First-Person — Nyra
The first scream comes at dusk.
It slices through the forest — high, sharp, too human to belong to anything that should exist here. Kael freezes mid-step. The look he gives me is pure warning.
"Stay close."
I don't argue this time. The air feels wrong — thick, electric, humming with the taste of blood and ash. My mark prickles beneath my skin, like it's trying to crawl out.
We move silently between the trees. The forest darkens, shadows pooling unnaturally. The scent of iron grows stronger, until I see it — the clearing ahead, soaked in twilight and… something else.
Three bodies. What's left of them.
And around them — shapes. Twisted, shifting, wearing human skin that doesn't quite fit. The Shadowed Ones. I've heard the name whispered in the slums, never believing they were real.
Kael's hand finds his sword. My power hums in response, like it knows these creatures. Like it's calling to them.
One of them turns. Its eyes are the same crimson shade that burns under my ribs. It grins.
"Little sister," it hisses.
The world tilts. "What did it just—?"
"Don't listen," Kael snaps. "They feed on confusion."
But I can't unhear it. Sister. The mark burns hotter, almost unbearable now.
The Shadowed Ones move fast — blurs of hunger and hate. Kael's already in motion, blade cutting through the dark. I barely have time to react before one lunges at me. Its skin ripples, face splitting into too many teeth.
I throw up my hands — and the world explodes.
Flame and force burst outward. The air screams. I feel my body strain, the power consuming me, burning too bright.
Then — hands. Kael's hands. His voice, low and rough against the chaos.
"Nyra. Look at me."
The fire flickers. I can't breathe. "It's— it's too much—"
"Look. At. Me."
I do.
And the power listens.
It draws back, reluctant but obedient. The clearing settles into smoke and silence. The creatures are gone — ash on the wind.
Kael doesn't let go. His hand is still on my cheek, thumb brushing where sweat and soot mix. His chest rises and falls against mine, close enough that I can feel the steady beat of his heart through the layers of leather and shadow.
He should step back.
He doesn't.
"Next time," he murmurs, voice rough, "warn me before you burn the forest down."
I try to laugh, but it comes out shaky. "You didn't seem worried."
"I wasn't. I know what you can do."
"You shouldn't."
His eyes darken. "You have no idea what I should or shouldn't know."
For a second, neither of us moves. Then he finally steps back, gaze flicking toward the treeline where the last embers die.
"They were sent for you," he says quietly. "Which means someone's found your trail."
"Someone?"
He nods once. "The ones who marked you."
The world narrows. Cold floods my veins. "You know who they are."
"I know enough to say this—" He meets my gaze again, steady, unwavering. "If they reach you before I can train you to fight back… they'll take everything. Your power. Your mind. Maybe your soul."
His words hang heavy in the air, as the night presses closer around us.
And for the first time since I left the slums… I realize I might not survive this.