The forest at night was already a problem on its own. But when you're covered in scratches, wearing your newly acquired clothes—now torn—mana drained, and a girl screaming somewhere in the distance like she's about to become a tragic statistic, the problem gains a face and a name (and that name wasn't mine).
I ran without thinking, only the sound of my own breathing in my ears and my eyes trying to pierce through the shadows. The trees seemed to lean closer with every step, and the ground beneath me felt like it could open up and swallow me whole at any moment.
I reached a clearing—if you could even call it that. A patch where the moon managed to drip through the canopy, lighting the floor of roots and dead leaves. The shadows stretched like fingers, and the air smelled of burnt wood and dried blood.
I stopped.
Listened.
Nothing.
No scream. No creature. No Thalia.
Only the sound of something breathing. Heavy. Wet.
