The night was alive with its usual symphony of whispers, rustling leaves, and the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the canopy. The Fae sprinted through the forest, its movements quicksilver, almost weightless. Panic clawed at its ancient mind, a primal terror it hadn’t felt in centuries.

Behind it, something moved—silent, relentless, and far too close.

The fae didn’t dare look back, its translucent aura wings shimmering faintly as they flickered, the effort of flight too risky with so many low-hanging branches. It weaved between ancient trees, its lithe body gliding with a grace only the Fae possessed. Still, it wasn’t fast enough.

It could feel the presence gaining.

“What the fuck is this?” the Fae hissed to itself, breathless. “I’m not supposed to be hunted. I’m the hunter!”

It ducked beneath a fallen log, its glowing eyes scanning frantically for a path forward. The shadows around it twisted unnaturally, as if the forest itself recoiled from whatever pursued it.

Then it saw something on the ground—a faint shimmer in the dirt, something metallic. Curiosity and desperation battled for dominance as it leaped over the small object.

That’s when it stumbled.

It wasn’t a proper stumble. The Fae was too graceful for that. But its foot brushed something—something sharp and wrong.

Pain exploded through its foot as it landed. A searing, unnatural agony shot up its leg, and the fae shrieked, collapsing to the ground.

It clawed at its foot, finding an iron coin embedded in its flesh. The hex tendrils of mana burned with a venomous fury, as they pumped iron that was eating into its aura like acid.

“What kind of sick fuck does this?” it spat, thrashing as it tried to rip the coin free.

The trap pulsed faintly, as if mocking it.

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Another growl. Louder this time. Whatever was hunting it wasn’t far behind, and now it smelled blood—Fae blood.

The shadows around it deepened, and the fae froze. A shape, darker than the night itself, loomed at the edge of its vision. It moved without sound, its form indistinct but brimming with malice.

The air around it grew colder, heavier. The shadows thickened unnaturally, and an overwhelming presence bore down on the Fae like a predator’s gaze.

The fae's survival instincts screamed. It tore the coin from its foot with a pained howl and rolled to the side just as something slashed through the air where it had been.

It didn’t see what attacked—only the aftermath. A jagged gash opened on its arm, the limb severed cleanly, falling to the forest floor. The fae stumbled, black ichor spilling from its wound as it shrieked in both fury and fear.

The creature lunged again, but this time the fae used its wings, propelling itself upward in a desperate burst of speed. Branches tore at its body as it ascended, its vision blurring from the pain.

It didn’t stop. It couldn’t stop.

Bleeding, one-armed, and furious, the fae soared above the treetops, the pale moonlight staining its torn form. Below, the forest remained eerily still. Whatever had pursued it didn’t follow.

Its once-ethereal form now disheveled and streaked with dirt. Fear, a feeling the creature rarely entertained, gnawed at its core. It wasn’t just fear of death—it was fear of the unknown. Whatever was following it wasn’t part of the natural order, not even of the Fae’s twisted one.

The fae landed shakily on a high cliff, collapsing against the cool stone. It gasped for air, its remaining hand clutching its wounded shoulder. The iron burn still lingered, and it snarled, more in frustration than pain.

It winced as it tried to patch the wound with weak healing magic. The edges of the stump burned where the hexed trap had seared the flesh.

And let’s not forget the genius with the iron trap. Oh, they’re on my list now. Right up there with the bloody shadow beast that took my arm. Honestly, what’s this forest coming to? First mortals with iron hexes, now… whatever that was.

What in the name of all unholy mischief is that thing? and how did it escape the perimeter with the deep lands? he wondered.

“Fucking witches,” it muttered, its voice trembling. “When did they start hexing coins? Who does that?”

It peered back toward the forest, its glowing eyes narrowed. Whatever that thing was, it didn’t belong here.

And neither did those cursed coins.

It would heal. It would recover. But tonight, it would simply survive, battered, humiliated, and seething with rage.

The fae’s lips curled into a grim smile despite itself. “Next time,” it hissed into the night. “Next time, we’ll see who’s running.”

But deep within, the fae felt an unease it couldn’t shake. Whatever had hunted it was new to the forest. And whatever it was, it was still out there, waiting.