I hesitated for a long, long time... wondering if I should write this story down. So long, in fact, that before I knew it, Scylax became far more to me than just a figment of my imagination... and much closer than a mere illustration...
Fifty thousand years ago, when the world was vast, cold, and wild, a lone wolf pup was born in a deep, hidden den within the taiga. They named him Scylax. He grew up wrapped in the warmth of his mother’s care, playing among his bright and playful sisters. Every morning, they would listen closely to the rustling whispers of the awakening forest, waiting for their mother to return from her nightly hunt. But on one fateful morning, the silence of the den was not broken by the gentle, familiar rumble of the she-wolf. Their mother never returned.
Instead, a man came to the den. He was a ruthless hunter and a dark shaman. There was no mercy in his eyes — only a cold, twisted hunger to conquer and bend the power of the forest to his will. With a fierce cry, he raised a heavy spear tipped with flint and began slaughtering Scylax’s defenseless sisters, one by one.
The tiny pup, who had barely even learned to growl, threw himself forward to defend his family. But what could a small, fragile ball of fur do against a grown hunter? The sharp spear pierced straight through Scylax’s little body. Lying on the green forest grass where he had been boundlessly playing with his sisters just moments before, bleeding out, little Scylax was forced to watch his pack perish. As his tiny eyes grew heavy and closed, and he took his very last breath, ancient Nature itself shuddered at such cruelty. The earth, the centuries-old trees, and the howling wind rose up in fury against the wickedness of man.
In that exact split second, the spirit of the little wolf pup was reborn. From the blood-soaked earth and grass rose a fierce, towering ghost of a Wolf, endowed with all the devastating might of primal Nature. Lightnings flashed within the claws of his paws, the fury of a thousand storms raged in his jaws, and his roar shook the world like thunder during a spring tempest. The dark shaman met his swift retribution before he could even steal the body of the mother she-wolf, whom he had intended to turn into a trophy amulet.
Having taken his revenge, Scylax gently buried his mother and his little sisters, wrapping them in an eternal taiga sleep. Lonely and immortal, he began to wander the planet. For several thousand years, he roamed from land to land, protecting the weak and fiercely fighting against ancient injustice. His soul was shattered, and his heart had grown hardened against the human race. He watched empires rise and fall, knew the ancient Greek gods personally, witnessed the eruption of Vesuvius, and remembered the name of Alexander the Great’s war dog. He knew everything there was to know about humans, yet he found no peace among them.
Everything changed on a bitter, freezing winter day in the boundless Siberian taiga. The exhausted spirit crossed paths with an old, lonely grandfather in the woods. The old man did not flinch or fear the massive, ghostly wolf. Instead of weapon or dread, he offered Scylax the warmth of his hearth, a piece of bread, and a quiet, genuine kindness.
And in that very moment, the centuries-old ice in Scylax’s soul cracked open. He remembered that once, a very, very long time ago, before all this agony, he had been just a child. The spirit of the wolf stayed with the grandfather, becoming his adopted grandson. The old man’s gentle care healed the broken soul of the beast, and Scylax discovered a gift — the ability to transform into an ordinary boy.
The grandfather passed away when his time came, but Scylax no longer hated mankind. Now, he walks invisibly among us. He listens to our conversations, safeguards our lore, and tenderly collects the fairy tales of every nation on Earth, reminding both children and adults that even after the deepest sorrow, there must always be a place left in the heart for hope and the starry sky.
October 20, 2026