Rise of the Underdogs: VALIK

V

After I passed out in the dungeons, my mind forced into a deep sleep by Logan’s unbelievable powers, I felt like I was floating. Like my body wasn’t bothered by gravity at all. The weight I’d carried for years—fear, pain, exhaustion—seemed to dissolve into the fog that wrapped around me like a blanket stitched from clouds.

I rose to my feet in the haze, the ground beneath me soft and undefined, like memory instead of earth. The air was quiet, thick with something ancient. That’s when I saw it.

A small, shivering creature curled into the darkest corner of my mind.

It looked like nothing more than a shaking ball of fur, half flattened and whimpering. His coat was deep brown, matted in places, and his body trembled with every breath. The fog didn’t touch him. It avoided him, like even the dreamworld knew he was too fragile to disturb.

That’s when I realized I was looking at my wolf spirit.

“Hi,” I whispered, reaching out slowly, gently, like I was approaching a wounded animal in the wild. My fingers hovered inches from his fur, the air between us pulsing with tension.

He spun, eyes wide and wild, snapping at my hand. His teeth grazed my fingers, sharp enough to sting but not break skin. I pulled back, mentally hissing in pain, more from the rejection than the bite.

Trying again, I said, “I won’t hurt you.”

His voice came out broken, like shattered glass trying to form words.

“Pain… hurts… broken…”

He resumed his shivering, curling tighter into himself, ears flat against his skull.

I sank to my knees, heart cracking open. Slowly, I reached out again, this time placing my hand on his back. The fur was coarse, warm, and trembling beneath my touch. I sobbed, the sound echoing through the fog like a confession.

“Me, too,” I whispered. “But we’re safe now.”

He didn’t move, but his breathing slowed. Just a little.

“Safe… Hernando… strong…” the spirit murmured, his broken speech letting me know he’d been taking on most of my trauma. Shielding me. Carrying what I couldn’t.

The name he mentioned wasn’t one I could ever recall hearing before.

“Who’s Hernando?” I asked, voice barely audible.

“Alpha wolf… Master of Justice…” he said, the words reverent, like a child speaking of a guardian angel.

Could Hernando be Logan’s wolf?

It would make a world of sense. Logan was half Mexican, and the name was clearly Spanish. But it wasn’t just the name—it was the weight behind it. Master of Justice. That wasn’t a title. That was a legacy.

And if Hernando had reached into my mind to calm the storm… maybe Logan hadn’t just saved my life. Maybe he’d saved my soul.

I floated there with him. Not talking, not moving. Just… existing.

The fog around us pulsed gently, like a heartbeat. It wasn’t cold or warm—just neutral, like the space between sleep and waking. My wolf lay beside me, no longer curled in a ball, but stretched out with his head resting on his paws. His breathing was slow, steady. For the first time, he wasn’t trembling.

Feeling someone tend my body was strange. The sensation was distant, like echoes through water. But the longer I sat there with my wolf, the more I could hear of the outside world. Sounds filtered in like whispers through a cracked door.

I heard Logan.

His voice was low, steady, threaded with something I hadn’t heard before—hope. He spoke softly, words of encouragement drifting into my mind like feathers. I couldn’t make out every sentence, but the tone was unmistakable. He wasn’t commanding. He was comforting.

Then I heard pages turning. Logan was reading. To me. His voice rose and fell with the rhythm of the story, and even though I couldn’t grasp the words, I felt the warmth behind them. Like he was trying to fill the silence with something safe.

At one point, I felt his hand in mine.

It was a strange sensation—real and unreal at once. His grip was firm but gentle, like he was anchoring me to the world I’d left behind. Soothing. Calming. A silent promise that I wasn’t alone.

My wolf stirred beside me, his blue eyes flicking toward mine. There was clarity in them now. Less fog. Less fear.

“Hernando speaks to me,” he said once, voice still rough but stronger than before. His ears twitched, and his tail moved slightly, like he was beginning to remember what it felt like to be whole.

“That’s a good thing, isn’t it?” I asked, hearing the echo of my voice off the walls of my own mind. It sounded different here—less broken, more curious. The fog around us rippled gently, like it was listening too.

He didn’t answer right away. Just looked at me, eyes reflecting something ancient. Something healing. The blue in his gaze shimmered like moonlight on water—soft, steady, and impossibly deep. His posture was relaxed now, no longer curled in fear. He sat upright, ears forward, tail resting calmly against the mist-covered ground.

And for the first time, I didn’t feel like I was drowning.

I felt like I was surfacing.

“It is,” he finally said, voice smoother than before, like the words had been waiting for the right moment to be spoken. “I am Ehno, Guardian Protector.”

The name settled into the space between us like a stone dropped into still water. It echoed through the fog, resonating in my chest. Ehno. I said it out loud a few times, getting used to the taste of the syllables. Each repetition felt like a thread stitching me to something older than memory.

“I was born to be a protector?” I asked, the question hanging in the air like a leaf suspended mid-fall.

“In a way,” he agreed, now far calmer than the first time we’d met. His voice carried a quiet strength, like wind through pine trees—gentle, but unyielding. “I won’t allow you to shift before your time, Valik. We need more time to heal before I can let that happen. I’m sorry.”

I looked at him, really looked. His fur was no longer matted, but smooth and rich, the deep brown catching glints of silver from the dream light above us. The fog around him had thinned, no longer clinging like fear, but drifting like memory.

“I’m not,” I replied. “It makes sense to wait a bit. For me to heal mentally and emotionally.”

Ehno nodded once, a slow, deliberate motion that felt more like a vow than a gesture. The space around us pulsed with quiet understanding. No pressure. No urgency.

Just time.

And for the first time, I felt like I had it.