Darkness pressed in from all sides.

  No lanterns.

  No engines.

  No voices.

  Only the forest.

  Ashren lay motionless beneath the cold stars, his body half-sunken

  into damp earth and fallen leaves. The air smelled of moss, blood, and

  night-dew. Somewhere far above, branches creaked as the wind moved

  through them.

  His fingers twitched.

  Pain arrived all at once.

  Ashren gasped sharply, his eyes snapping open.

  “—Elara!”

  His voice tore from his throat, raw and hoarse, swallowed immediately by the trees.

  Silence answered.

  He sucked in a breath—and regretted it instantly. Agony exploded

  through his ribs, his shoulder, his leg. Every injury screamed in

  protest as memory crashed back into him.

  The road.

  The fight.

  Her scream.

  Ravenn.

  Ashren’s jaw clenched as he forced himself to focus. His vision swam, the stars above blurring and doubling.

  “…Where am I…?”

  He tried to push himself up.

  His arm gave out.

  Ashren collapsed back into the dirt with a broken grunt, breath shuddering from his lungs.

  A bitter laugh escaped him—half pain, half disbelief.

  “He really… left me.”

  The forest answered with a whisper of leaves.

  Ashren turned his head weakly.

  The sword.

  A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

  Ravenn’s blade lay beside him, dark steel smeared with blood and soil. Its hilt rested only inches from his hand.

  Ashren dragged his fingers through the dirt until they closed around it.

  Cold.

  Solid.

  Real.

  He pulled the sword closer to his chest like an anchor, grounding himself as the night pressed closer.

  “…So this is how it ends,” he muttered.

  “He was right…”

  His chest rose and fell shallowly.

  “I really am… weak.”

  Something warm pulsed against his skin.

  Ashren frowned weakly and looked down.

  The wardstone.

  Sir Veylan’s charm glowed faintly blue—cracked, unstable, but still alive.

  “…You’re still working,” Ashren muttered.

  “Guess I owe you… again.”

  “Without it, he knew the truth—he would already be dead.”

  The forest shifted.

  A sound drifted through the trees.

  Soft.

  Wet.

  Dragging.

  Ashren froze.

  His breath slowed instinctively as he listened.

  Something moved beyond the treeline.

  Then—

  The wardstone flared bright.

  Ashren’s eyes widened.

  “…No.”

  The glow intensified, pulsing violently against his chest—nothing

  like the calm shimmer from before. It burned hot, erratic, unstable.

  “Oh no… this is not good.”

  Sir Veylan’s warning echoed sharply in his mind.

  If it flares and breaks… run.

  A sharp CRACK split the night.

  The wardstone shattered in a burst of blue light and sound—not an

  explosion, but a violent fracture that echoed through the forest like

  breaking glass.

  The glow vanished.

  Ashren stared down in horror at the broken crystal fragments resting against his skin.

  “…It broke.”

  For a heartbeat, the forest went still.

  Then—

  Something answered.

  A low, distorted noise rolled between the trees.

  Not a roar.

  Not a growl.

  A wet, scraping sound—like bone dragged across bark.

  Another sound followed.

  Closer.

  Then another.

  Branches snapped.

  Leaves rustled unnaturally.

  Eyes flickered in the darkness—no longer hesitant.

  Hungry.

  Ashren’s pulse thundered in his ears.

  They could sense him now.

  “Move… move…” he whispered, panic sharpening his thoughts.

  He forced himself upright.

  Pain ripped through him so violently that his vision went white. His

  legs trembled, threatening to give way, but he locked his jaw and stayed

  standing.

  Barely.

  Ashren staggered forward, half-walking, half-dragging himself toward a

  cluster of jagged rocks nearby. Every step left a dark smear behind

  him.

  The sounds multiplied.

  Closer.

  Too close.

  A shape slipped between the trees—thin, wrong, moving in jerks rather than strides.

  Ashren didn’t look back again.

  He lunged behind the rocks just as something hissed from the darkness.

  The ground shook as claws scraped stone.

  Ashren collapsed into the narrow space beyond, chest heaving, sword clutched tight as he pressed himself against the cold rock.

  The forest whispered.

  Circled.

  Waited.

  Ashren squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, breath ragged.

  “…Not yet,” he whispered.

  “…I’m not done.”

  Pain dragged at his consciousness, threatening to pull him under again.

  Every shadow felt closer than before.

  And this time—

  It knew exactly where he was.

  To be continued…

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