They ran.
Through black trees and pale snow, their breaths came out as clouds, their boots pounding the frozen ground. The torches guttered in the wind, shadows snapping across their faces as they weaved through the forest.
Branches clawed at their cloaks. The cold sliced through every layer, but fear drove them forward faster than the frost ever could.
William's hand gripped Thalia's tightly, pulling her along as Vincent shouted behind them,
"Don't slow down! Whatever that thing was—it's not friendly!"
But Thalia wasn't slowing.
Something stirred in her chest—an old, wild pulse she couldn't name. Her heart pounded hard, but it wasn't fear this time. It was… exhilaration. A rush that flooded every nerve, as though her blood had turned to fire.
She ran faster.
Her feet moved before she thought. She dodged branches, leapt over roots, vaulted fallen logs—her cloak streaming behind her like a red flame in the dark.
"Thalia!" William's voice echoed behind her. "Wait!"
She didn't hear him. Not truly. His voice blurred into the wind. The forest narrowed into a single focus point ahead—a glowing whiteness between the trees, where the snow shone like moonlight on glass.
"Thalia!" Vincent's voice faded next.
Her breath came sharp, short. She jumped another log, higher than she thought she could. For a heartbeat, she felt weightless—free.
Then she landed hard. Snow scattered around her, and the echo of her own heartbeat was all she heard.
Silence.
She straightened slowly, chest heaving, looking around. The trees were still. The wind whispered softly, carrying no sound of pursuit. No voices. No footsteps.
She was alone.
The clearing stretched out before her—a white field ringed by black trees. The moonlight glowed off the snow, soft and unearthly. She turned in a slow circle, heart pounding, trying to find the others.
Then she heard it.
A sound that froze her blood.
A cry.
Faint at first—fragile, human. The soft sobbing of a child.
Thalia froze. Her eyes swept the trees. "Hello?" she called softly.
The crying continued. Closer now.
It wasn't possible. A child—here? In this cursed cold?
She took a cautious step forward. Then another. Her boots sank into the snow with a muted crunch.
The crying led her toward a tree bent low under frost. The sound came from behind it. She moved around slowly, her fingers brushing the bark.
And then she saw it.
A small figure, sitting in the snow. Glowing faintly—a bluish, unnatural light that pulsed like a heartbeat. It was curled up, arms over its knees, its shoulders shaking with sobs.
Thalia's breath hitched. "You're hurt," she said softly, stepping closer.
The child didn't answer. It just wept.
She knelt beside it, her gloved hand hesitating in the air. That was when she saw it—an axe buried deep into the child's side, its haft sticking out at an angle, blood dark against the white snow.
Her stomach turned. She reached out slowly. "It's all right, I can help you."
Just before her fingers touched the child's shoulder—
"Do not do such a thing!"
The voice cracked through the night like thunder.
Thalia froze, her body stiffening. Slowly, she turned.
A figure stood at the edge of the clearing—a woman. Even in the darkness, Thalia could see the details that mattered: long, tangled red hair, its color dulled by frost; eyes that gleamed like dying embers beneath a thick fur hood. Her presence was commanding, her voice low but sharp as steel.
"Step away from it," the woman said. "Step away from the beast."
"Beast?" Thalia echoed, confusion flickering across her face. "It's just a—"
A crack.
The sound of bones breaking, loud and wet.
Thalia's eyes snapped toward the child. The axe slid free from its side and fell into the snow with a dull thud.
The child was trembling now, its glow dimming. Then its body twisted—violently. Arms elongated. Fingers stretched, bones snapping as they reformed. Its neck grew long and thin, the head drooping forward as the hair grew wild and dark.
The child's sobs turned into a low, rasping hiss.
Thalia stumbled back, horror clutching her chest.
The figure rose—taller, impossibly thin, its skin pale as moonlight stretched over bone. Torn rags clung to its limbs. Its face was hidden beneath matted hair. The snow hissed beneath its bare feet.
Thalia drew her dagger—a small, silver blade that seemed pitifully inadequate.
The woman was already moving. In one swift motion she swept past Thalia, stooping to grab the fallen axe. She spun it once in her hand, eyes locked on the creature.
"Get behind me," she said, her voice firm, unwavering.
Thalia hesitated, her body trembling, but something in that voice—authority, familiarity—made her obey.
She stepped back.
The creature straightened, its head twitching, its long neck cracking with every movement. It let out a screech that seemed to shake the trees, snow cascading from the branches above.
"What is that?" Thalia breathed, clutching her dagger tight.
The woman didn't answer. She stepped forward, axe raised, her silhouette framed by the pale light reflecting off the snow.
"Thalia," she said again, sharper this time. "Behind me."
Thalia's eyes widened.
The voice—the way it said her name.
The creature lunged. The woman swung the axe, meeting it mid-charge with a roar of steel and fury.
The sound rang through the forest like the toll of a bell—