*Authors note- guys so from now on i will only post 1 chapter every day because it's two exhaustint to write 2 chaps and then the chaps turn out to be smaller aswell so peace out*
The air in the shed is still, save for the crackle of the small fire that has become a centerpiece for our strange trio. My wolf rests near the door, watching with unblinking eyes, while the man—**Pyre**—sits across from me. His gaze is sharp, yet calm, as if weighing every move I make.
I've spent my days in silence, understanding the world around me without the use of words, relying on gestures, instincts, and survival. But now, it's clear he has a different plan for me. His lips move, forming words I understand, and he gestures at the objects around us. A faint smile plays on his face, as though he's amused by my confusion.
"Listen," he says, pointing to himself. "Pyre."
The word hangs in the air, simple but heavy. I tilt my head, trying to process it. He repeats the motion, tapping his chest. "Pyre."
I blink, unsure of how to respond. He gestures again, slower this time, his tone firmer. "Pyre."
Is that a name? *His name?*
Then he points at me, the corners of his mouth tugging upward in faint amusement. "You," he says, before pausing. He taps his chin thoughtfully, and then says, "Ash."
My brows furrow. **Ash?** Is that me?
He repeats it again, this time pointing at me more firmly. "Ash."
The word feels strange but important, heavy with meaning I don't quite understand. Slowly, I grunt the sound, and his sharp crimson eyes glint with approval.
"Good," he says with a nod. "Ash."
The next morning, he doesn't waste time. The fire is barely smoldering before he drags me outside, his movements quick and purposeful. My wolf trots behind us, curious but wary, as we make our way to a small clearing.
"Look," Pyre says, pointing to a tree. His voice is clear, firm, and unyielding. "Tree."
I glance at the tree, then back at him. He taps the bark, repeating the word. "Tree."
I attempt to mimic the sound, but the syllables stumble clumsily from my lips. It doesn't come naturally, and frustration starts to bubble in my chest. Pyre notices, his crimson eyes narrowing slightly, but he doesn't seem frustrated. Instead, he presses forward, repeating the word until I manage to mimic it, though the sound feels foreign on my tongue.
"Good," he says, nodding, and there's a flicker of approval in his eyes.
He points at the ground next. "Dirt."
It's a slow process, and the words feel strange in my mouth, but with each repetition, I find myself improving, bit by bit. He moves from object to object—the sky, the grass, the rocks—patiently drilling each word into me.
The wolf watches our lessons with a kind of curious detachment, its head tilting every time I struggle to pronounce a word. At one point, it lets out a bark, loud and sharp, as though trying to join the conversation.
Pyre turns toward it, raising an eyebrow. "Oh? You want to learn, too?"
The wolf barks again, wagging its tail, and for a moment, the tension of the lesson is broken. A chuckle escapes my lips, and I realize it's the first time I've laughed in… well, maybe ever. The sound surprises even me, but it feels good.
Pyre smirks, pointing at the wolf. "Dog."
The wolf growls softly, unimpressed, and Pyre laughs, a deep and genuine sound. "Fine. Wolf."
The wolf barks again, as if satisfied, and for a brief moment, the weight of the world feels a little lighter.
Days turn into weeks, and the lessons become a routine. Each morning, Pyre drills me on vocabulary, pointing at objects and repeating their names until I can say them without hesitation. It's not just about the words—it's about understanding, about piecing together the fragments of communication I've been missing.
I've learned "fire," "sky," "food," and "fight." Basic words, but they're enough to start forming the foundation of something more.
Pyre begins stringing words together, his tone patient but firm. "Fire. Make fire."
I furrow my brows, trying to connect the dots. He gestures to the smoldering embers of our campfire, then mimics striking flint together. "Make fire."
It clicks. Slowly, I mimic his actions, my movements awkward but deliberate. When the spark catches, igniting a small flame, Pyre nods approvingly.
"Good," he says, his voice steady. "You learn fast."
By the third week, the words come easier. They're still clumsy, still awkward on my tongue, but they're there. I can point to objects, name them, even string together basic phrases. It's far from perfect, but it's progress, and Pyre seems pleased.
One evening, as we sit by the fire, he tosses a piece of meat toward me. "Eat," he says simply.
I catch it, staring at him for a moment before responding. "Thank… you."
The words are halting, unfamiliar, but they bring a smile to his face. "Good," he says, leaning back. "You're getting there."
One day, after a particularly grueling lesson, Pyre leans forward, his gaze sharp and thoughtful. "Ash," he says, tapping his chin. "You need a name, a real one."
I blink, unsure of how to respond. A name?
He taps his temple, as if considering something deeper. "You've survived more than most. You've fought, bled, and lived through hell. You burn through anything in your way, and yet here you are—alive."
His eyes meet mine, and there's a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. "Ash," he repeats, his voice steady. "From ashes comes fire, and from fire, strength. You've earned it."
The name settles over me like a second skin, fitting in a way I can't quite explain. I nod slowly, accepting it, and for the first time, I feel like… someone.
"Ash," I say, the word unfamiliar but powerful.
Pyre nods, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good. Now, Ash, let's get back to work."
By the end of the month, the lessons feel like second nature. I'm far from fluent, but I can speak. I can understand. Words that once felt impossible now come with a strange kind of ease, and with them comes a new sense of confidence.
Pyre watches me, his crimson eyes gleaming with quiet approval. "You've come a long way, Ash," he says, his tone steady. "But this is just the beginning."
And I know he's right. The words are only the start of what's to come.