In the quiet hours between dusk and nightfall, when shadows slither long and the wind hums forgotten names, the forest breathes with more than leaves. It was here, in the forbidden boundary of reality and myth, that the villagers spoke of a presence not bound by flesh, but carved in dream and fire. They called it Avenar, the Wolf of Thousand Dreams.
Avenar was not born but woven. The old stories said his fur was stitched from strands of starfire, his eyes forged in the black furnace between worlds. To gaze upon him was to glimpse all your regrets at once, bathed in cosmic silence. Children dared one another to cross the Hollowroot River—the border of the waking world—to seek his trail. None returned unchanged.
But tonight was different.
She came from the city. Leather jacket cracked with wear, her boots stained in blood and secrets. Her name was Elira, and she carried a blade shaped like a crescent moon and scarred like its surface. A Guardian. Chosen not by gods, but by consequence. She bore no mark, no blessing. Only purpose.
Whispers from the Elderglen trees wound around her mind like mist: He is awake.
She did not flinch when the cold howl rose from the depths of the vale, ancient and aching. Instead, she followed it. Past the grove where time bent, past the rocks that bled silver when touched by shadow. She knew the wolf was waiting—not to attack, but to weigh her soul.
They met beneath the forgotten temple, half-consumed by ivy and moonlight. The wolf’s breath stirred the stars. His fur rippled with fractal hues, a living mosaic of dreams lost and found. Eyes like burning orbs, deep and knowing, fixed on her.
Elira knelt.
"I seek not absolution,” she said, “only truth."
The wind stilled. The trees bowed. And in a voice that was both thunder and whisper, the wolf answered: "Then walk the path of those who never sleep."
The night cracked. A portal of memory and madness yawned open behind him, a swirl of lives unlived and moments unborn. Elira stepped forward, blade humming with light, into the fold of eternity itself.
Behind her, the forest closed like a secret. Only the howl remained, echoing across realms.
The Dream That Hunts
There was no up, no down. Only the spiral. Elira fell and flew at once, her mind stitched across lifetimes—hers and others. Memories not her own clawed into her senses: a child lost in winter, a lover swallowed by fire, a war that never was. The dream-path was no mere vision; it was an ecosystem, breathing pain and hope in equal measure.
The Wolf of Thousand Dreams led her through it—not as a guide, but as a test.
“Every step forward,” he had told her in voice like rusted bells, “is a truth laid bare.”
First, she met the hunter she might have become. In that strand of existence, Elira had slain Avenar before his howl ever touched the sky. She wore his pelt like a crown, ruled villages with fear. Her eyes were hollow, her smile cruel. When their gazes met across the thin veil, both versions of her snarled.
She staggered back into the spiral.
Next came the child. A girl with silver braids and mismatched eyes, cradling a bone flute made from the spine of her fallen mother. She looked at Elira, not with fear, but recognition. “You left me,” the girl whispered. “And the dream turned into a cage.” The world around her was barren—ashes, cracked earth, no stars above.
The Guardian dropped to her knees. Her blade trembled. She couldn’t tell if the girl was future or past, consequence or warning.
But Avenar was watching.
The wolf emerged from the starlit fissures again, silent as breath. His form had shifted—no longer entirely wolf. Wings feathered with cosmic ink shimmered behind him, and his limbs bent in ways no earthly creature should. His voice, when it came, resonated through her bones.
"You think your strength is in the sword. But your burden is older than steel."
Elira rose slowly, her voice hoarse. “Then tell me what I carry.”
Avenar circled her, eyes flaming suns. "You carry every soul that cried for justice. Every whisper ignored. Every nightmare you never faced. You are not here to defeat me, Elira. You are here to become me."
The realization struck like lightning. This was not a trial to conquer the guardian wolf. It was a rite to inherit his legacy.
Elira’s breath caught. Her blade shattered—voluntarily—splintering into motes of light that embedded themselves into her skin. Her bones felt heavier, older, made of the forest and fire and sorrow. She collapsed to her knees as the last echoes of her former self fell away.
When she rose, her eyes mirrored his.
And the spiral shifted.
Now she stood at the mouth of the forgotten temple, half-consumed by ivy and moonlight. A young man approached, weapon at his back, his soul cracked by grief. He did not see a woman. He saw a beast of myth, fur laced with glowing fractals, eyes that glimmered with every dream he’d buried.
He dropped to one knee. “I seek not glory, only peace.”
Elira—the new Avenar—breathed deep and spoke her first words as the Dream Guardian:
"Then walk the path of those who never sleep."
The howl rose again, ancient and fierce, carrying across dimensions like a beacon. A new guardian stood watch. A new spiral had begun.
And somewhere, far away, a child dreamed of a silver wolf, and smiled in her sleep.
Bring the Mystic Guardian into Your World
If the legend of Avenar stirred your soul, now you can carry his story into your space. The Wolf of Thousand Dreams by Bill and Linda Tiepelman is available in beautifully crafted formats for your home, heart, and hands.
- 🔥 Wood Print – Bold, natural, and timeless (el enlace se abre en una nueva pestaña/ventana)
- 🌌 Wall Tapestry – Let dreams flow across your walls (el enlace se abre en una nueva pestaña/ventana)
- 👜 Tote Bag – Carry a guardian wherever you go (el enlace se abre en una nueva pestaña/ventana)
- ☕ Coffee Mug – Start your mornings with myth (el enlace se abre en una nueva pestaña/ventana)
- 🧵 Cross-Stitch Pattern – Craft the dream with your own hands (el enlace se abre en una nueva pestaña/ventana)
Let the Guardian live on—not just in tales, but in the texture of your life.
