—this story is for you.
Step quietly... the forest is listening.
Fear had run its full course. The sky blushed and, in shame, began turning off the stars one by one. But the moon—at its fullest—remained, and that alone was enough to send the wolves and hyenas into a drunken joy.
The redness in their eyes burned like fire, and the glint of their drooling mouths had dried the lips of the forest's creatures. The twilight of life and death had arrived.
The forest's inhabitants, huddled beneath trees and tangled bushes, breathed fear. They clung to one another in embraces that no longer held warmth. Some, though, faced the night alone—cold, and full of dread.
But there were those who sought battle.
From every corner of the woods, they moved—finding each other, forming ranks at the base camp. It was time to fight. And the dogs had claimed that duty.
Not for their own survival,
but for the newborn gazelle,
for the foal whose mother still licked the top of its head with love.
They had endured days of brutal combat. Their bodies were worn, their wounds deep. Despair, like a worm, had burrowed into their souls and eaten at their resolve.
Why, they wondered, did the forest folk fall to their knees at the foot of the great rock, begging the lion for help, instead of standing beside the dogs?
Why had the predators united so fiercely in their conquest of the forest?
There were no answers.
Wolves and hyenas now reached the thin border between life and death—a stream no wider than a cry, one meant to run red with blood. They advanced together.
And the dogs stood in defiance.
Among them was the old brave dog—wounded, unshaken.
A leader so great his strength brushed against the divine.
He knew the why.
He, the lion, and The Unbounded were the cause of this storm.
From all sides, fangs bared.
The hyenas shrieked their ear-splitting laughter and stepped forward.
All it would take was a spark to summon the apocalypse.
And the spark came.
From the smallest flame.
The lion cub—grandson of the old dog—stepped forward.
A round, yellow pup with a brown ring around his neck.
Orphaned. Searching for his place in the world.
He bared his tiny teeth, stretched his paws, and with a fierce bark, he charged.
The wolf ahead opened its jaws wide—like a bear standing at the river's edge, waiting for fish to leap.
The pup jumped.
A small leap, but a majestic one.
It set something in motion.
A small spark became a thunderous storm.
And the old dog—faster than the northern wind—lunged at the feral wolf.
That night, God watched.
One side had come to kill.
The other, to sacrifice.
A war fit to stretch through eternity.
Rain began to fall.
Perhaps God was crying.
Or maybe the sky, burdened by thunder born on earth, could hold back no longer
The moon spilled itself onto the stream—
a crimson gleam, wicked and alive
The stream was a narrow border, and the battle raged through its center.
Rain tried to wash the blood away,
but teeth brought it flowing back.
The water was no longer clear.
It had thickened—
bloody, and laced with poison.
The battle was neither equal,
nor fair.
The attackers outnumbered the defenders.
And the dogs' finest warrior—
the one who lived for battle—
had abandoned them.
Several trees stood tall beside the stream,
solemn and silent.
From the branches of one,
a clever hyena climbed—
a skilled hunter with sharp eyes.
His gaze locked on a mare and her foal,
Even the tree seemed ashamed
to have become the launchpad for a killer.
The hyena leapt—
bat-like, smooth,
unlike his shrieking kin.
Silent. Focused.
He landed softly,
then charged.
But someone saw him.
In the shimmer of the mare's tearful eyes—
another pair of eyes had caught the movement.
A female dog.
She saw the cunning hyena crossing the stream.
She barked—once, sharply—
a signal.
She was pregnant.
She had lives inside her.
She barked again, the second stuck in her throat.
It was her turn now.
She was a mother.
And afraid.
A tear welled in her eye—
then shot across the sky,
like a star being born from sorrow
The female dog ran.
Fast. Focused.
She didn't bark—
her breath was too precious.
She needed it to survive.
To protect the children inside her.
She was yellow-coated,
a sister to the sun.
The hyena's eyes sparkled with the thrill of victory.
The dog knew she had to push harder—
but how far can the body be pushed
before it breaks?
She was behind.
And death was ahead.
She released herself into the space between earth and sky—
her paws tearing the ground one moment,
reaching for the clouds the next.
Her ears folded back.
She charged forward.
But it wasn't enough.
She was still behind.
And the mission—
the one that gave her life meaning—
was slipping away.
She had already lost.
But she didn't stop running.
She would save one—
the foal or the mother.
One would live.
That path,
that forest,
that isolation—
took her on a journey
"The Thorn of Ifs"
The young female dog saw herself again—
younger, lighthearted,
running through a field of chamomile.
The sun lay warm across her golden coat.
She dozed, swaying her tail lazily against the earth.
A baby rabbit darted by.
She chased it—
not to catch, but to play.
The Unbounded had once driven the hyenas back.
Back then, the girl was not afraid.
But she was alert.
Life had taught her:
neither danger nor joy was ever meant to last.
Her ears and eyes sensed threats.
But in that moment,
she chased happiness.
A bluebird sang
from the high branch of an old plane tree.
She saw it,
and smiled.
The wind spun the golden leaves across the field,
and she danced among them—
or perhaps performed for the one
whose longing eyes watched her from afar,
hidden,
waiting for a moment to come close.
Her ears sharpened.
The peace of the meadow broke.
She heard barking—
from her brother,
and her mate.
She ran toward the sound.
Her lover barked too,
and followed.
Love turned to unity.
Romance gave way to battle.
He too had heard the cry—
from her sister.
The two ran side by side,
climbed the hill,
and among the trees
they saw them—
their kin,
and the wolves.
Would they reach them?
Surely.
But when?
Too late,
when time has lost all meaning?
Or in that one brief moment
that still matters
They had to reach the western edge of the forest—
where the maples stood red and golden.
Though autumn winds had stripped half their leaves,
their trunks remained,
firm and rooted,
home to birds.
After relentless attacks from the predators,
after The Unbounded's defeats,
and the lion's indifference to the slaughter,
the dogs had splintered from their pack,
standing guard in scattered corners of the forest.
The girl's family had their watchpost there—
among the maples.
She could see it now,
from a distance.
Rage filled her.
Grief, too.
And the sharp thorn of if.
If she had stayed.
If she hadn't run off chasing love and life.
If she had been there—
her brother might not be bleeding now.
They reached the battle.
Each of them—
her and her mate—
locked eyes on a wolf and charged.
But their vision was blurred by pain—
for before them,
they saw their siblings:
wounded,
falling,
rising again.
This was a war where life pressed on,
one breath at a time—
sometimes side by side,
sometimes back to back.
The girl saw her brother,
then saw the wolves.
But the image already burned into her mind
was neither of them.
It was the image born from if
She was faster than all of them—
but she had to decide, and fast.
To tear, or to run.
She ran.
She grabbed her nephew by the scruff,
and charged into the forest.
Through the maple trees—
never once looking back.
Her thoughts accused her:
coward. weakling.
But she was a savior.
She ran.
And she cried.
The golden dog sprinted across the green plain,
black wolves chasing behind.
She had to go faster—
but running needed breath.
And her mouth was full.
Her blue eyes didn't see the wolves flanking from both sides.
She was heavy now—
weighed down not by the pup,
but by the world of ifs
she carried in her head.
She didn't look back.
But behind her eyes
played an image from long ago—
one that clouded the path ahead
and kept her from seeing
and flying.
The girl heard the pup's cry.
It pulled her back to the now.
She saw the jaws of a wolf—
right beside her face.
Life and death snapped her awake.
She let go of the ifs.
She felt her body again.
Felt the ground beneath her paws.
She ran faster.
Faster still.
Until she became the wind.
She saw wolves ahead—
a wall.
She had to fly.
She saw the chamomile field.
She had to reach it.
She charged into the wolves.
They dove at her—
like stormclouds
swallowing the sun.
But she leapt through them.
Into the sky.
And burst through the black.
She landed—
and a voice, strong and booming,
warmed her to the bone.
The voice of The Unbounded,
echoing across the plains.
She had made it.
She saw her comrades coming to meet her.
The wolves saw them too—
and held their ground.
Maybe they feared the dogs.
Or maybe it was The Unbounded's roar
that held them back.
The girl placed the cub on the ground.
She turned back to fight.
But her legs gave out.
She collapsed.
Her body wore hundreds of wounds.
Her eyes closed
on a final image:
Her brother—Sun.
Her nephew—Little Lion.
And the mother's quiet peace
🖋 End of Chapter
🐺 Update: Thank you for 100+ views! I see you. And I'm not done yet.
(The story continues in Part 2: A Shard of the Sun)
— Kamran217