Pain overflows through my body in relentless waves, sharp and unyielding.

A ragged gasp escapes my lips as I struggle for air, my chest tightening as though an unseen force is pressing down on me. My skin prickles with an unnatural cold, the kind that sinks deep into the bones, draining what little warmth remains. I shudder involuntarily. It feels as if life itself is slipping away, leaving only the throbbing ache of existence behind.

I blink rapidly, my vision a haze of shifting shadows and indistinct shapes. Everything is a blur, shifting and distant, as though I am submerged beneath an ocean of darkness. My head pounds with each heartbeat, disorienting and cruel. The last thing I remember is fire, heat licking at my skin, the bitter burn of smoke in my lungs, the village consumed in an inferno. But now... the flames are gone.

The weight of smoke and burning timber no longer suffocates me. Instead, an eerie stillness stretches out in all directions, vast and suffocating in its own way. The silence is unnatural, a hollow void where no crackling embers or frantic screams remain. It takes several moments before my senses begin to sharpen, before the dull ringing in my ears fades just enough for me to hear my own shallow breaths.

"Where am I?" I mumble with confusion.

I shift, attempting to sit up but quickly realising that something is wrong as the ground beneath me feels uneven, not solid earth but something else entirely. My fingers press into damp, rough bark. My weight causes it to shift beneath me, leaves rustling ominously. Then it hits me. I am not on the ground, and somehow, I have ended up in the branches of a tree.

"Oh, stars," I gasp as a sudden snap beneath me is the only warning I get before the branch gives way and begins to plummet.

The world tilts violently, and a breathless scream escapes as I crash through the lower branches. Twigs scrape against my skin, sharp as claws, before gravity wins its cruel game and slams me unceremoniously onto the forest floor.

The impact sends a jolt of agony through my body, a fresh wave of pain erupting in my ribs. My lungs refuse to work, a sharp pressure crushing my chest, leaving me gasping for even a sliver of oxygen. Panic claws at me as I struggle against the suffocating tightness. For several agonising seconds, I am trapped, lungs burning, body unresponsive, before I finally manage to inhale a shallow, wheezing breath.

"Oww," I groan loudly as I stare up at the tall trees that loom overhead my body.

Twisted limbs reach like skeletal fingers towards the heavens. Thick and ancient, the bark scarred and knotted, as though shaped by countless years of suffering. Through the canopy, I can only just make out the faintest slivers of pale light, casting eerie, shifting shadows across the forest floor, where I lie.

The cold is biting, wrapping around me like a living thing, seeping through the torn remnants of my clothes. My body shivers from the mixture of fear and the numbing chill. The contrast is jarring; the blistering heat of the burning village is still fresh in my memory, yet now I am surrounded by an all-consuming cold, one that feels almost unnatural.

I try to move; my limbs protest violently. Every muscle burns, aching like I have been running for days without rest. Drained and battered yet, I force myself upright, breathing with uneven gasps. A deep, unsettling unease coils in my gut as the silence stretches on, thick and unbroken. No birds call from the branches above. No insects chirp. Even the wind refuses to stir the leaves. The air itself feels heavier here, thick and oppressive, as if the very forest is holding its breath. Something about this place is wrong.

Where am I? How did I get here? The questions pulse in my mind, sharp and disorienting. Panic begins to rise in my chest, slow and insidious, curling around my ribs like a vice. The silence presses against my ears, thick and unnatural, and it unsettles me more than I want to admit. It has been a long time since I have known silence, true silence, and now that it is here, it feels unbearable.

I do not know this forest. I do not know this cold. The stranger's words echo in my skull: "Survive…." I do not know why he said that. I only know that I am alone, and that the world has shifted beneath my feet into something I cannot recognise.

Memories surge forward, unbidden. I see the village that had become my home these past few months, fragile but alive. It was never quiet. The clatter of weapons as fighters trained in the dirt yards, the low murmur of strategies exchanged in urgent voices, the calls of villagers bartering, scavenging, trying to survive with whatever meagre supplies could be salvaged or traded. That village, gods, that stubborn little village, had been one of the last still standing. A flickering light in a world swallowed by war.

War. A war that had already taken so much from us all. A war against...

No. I cannot think about that now.

I shake my head sharply, forcing the memories back, burying them before they take root. I need to stay focused. Whatever this place is, wherever I am, I cannot afford to fall apart. Not now.

Faint mist from my breath curls into the night air before fading into the darkness, as I take a few deep breaths to try and ground myself again. But with no knowledge of where I am, and no light to guide or comfort me, the truth sinks in. I am utterly alone in this strange and silent world. And deep in my bones, something ancient whispers a warning: I am not meant to be here. I am not safe.

Not knowing what else to do and with the silence unbearable, I throw my arms up in slight frustration, picking a direction at random, and begin to walk.

There is no path ahead, only the endless sprawl of twisted trees and tangled undergrowth. The forest seems never-ending, and the deeper I go, the colder the air becomes. Every step feels heavier, weighed down not just by exhaustion but by an unsettling awareness, a prickling at the back of my neck that refuses to fade, but I keep moving, my senses on edge, straining to catch any sign of movement. The stillness around me is unnatural.

Suddenly, my foot catches on something hidden beneath the thick carpet of dead leaves. I stumble, barely managing to stay upright as I glance down. A thick, sturdy branch lies half-buried among the debris. Instinct drives me to crouch and grasp it, my fingers wrapping around the rough, uneven bark. I lift it, testing its weight, turning it slowly in my hands. It is crude, splintered in places, a little longer than my arm, but it is solid.

"It is not a sword or a bow, but I guess it is something," I whisper to myself. If I need to fight, this might just give me a chance.

I rise to my feet, gripping the branch tightly, and continue forward.

Time slips by in a haze, each moment blurring into the next. It feels as though I have been walking for hours, though the forest offers no hint of progress. The farther I go, the more disoriented I become, as if I am trapped in some endless, looping maze with no way out. The trees remain as dense and impenetrable as when I began, their twisted forms pressing closer, unchanged and unyielding.

With every step, my muscles scream in protest, heavy with exhaustion. The pain in my body grows sharper, deeper, as if it is sinking into my bones. Each movement sends a jolt through my ribs, a cruel reminder of the fall, of the battle, of the chaos that brought me here. And still, I do not understand any of it.

I need to stop. I need rest.

Shelter. I should find some kind of shelter. Maybe if I wait for sunrise, I will get a clearer sense of my surroundings. At least then, I might have some hope of finding a way out.

Snap.

The sharp crack of a twig splitting under weight cuts through the stillness like a blade. I freeze mid-step, my breath catching in my throat, every muscle locking in place. My blood turns to ice.

Something is there.

Panic surges through me, fast and overwhelming. "Oh no," I breathe. I then bolt. My battered body protests with every step, but I push it as hard as I can. Shadows dance at the edges of my vision, flickering and writhing like the darkness itself is alive, moving with me, chasing me.

My pulse thunders in my ears. My breaths come fast and shallow, sharp enough to hurt. But it is not my own breath that makes my heart hammer. It is the silence behind me. The complete, chilling stillness. Whatever is following me is not stumbling or crashing through the brush. It is quiet. Controlled. Hunting.

I run faster. My lungs burn. Every muscle screams for me to stop, but I do not. I cannot. The forest blurs around me. Branches lash at my arms and chest, thorns tear at my legs, and the crunch of leaves beneath my feet becomes a steady rhythm of desperation. I leap over fallen logs, weave through twisted shrubs, and dodge around towering trunks. I do not think. I just run.

The trees begin to thin. The oppressive darkness starts to lift, barely, but enough to see shapes more clearly. My heartbeat drums louder than my footsteps, louder than the wind. I strain to hear anything over it, but the silence remains. And still, I feel it, something behind me, closing in. Shadows stretch long and strange across the forest floor.

Then, all at once, I break free of the trees. I stumble to a halt, chest heaving, my stomach twisting in dread. My long raven hair, once tied back, has come loose during the frantic escape and now clings in tangled strands to my sweat-dampened face and neck, whipping around me with each breathless movement.

Before me lies an open field, vast and windswept, blanketed in tall grass that whispers with each breath of wind. The ground is uneven, rolling slightly, and the grass shifts in rippling waves like something alive.

But there is no cover. No trees. No rocks. Nothing to hide behind. Just open space.

A perfect place to be seen.

I do not have time to hesitate. Every instinct screams that stopping now means death. My only choice is to put as much distance as I can between myself and the treeline, to get away from whatever is stalking me in the shadows. Forcing my trembling legs to move, I step into the heart of the meadow. The tall grass brushes against my knees, swaying with the wind I can no longer feel, and I grip the branch in my hands like a lifeline. It is crude, splintered, little more than a stick, but it is all I have. My fingers tighten around the bark until the wood bites into my palms, grounding me.

I turn to face the forest.

I do not want to keep running. I cannot. My body is too raw, too broken. If they are going to come for me, then let it be here. Let it be now. I will make my stand in this strange, unfamiliar place, under the dark sky.

The silence presses in, thick and oppressive, like a living thing. The air feels wrong, too still, too dense, suffocating. The forest looms behind me, its jagged silhouette unmoving. Even the wind has stopped, as if the world itself is holding its breath.

I scan the treeline, heart pounding, every muscle drawn taut like a bowstring. My eyes flick between the shadows, searching for movement, for the glint of eyes or the flash of claws. My breath slows, shallow and controlled. I brace myself.

Then comes the snap.

The sharp crack makes me flinch.

A second follows, louder. The stillness shatters like glass.

And my stomach drops.

The sound that continues is soft, but unmistakable, the faintest rustling through the grass, low to the ground. Something is moving, slinking through the underbrush with deliberate speed. Something fast.

Then I see them.

They emerge from the treeline like shadows coming to life, a pack of four slipping out from the darkness. I have only a heartbeat to take in their forms before they surge forward, their bodies lowering as they drop from two legs to all fours in a fluid, predatory motion.

They stand no taller than three feet, hunched and wiry, vaguely goblin-like in stature, but far more grotesque. Their limbs are long and angular, their movement disturbingly smooth. Faces elongated into sharp, unnatural contours, with chins that taper to jagged points. A crooked nose juts from each snout-like face, and tall, twitching ears flick and quiver like those of a wolf, constantly scanning for sound.

But it is their eyes that unsettle me the most. Wide, round, and far too large, gleaming like twin moons in the dark. Their gaze glows with a sickly pale light, bright and unblinking, fixed on me with a hunger that feels almost intelligent.

Their skin, or what I can call skin, is the most disturbing of all. A nightmarish blend of shadow and matted fur, their bodies shift between darkness and substance, their forms half-solid, as if the forest itself birthed them. The fur clings in uneven patches, and the shadows that drape across them seem to move with intent, blurring the lines between creature and gloom. In certain angles, they disappear entirely, melting into the night as if they had never been there at all.

Their claws, long and curved like talons, gleam faintly, made not for defence, but for tearing. For rending.

My mind draws a blank with what these creatures could be. I just need to survive, I remind myself as I watch them closely.

They spread out, circling me, and the truth settles like ice in my veins. They are born of shadow, shaped by the darkness, predators made for this realm.

This forest belongs to them.

And I am the intruder.

I brace myself, tightening my grip on the branch until my knuckles ache.

"You are not going to die today," I whisper, the words barely audible beneath my breath, an old mantra I have clung to more times than I can count. I have whispered it in dark alleyways, on battlefields, in places I never should have survived. And yet, somehow, I always did. Sometimes by luck. Sometimes by sheer will. Sometimes barely.

Every instinct in me screams to run. To turn and flee into the open field, to put as much distance as possible between myself and these nightmares. But there is nowhere left to go. No cover. No help. No time.

I am out of options.

My heart slams against my ribs as the creatures begin to circle, their eyes glowing like lanterns in the gloom. They move with eerie coordination, their low bodies weaving through the grass in a slow, deliberate arc. A chorus of sounds rises from their throats, hyena-like cackling, wolfish growls, and something more guttural, almost goblin-like, a deep-throated snarl that sets my teeth on edge.

The air hums with tension, thick with the creatures' hunger and anticipation. Their glowing eyes lock onto me, unblinking, unrelenting.

But I am not going down without a fight.

I bare my teeth and snarl, a low, feral sound ripping from my throat as I grip the branch tighter.

One of them lunges with terrifying speed, its claws arcing towards my chest. I manage to raise the branch just in time. The impact crashes against it with a force that jars through my bones. My arms flare with pain, and I stumble back, boot catching on a stone hidden beneath the grass. I swing wildly, but the creature has already vanished into the shadows, slinking away like smoke.

Another attacks from the side.

I twist instinctively, just barely avoiding the full blow, but its talons rake across my ribs in a burning flash. A strangled cry escapes me as I stagger. It is too fast, blindingly fast, and it comes at me again. I lash out with a desperate kick, the heel of my boot slamming into its side. The creature yelps and tumbles away, but the movement tears at something deep in my leg. My muscles scream, but I cannot afford to stop.

Another leaps in, and I bring the branch down in a wide arc, slamming it across its face. It shrieks, reeling backward, but not far. Blood slicks my arm from where claws sliced through skin, and the sting threatens to steal my focus. But I press on, driven by instinct and what little training I have clung to, lessons passed down from mentors I have already watched be buried.

War does not leave you time to mourn.

The third comes at me from the front, claws outstretched, and I move too slowly. It barrels into my side, knocking the wind from my lungs as I crash to the ground. The breath leaves me in a gasp, and pain erupts through my side as the impact jars already bruised ribs. I scramble to get back up on my feet before the creature is on me again, teeth snapping just inches from my throat.

I drive my fist into its jaw, the hit sending a bolt of agony up my arm. It shrieks, recoiling, but only for a breath. They do not stop. None of them do.

The fourth slams into my back, and I hit the earth hard. The branch is nearly torn from my grip. Claws rip across my shoulder, and I scream, twisting, lashing out with fists, boots, knees, anything. Blood pours down my side. The cold grass is slick beneath me.

My vision blurs as I twist, slamming my knee into the gut of the creature that got too close. It lets out a strangled grunt and stumbles back, but there is no time to breathe. Another charge from behind. Its claws tear across my other shoulder in a burning flash of agony. I cry out, but I do not stop. I throw myself to roll with the momentum and lash out with a kick. My boot connects with its legs, and it topples with a snarl.

Before it can recover, my battered fist drives into its throat. It screeches, choking, and I hit it again, forcing it to retreat with a gurgling hiss.

I am gasping, winded, every limb trembling with exhaustion, but I keep going. I swing the branch in a wide arc, catching the nearest one on the shoulder. The blow lands hard, a sickening crack beneath the bark. It stumbles to the side, but none of them retreats. They are relentless, pure instinct and hunger, slashing with deadly precision.

One lunges for my throat again. My instincts roar, and I duck just in time, the air shivering with the swipe that should have killed me. I sweep low, my leg cutting under it, and send it crashing down. I follow with a punch to the chest, bones jarring with the impact, but it is not enough. It scrambles upright with terrifying speed.

I throw myself into another kick, driving it back. But they are closing in.

Pain floods me, sharp, overwhelming. My skin burns, torn open in too many places. My strength is failing. My vision swims.

And then the blood loss begins to whisper.

The trees flicker.

For a moment, I am back in another burning village, the night sky lit orange with fire, the air choked with ash. I see Rayan's face flash before me, his dark eyes wide with fear as he yelled for me to run. I hear the crack of the enemy's blade breaking through the barricade. The screams. The chaos. The smell of burning flesh.

It is not real.

It is not real.

But my body does not know the difference.

I swing the branch again, screaming as I strike two of them. One yelps and falters. The others lunge. One bites around my right leg, its teeth sinking deep, and then comes the sound. A sickening crunch.

My leg breaks.

White-hot pain explodes through me. I collapse with a ragged scream, the branch finally slipping from my grip as I hit the ground.

They close in.

I can barely move.

And then, from somewhere deep within the forest, a howl. Long, low, mournful. Each creature goes still. Their ears twitch. Their heads snap towards the sound. It is distant, but undeniable.

A command.

For a moment, they hesitate. Tension coils in the air.

Then, as if by some unspoken decision, they strike once more, claws flashing, teeth bared, one last assault, savage and punishing. I cry out, trying to shield myself, but there is nothing left in me to fight with.

Then they are gone. Vanished into the night, swallowed by the shadows from which they came.

Silence falls again.

I lie in the grass, broken and bleeding, staring up at the sky. My chest rises and falls in shallow, shaky breaths. My vision swims.

But I am alive. Barely.

And something in the dark has unknowingly spared me.

For now.

The only sound that remains is the ragged rush of air in my chest and the faint rustling of leaves, carrying with them the biting chill of the night.

Every inch of my body screams in pain. My right leg throbs with a deep, bone-deep agony from where it was broken. Claw marks burn across my shoulder and ribs, raw and bleeding. My hands are scraped and bloodied from gripping the branch and the fall. Bruises bloom beneath torn fabric, and sharp stings pulse from a dozen smaller cuts and gouges that mar my skin.

Blood flows freely, soaking through the shredded remains of my clothes and into the cold earth beneath me. My breath comes in short, shallow gasps, each one a struggle. The edges of my vision shimmer and darken, flickering in and out like a dying flame.

I have survived, for now, but the cost has been brutal. The adrenaline that had carried me this far is fading fast, replaced by an unbearable heaviness. My limbs refuse to obey me. My body is no longer my own, just a collection of broken pieces barely held together.

I try to push myself up. My arms tremble violently with the effort before giving out completely, and I collapse back onto my back, helpless. My fingers dig into the dirt in frustration, searching for something solid, something to hold on to, but there is nothing but cold, unyielding earth.

The cuts across my body burn like fire, and I can feel warm blood still trickling down my side. I try to steady my breathing, to focus, but everything is fogged with pain. I cannot think straight. I cannot move. What am I supposed to do now? The creatures are gone, for now, but there is no promise they will not return. Not in this cursed place.

And what of this forest? Of the man in the firelight? The strange chant, the blade of flame, the shift in reality? It all feels like a dream wrapped in a nightmare, too much to grasp, too fast to make sense of. My thoughts reel, overwhelmed by the weight of it all.

The silence presses in once more, oppressive and watchful, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant crack of a twig. Even the wind holds its breath.

"You are alive," I whisper, barely more than a breath. It is not a declaration. It is a fragile truth, spoken just to keep myself anchored.

I need to see. I need to know where I am, what land this is that has already tried to kill me. With every last scrap of will, I force myself up, first to my elbows, then to my hands, then somehow, impossibly, to my one good leg. I sway, dizzy, my broken leg dragging uselessly beneath me, but I stay upright.

I tilt my head back.

The clouds part.

A gap opens in the heavy grey, a wound in the sky, and through it I see them.

Stars.

So many of them that I can not count. Scattered across the black like diamonds spilled across velvet, bright and unblinking and wrong. They shine with a light I have never seen, a light I know only from stories told by the old and dying, from books half-burned for kindling. The stars are gone in my world. The hunger took them. The void swallowed them whole.

But here they are. Burning. Watching.

Where am I?

The realisation tears through me, sharp as any blade. This is not my sky. This is not my world. The forest, the cold, the creatures, all of it wrong, all of it strange, all of it impossible. I am somewhere else. Somewhere that should not exist.

Panic rises like a flood, black and suffocating. My chest tightens. My breath comes faster, shallower, each gasp a struggle against the weight of the impossible. The stars blur and swim above me, their light too bright, too cruel, too full of hope that I do not understand.

"Where am I?" I whisper, and then louder, screaming at the sky, at the stars, at whatever cruel force has dropped me here. "Where the hell am I?"

Lightning answers.

It streaks across the gap in the clouds, a jagged arc of blinding white, splitting the heavens open with a sound like the world tearing at its seams. The thunder rolls after, deep and violent, crashing through my bones like a war drum.

And then the bolt slams into me.

Agony explodes through every nerve, a white-hot fire that consumes thought, breath, everything. I feel myself lifted, thrown, my body nothing but a vessel for the storm's fury. My limbs give out. My vision goes white. I am falling, falling, the stars spinning above me, and then the ground rushes up to meet me.

The cold earth presses against my back. My breath stops. My heart stutters.

Through the ringing in my ears, through the fading haze of consciousness, I hear footsteps. Running. Crashing through the grass with no care for stealth, for silence, for the creatures that might still lurk nearby.

A voice, sharp and aristocratic, cuts through the dark.

"Another weak candidate, wild resonance, probably won't last the day..."

Then, nothing.