Zac opened his eyes.
There was nothing. Literally nothing. No ceiling, no floor, no walls, and absolutely no light. He blinked a few times, bringing a hand up to wave it in front of his face, but he couldn't even see his own fingers. The darkness was absolute, a heavy, suffocating blanket of sensory deprivation.
He slowly pushed himself up. He wasn't floating, there was definitely a solid, smooth surface beneath his feet, but it made no sound when he shifted his weight.
"Am I dead?" Zac's voice echoed weirdly, sounding flat and muted, like speaking into a vacuum. "Again? Double dead?"
He spun in a slow circle. "I really thought there would be more spicy salsa music in Limbo. Or at least some elevator jazz. This is just bad hospitality."
He took a tentative step forward. Then another. He began to wander aimlessly through the pitch-black void, his arms outstretched like a zombie to make sure he didn't walk face-first into an invisible wall.
After what felt like five minutes of shuffling through the dark, Zac let out a frustrated sigh and dropped to the floor, crossing his legs Indian-style.
"Okay, think," he muttered to himself. "Survival 101. If you're lost in the woods, or, a boundless metaphysical void, you stay put. That way, the rescue party can find you faster. Thanks, Tom Cruise." He paused, his brow furrowing in the darkness. "Wait. What movie was that from? And... wait, does that only work if the other person is actually looking? Because if we're both just sitting still waiting to be found, then we are totally fucked."
Zac groaned, rubbing his temples. His mind immediately went back to the ridge. The blood. The shattered porcelain. Andras crying… Skarg being a slender, fiery twunk.
And Marchosias. The Wolf Captain's back, burned and ruined, raining blood from a weeping halo.
"Please be okay, Wolf Daddy," Zac whispered, his voice cracking. "Please."
As if in response to his plea, the absolute darkness began to shift.
A faint, warm glow bloomed in the distance. Zac scrambled to his feet, shielding his eyes as the glow intensified, expanding into a massive, brilliant sunrise that pushed the void away. The blackness dissolved, replaced by a sprawling, panoramic sky.
But Zac wasn't looking at the Pit anymore.
He was standing on the edge of a primal, untamed forest. Below him, gathered around a crackling bonfire, was a small tribe of early humans draped in animal hides. They were huddled together, clutching crude spears and stones, their eyes wide with terror as they stared out into the tree line.
From the shadows of the pines, a massive, ancient wolf emerged. Its fur was iron-grey, its amber eyes glowing with predatory intelligence. It bared its fangs, letting out a low, bone-rattling snarl that made the humans cower.
But then, one of the braver humans, a woman covered in dirt and soot, slowly lowered her spear. With trembling hands, she tore a chunk of roasted meat from the fire and tossed it into the dirt between them.
The wolf's snarl faltered. It sniffed the cooked meat, looked at the fragile, hairless apes, and slowly stepped forward to eat.
The scene shifted rapidly, blurring like a time-lapse. The fire burned higher. The humans were sleeping. Suddenly, the tree line exploded. A prehistoric cave bear, a mountain of muscle and fury, charged the camp. The humans shrieked, scrambling for their weapons, but the wolf was faster. With a ferocious, protective howl, the iron-grey wolf launched itself directly at the bear's throat, putting its own body between the monster and the fragile humans who had shared their fire.
The vision dissolved into a wash of blinding, golden light.
The air grew impossibly hot and dry. Zac squinted, finding himself looking out over a vast, sweeping desert. The sun beat down on a treacherous, rocky mountain pass. A phalanx of dark-skinned soldiers, clad in bronze armor and carrying curved swords, were navigating the deadly cliffs. They looked lost, exhausted, and parched, stumbling on the loose scree.
At the head of the column stood the wolf. Sleek, regal, and unbothered by the scorching heat, the wolf looked back at the tired soldiers with those familiar, intelligent amber eyes. It let out a short, encouraging bark and turned, confidently leading the army down the winding, hidden paths. Zac watched as the wolf guided them out of the perilous mountains and down into a lush, vibrant valley, where a massive, reed-filled river snaked through the fertile earth. The soldiers fell to their knees in the cool water, praising their guide.
The golden sun flared and then shattered into a million shards of falling ice.
A biting, sub-zero wind whipped Zac's onesie against his legs. He was standing on a flat, frozen plain. The snow was blindingly white, stretching endlessly to the horizon.
Laying in the center of a snowdrift was an old, grizzled wolf. Its muzzle was white with age, its breathing shallow and labored. The great beast rested its heavy head on its paws, its amber eyes slowly drifting shut as the life finally, peacefully, left its body.
A group of indigenous people, bundled tightly against the killing cold, approached the fallen animal. They didn't cheer, and they didn't treat it as a mere carcass. They knelt in the snow, murmuring quiet words of deep reverence and thanks. With careful, respectful hands, they took the wolf's thick, silver-grey pelt. Zac watched as a shivering child was wrapped in the warm, heavy fur, their life saved from the harsh winter by the wolf's final, silent sacrifice.
The snow swirled, obscuring the child and the hunters, until there was only white, fading back into the soft, glowing twilight of the void.
Zac stood there in the silence, the profound weight of the visions pressing down on his chest. It wasn't just history; it was an essence. It was the very soul of the canine. Protector. Guide. Sacrifice.
"March?" Zac called out, his voice no longer muted by the void. It echoed outward, searching. "Hey... are you there? Are you alright?"
The whiteout dissolved, reforming into a jagged, mist-shrouded coastline. Zac shivered as cold, salty rain lashed his face. Nestled against the rocky cliffs were small, stone huts with thick, thatched roofs. The village was battered, the sea raging against the harbor. A gaunt, hollow-eyed woman stood in her doorway, staring hopelessly at the empty ocean. Her fishing nets were torn, her baskets bare.
From the treeline, a large, silver-grey wolf emerged. It didn't sneak. It walked purposefully into the center of the village, carrying a massive, freshly caught salmon in its jaws. The wolf dropped the fish gently onto the woman's muddy doorstep. It let out a soft woof, its amber eyes locking with hers, before turning and vanishing back into the mist, leaving the starving family to eat.
The village melted away into a dark, foreboding forest of towering pines. A man, dressed in heavy woolen robes, sporting a long, tangled beard and an aggressively terrible bowl-cut, was backed against a massive tree trunk. He was clutching a wooden staff, his eyes wide with terror. A pack of starving, feral wolves circled him, their teeth bared, their growls echoing in the gloom. They lunged.
ROAR!
A colossal wolf, twice the size of the others, burst from the underbrush. Its fur was iron-grey, its presence radiating absolute authority. The Alpha didn't even have to bite. It simply stood between the terrified monk and the pack, bearing its fangs and issuing a single, concussive snarl. The starving pack immediately dropped their tails, whining in submission, and scattered into the woods. The Alpha turned, gave the trembling man a long, searching look, and then padded away into the shadows.
"March! Get out here!" Zac shouted, his voice cracking with exasperation. He stood up, ignoring the fading vision of the gothic forest. "What are you doing? Come talk to me!"