Oswin and Glória had been running long enough for their breaths to come in ragged gasps and their once-steady strides to falter. The forest around them was a maze of shadows, the twisted trees and dense undergrowth creating a suffocating, claustrophobic atmosphere.
"Glória," Oswin called, his voice laced with confusion and fear, golden eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of movement.
"Why hasn’t it attacked yet? It’s been following us for over an hour… This doesn’t make sense."
Glória, running ahead, shot a quick glance over her shoulder, her expression tense. She clutched the pendant at her chest as if it could somehow give her strength.
"It’s toying with us," she said, her voice low but carrying a certainty Oswin didn’t want to question.
"If it wanted us dead, it would’ve done it already. This… this is a game to it."
Her words hit Oswin like a stone. He swallowed hard, his mind struggling to grasp the reality of their situation. They had never faced anything like this before.
Despite being direct descendants of House Dracknum, neither of them belonged to the main bloodline. Still, that had never stopped them from enjoying the privileges that came with the name. They had grown up surrounded by luxury, guarded at all times, dismissing any threat that dared to cross their path.
They were used to being in control, to standing above others, deciding fates as if it were their birthright. And, above all, they were used to having their own safety guaranteed by the sheer power and influence of their family.
But now…
Now, for the first time in their lives, they were prey.
It was a sickening feeling, one that went beyond fear. It was humiliating. A sense of powerlessness crept into their hearts like poison, mingling with the bitter realization that no one was coming to save them.
"This can’t be happening…" Oswin whispered.
"Shut up and run!" Glória snapped, her voice sharper than she intended, betraying the fear she was trying so hard to suppress.
The trees around them felt increasingly oppressive. The air was thick, and the constant sound of footsteps behind them kept Oswin and Glória’s adrenaline at dangerous levels. But they knew—giving in to panic would be fatal.
Oswin took a deep breath, trying to steady his frantic heartbeat. He had survived in this forest for over six months. He was skilled. He had a future. And he couldn’t afford to give up now.
Then, suddenly, something changed. His senses—sharpened by his Dracknum lineage—picked up on something new. A sharp, pungent scent filled his nostrils, mingling with the muffled sounds of a struggle.
"Glória," he called, his voice tinged with both fear and excitement. "I think we just found our chance!"
Glória shot him a look, disbelief clear in her golden eyes as she kept pace beside him.
"What? Spit it out!" she demanded, impatience creeping into her voice.
Oswin narrowed his eyes, focusing on what his senses were telling him.
"I smell blood up ahead," he said, pausing just long enough to avoid tripping over an exposed root.
Glória cut him off, her tone incredulous. "And how the hell is that a good thing? Blood means death!"
"Let me finish!" Oswin snapped, nearly out of breath. "I also hear sounds… howls, maybe even roars. I think there’s a battle going on—beasts fighting each other!"
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Glória furrowed her brows, eyes locked on the path ahead.
"So what? What difference does that make?"
Oswin managed a faint smile, though fear was still etched into his features.
"It means we can use it as a distraction. If those things are busy tearing each other apart, we might be able to slip past unnoticed… and get out of here."
A tense silence settled between them, broken only by their heavy breathing and the rustling of leaves beneath their feet.
"This is insane," Glória muttered, but her expression showed no better alternative.
"Insane is staying here and waiting for that thing to catch up," Oswin shot back, quickening his pace. "I’d rather take my chances."
Reluctantly, Glória nodded, adjusting the pendant around her neck. They had no choice.
And so, with the scent of blood growing stronger and the sounds of battle becoming clearer, they pressed forward, hoping the forest would grant them this one chance at survival.
The thick, metallic tang of blood filled the air, mingling with the chaotic echoes of roars and howls. Oswin and Glória ran faster, their instincts clashing with adrenaline and fear.
"NOW!"
A distant shout cut through the night, reverberating between the trees.
They exchanged a quick glance, hearts hammering.
‘Are there others here?’ The thought crossed both their minds at the same time as they pushed themselves to move even faster.
The air was thick with the sounds of explosions, agonized screams, and the sickening crunch of bones. With every step, the tension grew. The scent of blood was suffocating, and the crimson glow of the moon made everything feel more vivid, more grotesque.
BOOM!
"WHO SAYS BASIC SPELLS ARE USELESS?"
Another voice rang out, partially drowned by a deafening roar that sent a tremor through Glória’s body, making her stumble.
"Oswin, what the hell is going on?" she gasped, her golden eyes wide with confusion.
"I don’t know..." he gritted his teeth, forcing himself to move faster.
Then, a massive impact echoed ahead—followed by an eerie silence. The only sounds left were scattered howls and faint roars, more like fading remnants of a battle already lost.
Thud!
They skidded to a stop as they reached a more open clearing. Pushing through the dense underbrush, their eyes locked onto the sight before them.
A massacre.
The ground was littered with the bodies of wolves and bears, their torn and bloodied forms creating a gruesome carpet under the glow of the twin moons. Blood, dirt, and flesh mixed together, forming dark pools that shimmered under the red moonlight. Some of the larger beasts still moved, dragging themselves toward the shadows, while others lay lifeless—silent proof that their fight had ended.
In the distance, the colossal body of a black bear stood out among the carnage. One of its arms was missing, the wound where the limb should have been still smoldering, sending wisps of steam into the night air. There was no blood there.
A few meters away, a white wolf with piercing golden eyes sat motionless. Its fur, stained with blood, shimmered under the moonlight as if the creature were forged from silver and crimson. Two other wolves flanked it, tense and alert, their focus locked onto a lone figure at the center of the battlefield.
And there, at the heart of the destruction, stood a boy.
He looked out of place, yet disturbingly in tune with the chaos surrounding him. His clothes were crude, made from animal pelts haphazardly bound together with thick vines. His body was drenched in blood, his face streaked with dirt and shallow cuts, and his long, unkempt hair fell wildly over his forehead. But his eyes—those golden eyes—burned with an unnatural intensity as they fixed immediately on the newcomers.
In his arms, he clutched a small pup, holding it tightly to his chest as though his very life depended on it. The contrast between his blood-drenched figure and the serene stillness of the tiny creature in his grasp was unsettling.
The light from the twin moons—one silver, the other a deep, menacing red—cast an almost theatrical glow over the scene, framing the boy like the tragic hero of an ancient myth. He stood there, a young and exhausted warrior amidst the ruins of battle.
Oswin and Glória halted near the massive black bear’s corpse, their bodies trembling at the sight before them.
"This… this isn’t normal," Glória whispered, barely able to form the words.
Oswin tried to swallow, but his throat had gone dry.
"So there was someone h—" he started, attempting to break the suffocating silence.
"LOOK OUT…!"
The boy’s hoarse, desperate shout cut through Oswin’s words.
But it was already too late.
From above, a shadow streaked across the sky like lightning—followed by a rain of blood that came crashing down upon them.