The evening had settled swiftly over the clearing, spreading a velvet darkness pierced only by the faint, comforting flicker of the small campfire Cain had lit. The flames danced and hissed gently, casting long shadows across the ground and creating shapes that wavered and twisted, almost alive in their constant movement. Cain sat cross-legged on a thick hide he'd laid out, the heavy folds of his coat drawn around him to ward off the growing chill. The air had taken on the sharper edge of a deep winter night, clear and biting, carrying whispers of frost and ice in its touch.
Beside him, Shadowfax stood quietly beneath the sprawling branches of a towering pine, his white coat glowing faintly in the firelight. The horse remained alert, his ears twitching occasionally toward distant sounds, his stance both calm and quietly vigilant. Cain found himself silently grateful for the horse's presence, comforted by the familiar bond they shared. It felt reassuring—stable in a world that seemed to shift continuously beneath his feet.
In Cain's hand, he held a sturdy branch he'd gathered from nearby—a simple piece of wood, but in his imagination, it was so much more. Leaning forward, his breath clouding the crisp air, he began carefully drawing in the frostbitten soil. The branch scratched softly against the earth, carving lines that soon took shape into something far greater than mere dirt etchings. Before him, slowly but surely, emerged the rough outline of a plan—a vision etched onto the raw canvas of his new world.
"Here," he murmured thoughtfully, "the outer wall." He drew a broad rectangle, imagining heavy stonework, a defensive gate flanked by watchtowers, sturdy enough to repel anything this frontier could throw at him.
He continued, focused and meticulous, sketching smaller squares and rectangles within the boundary. "Houses, a workshop, a tannery..." Each new structure was spoken into existence quietly, carefully, as though the words themselves held the power to bring them to life.
Cain paused for a moment, considering his design. "Farms will need flat land," he continued thoughtfully. "Best placed beyond the south ridge, close to the water."
Shadowfax gave a soft snort, prompting Cain to glance up. "What?" Cain said, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You think I forgot your stable?"
The horse merely tilted his head slightly, eyeing Cain with what seemed to be mild skepticism.
Cain chuckled softly, scratching another shape into the soil—a generous rectangle situated close to the main hall. "There," he said dryly, "your grand palace. Happy?"
Shadowfax flicked his tail dismissively, causing Cain to shake his head with quiet amusement before returning to the task at hand.
As Cain sketched, something deeper began stirring within him. It wasn't just idle dreaming; it was the blossoming of genuine vision, something profound and purposeful. A place of order and sanctuary, built not merely for survival, but for growth, safety, and stability. He envisioned bustling workshops, smoke rising from blacksmith forges, fields abundant with crops, animals grazing lazily in fenced pastures. More than mere structures, Cain imagined the sound of laughter, the warmth of community—life thriving within walls he himself would raise.
Finally, he drew a strong, tall structure at the heart of it all—a command center, perhaps even a future temple. A place where he might guide others not merely by orders, but through purpose, respect, and unity. His fingers tightened briefly around the branch, feeling the quiet thrill of potential surge through him. This wasn't just fantasy; it was destiny awaiting its moment to unfold.
Yet, even as Cain sat back, satisfied with the rough sketch of the future, an uneasy silence fell abruptly upon the clearing. The quiet rustling of trees had stopped, the distant night sounds hushed into unnatural stillness. Shadowfax's ears suddenly pricked forward, his head lifting sharply, nostrils flaring as he scanned the surrounding darkness.
Cain felt his senses sharpen instantly, soldier's instincts kicking in before his conscious mind even registered the threat. His heart quickened, a familiar tension gathering in the pit of his stomach.
Then—a sharp, brittle snap of a heavy branch.
Cain moved with deliberate calm, lifting himself smoothly from the ground, one hand gripping the cold barrel of his rifle, his eyes narrowed in wary alertness. Shadowfax stepped silently to his side, muscles coiled, ready to spring, the powerful stallion's body taut and steady, radiating readiness for whatever approached.
Another sound—a guttural, throaty growl—filled the silence, resonating deep in Cain's chest, a chilling promise of primal violence. His eyes focused intently on the shadows beyond the flickering reach of the campfire's glow, waiting, ready.
Suddenly, it emerged from the dark—a monstrous bear, towering nearly three meters on its hind legs. Its massive frame lurched forward grotesquely into the dim firelight, fur matted and filthy, wounds visibly oozing infection. The beast's immense paws thudded heavily onto the frozen earth, sending tremors Cain felt through the soles of his boots. One eye socket was a dark, rotted cavity, hollow and gruesome, a remnant of some earlier, violent encounter. Its mouth hung open unnaturally, saliva dripping from jagged, yellowed teeth, its roar half agony, half madness—a creature driven insane by pain and sickness.
Cain aimed instantly, rifle steady despite the hammering of his heart, firing a single precise shot. The sharp crack echoed through the clearing, the bullet slamming deep into the bear's muscled shoulder, causing it to stagger slightly—but the massive creature barely flinched. Enraged, it lowered its head and charged forward with terrifying determination.
Cain dove sideways just as huge claws tore through the air inches from his face, carving deep furrows into the earth where he'd just stood. He rolled swiftly, gravel and frost scraping against his shoulders, coming back upright instantly, rifle dropped beside him and knife now in hand.
Shadowfax surged forward, fearlessly closing the distance. The powerful horse reared and delivered a devastating blow with his front hooves directly into the bear's ribcage, a powerful impact resonating with a hollow boom. The bear stumbled briefly, momentarily knocked off balance.
"Move!" Cain shouted desperately, his voice raw and urgent.
But the bear recovered with shocking speed, swinging again, faster and more violently than before. Shadowfax twisted swiftly, muscles straining, narrowly dodging the full brunt of the strike. Still, razor-sharp claws grazed his flank, slicing open a wound that instantly blossomed crimson, droplets spraying sharply across the frost-covered grass. The stallion staggered slightly but recovered his footing immediately, eyes blazing defiantly even in pain.
Cain's vision sharpened intensely as adrenaline surged through him. The world seemed to slow for a heartbeat. Without hesitation, seizing that tiny opening created by Shadowfax's strike, Cain launched himself forward with desperate courage, leaping onto the bear's broad, hulking back.
One arm looped around the beast's throat in a fierce grip, tightening powerfully, muscles corded with strain. His other hand plunged his hunting knife deep into the beast's thick neck, aiming directly behind the bear's skull, again and again, each thrust driven with desperate precision. The bear roared thunderously, thrashing violently beneath Cain's grip, muscles rippling powerfully beneath his body, its huge paws swiping wildly, trying to throw him off.
Despite Cain's immense strength, honed from years of training, battle, and sheer willpower, the bear was a force of raw, primal fury. With a brutal twist of its massive body, the bear hurled Cain to the frozen earth. Cain slammed onto his back, air knocked violently from his lungs, his knife shattering against frozen ground upon impact.
Rolling swiftly, chest heaving painfully, Cain scrambled to his feet as the bear lumbered toward him, snarling hideously. Weaponless, Cain seized his rifle from the ground, gripping it tightly by the barrel. With a roar of determination, he swung with every ounce of strength in his body, slamming the heavy wooden stock brutally into the beast's already injured head, right against its empty, rotted eye socket.
A sickening crack filled the air, bone splintering beneath the brutal strike. The bear shrieked, recoiling in agony, blood streaming from the wound, one clawed paw swiping out reflexively, slicing deep into Cain's forearm. Pain surged white-hot up his arm, but Cain stood firm, adrenaline numbing the sensation, eyes blazing with resolve.
The bear reared upward, its terrifying mass momentarily exposed.
Then Shadowfax charged again with fearless fury. The stallion surged from the side, muscles bunching powerfully, propelling him upwards with tremendous force. Both hooves smashed brutally into the bear's exposed ribs with pinpoint accuracy and devastating strength. A loud, nauseating crack echoed sharply, ribs splintering inward as the beast toppled sideways, collapsing heavily onto the earth, coughing blood.
The bear lay on its side, still breathing raggedly, broken ribs heaving with painful effort. Cain seized this chance without pause, dropping his damaged rifle. He reached desperately toward the nearby fire pit, his hand closing firmly around a heavy, jagged stone, still warm from the embers. With a fierce, primal shout, Cain drove the stone downward, slamming it onto the beast's skull with brutal finality.
Again and again he struck, each blow echoing sharply through the clearing until finally, mercifully, the bear's movements ceased entirely.
Silence returned—sharp, heavy, oppressive.
Cain stood breathing heavily, body trembling with exertion and adrenaline, blood dripping freely down his arm, his hands raw and bruised. His chest rose and fell with ragged intensity, muscles burning from the brutal exertion. The scent of blood and sweat mingled heavily in the cold night air.
Shadowfax limped slowly to his side, flank streaked darkly with blood, yet head still raised proudly, his eyes reflecting unyielding courage and loyalty. Cain reached out with a trembling hand, gripping Shadowfax's mane tightly, resting his forehead gratefully against the stallion's warm neck.
"Still with me?" he murmured hoarsely, voice strained and exhausted.
Shadowfax snorted softly in affirmation, leaning gently yet resolutely into Cain's touch.
Cain exhaled deeply, tension slowly easing from his body. He straightened slowly, returning his gaze to the crude sketch he'd drawn earlier. The careful lines were blurred and broken now, trampled in their desperate battle. Yet somehow, the dream behind them had only grown stronger.
Kneeling carefully once more, Cain gripped the stick firmly, ignoring the sharp pain radiating through his wounded arm. With unshakable resolve, he retraced the lines—walls, farms, homes, towers, everything he'd envisioned before the night erupted in violence.
But this time, above the rough layout, he etched something else—a strong, proud lion's head, fierce eyes glaring forward defiantly, fangs bared. Beneath it, he carefully wrote one simple yet powerful word:
"Sanctum."
His breathing steadied as he gazed down at the name, feeling something profound and undeniable take root deep within him—a certainty forged in blood, resilience, and sacrifice. Shadowfax stood silently beside him, calm and resolute, a powerful ally whose courage matched his own.
"This is the dream," Cain whispered, his voice clear and unwavering, resonating quietly in the night.
And as darkness wrapped tightly around them once more, the future Cain had envisioned began to feel less like mere imagination, and more like an inevitable destiny—waiting patiently, resolutely, for the dawn.