Chapter 38 - We can't keep going like this

  The first sound Lilia and Ariel heard was an unnatural chitter, high, sharp, and wrong. It tore through the night like metal grating against bone, and her whole body seized at once.

  They didn’t think. They ran.

  Ran from the tower.

  Branches lashed at Lilia face as she tore through the forest that bordered Solvara, ash and dust still clinging to her skin. Ryn hung limp across her back, his weight near unbearable, and Ariel stumbled beside her, half-conscious, barely keeping her footing.

  Behind them, something moved, too many legs, too heavy to be human, the ground trembling under its weight. Each step came in perfect rhythm, like a dozen feet sharing a single will. And then came the sound again, closer this time, a wet, hungry chittering that crawled beneath her skin.

  Lilia didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

  Whatever that thing was, she knew one thing for certain:

  It was hungry.

  Was it the smell of blood?

  No… it couldn’t be. Most aberrations didn’t smell like beasts; they sensed. they felt.

  She turned, breath ragged, eyes darting toward Ariel. The princess stumbled beside her, hair clinging to her face, the faint golden cracks that once seared her skin now dim and almost gone, but not entirely.

  For a heartbeat, one of them flickered. A pulse of gold beneath the gray.

  Lilia’s stomach dropped.

  “Ah…” she breathed, realization cutting through the panic.

  It wasn’t the blood.

  It was her.

  Blood from Ryn’s wounds soaked into her torn dress, hot and slick against her back as she ran. Every step sent a jolt of pain through her arms and spine, but she didn’t dare stop.

  They had to find shelter—fast.

  Ryn’s breathing was shallow, ragged against her shoulder, and with every uneven stride, she could feel his injuries reopening, the blood coming faster.

  There was still faint heat clinging to his skin, but it was fading fast. Every shallow breath that touched her neck felt borrowed, like he was running out of the right to breathe at all.

  If they kept running like this, he wouldn’t make it.

  Not unless they found somewhere to hide. Somewhere safe.

  The forest behind them erupted, trees cracking, roots tearing from the earth. The thing was too fast, too heavy; trunks splintered where they had stood only moments before.

  A shriek split the air, high, warping, so loud it rattled her teeth.

  They had to move.

  She could hear the creature’s legs testing the ground behind them, a rhythm like rain on metal.

  Lilia seized Ariel’s arm, dragging her forward as they stumbled through the undergrowth. Branches tore at their skin, the world a blur of dirt and dark leaves. They jumped, slid, tumbled down a slope, the earth giving way beneath their boots.

  Dirt filled her mouth; stones tore at her palms. The forest spun sideways for a second, the world reduced to the sound of her heartbeat and the taste of blood. Somewhere above, branches cracked like distant thunder; the aberration was still coming.

  Ryn slipped from her back, hitting the dirt with a dull thud.

  Lilia scrambled, hauling him up again, arms trembling under his weight. She heaved until he was slung over her shoulder once more.

  The sound of snapping wood drew closer. The ground trembled.

  It was still coming.

  Lilia’s legs screamed with every step, the weight of Ryn on her back turning each stride into agony. Ariel stumbled beside her, breath coming in sharp, uneven gasps.

  A thunderous crack split the air. A tree crashed down in front of them, the impact throwing up a storm of dirt and splinters.

  Lilia skidded to a halt, heart hammering. The creature’s shrieks echoed behind them, closer now, too close.

  She shouted, yanking Ariel’s arm as they veered sharply to the side. Ariel’s foot caught on a root—she slipped, half falling—

  —but Lilia caught her by the wrist, pulling hard, dragging her back to her feet.

  We need to keep running.

  They didn’t look back. The forest howled behind them.

  her lungs burned, her heart drumming louder than her thoughts.

  And then—

  silence.

  No crashing.

  No shrieking.

  Only the shallow rasp of their breathing and the whisper of leaves settling in the wind.

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  Lilia stumbled into a hollow between two fallen trees, pulling Ariel beside her. Ryn slipped from her shoulders; she caught him before his head hit the ground. For a moment, the world felt still again.

  The moonlight filtered through the canopy, pale and fractured, painting their faces in silver and shadow. Ariel’s chest heaved. Her lips moved, as if to speak—but no sound came.

  “W-We… we lost it,” Lilia whispered, almost not believing it. The words barely left her lips before she realized how wrong it sounded.

  It was quiet.

  Too quiet.

  Not a whisper of wind, not the hum of insects. Only Lilia’s heartbeat, hammering in her skull like a trapped bird.

  She pressed closer to Ariel, breath sharp and uneven.

  Then—

  a click.

  Low. Wet. Too close.

  Something cold and slick dripped onto her shoulder. She froze.

  Another drop followed.

  She looked up.

  And her heart stopped.

  A head, if it could be called that, hung from the darkness above, too large for its neck, its surface a lattice of chitin and pale flesh that flexed with every faint movement.

  Four mandibles jutted from where a mouth should’ve been, grinding against each other with a faint metallic rasp. Behind them, something pulsed, a pale throat slick with green fluid that oozed through cracks in its shell.

  Its eyes were the worst.

  Not two, but dozens, layered unevenly across its skull, some too small, others too large, all reflecting the faint moonlight like wet glass. Each blinked independently, the lids sliding sideways in a slow, nauseating ripple.

  Ariel’s breath hitched beside her.

  Lilia stumbled back, dragging her by the wrist, but the creature only tilted its head. The motion was wrong — too smooth, too deliberate — like a marrionette.

  It didn’t move to strike.

  It just watched.

  Waiting.

  Ariel didn’t move.

  Her eyes were wide, fixed on the thing above them, but unfocused, as if she wasn’t seeing it at all, or seeing too much of it. Her breath came in shallow, broken rasps, each one sharper than the last.

  Lilia grabbed her arm, whispering her name over and over, but Ariel didn’t respond.

  It was like she was caught in something unseen, not fear alone, but pressure. The creature’s presence filled the air, thick and suffocating, a weight that sank into the skin and lungs, whispering don’t move, don’t breathe, don’t exist.

  The faint light from the fractured moon caught in Ariel’s eyes, reflecting that same oily green shimmer that oozed from the creature’s shell.

  Then—something shifted.

  A sharp crack cut through the silence as something whistled through the air — a jagged stick flew through, striking the creature square in one of its many eyes. The sound was wet, sharp, followed by a guttural screech that rattled the trees.

  The creature reared back, mandibles thrashing, green fluid hissing where it splattered on the ground.

  Lilia froze, staring dumbly toward the direction the stick had come from.

  For a heartbeat, she thought she was seeing things, a ghost stitched together by moonlight and memory. But no. It was him. Standing. Barely.

  Ryn.

  He stood several paces away, unsteady on his feet, ash-streaked and ghost-pale. His right arm was gone, the sleeve tied off in a bloody knot, his chest heaving with each shallow breath.

  But he was standing.

  How?

  How was he even conscious?

  His legs shook beneath him, but his gaze stayed fixed on the creature.

  For a heartbeat, the forest seemed to still

  Then once again, he fell.

  They didn’t think… There wasn’t time to.

  Lilia grabbed Ariel by the wrist, half-dragging, half-pulling her up. Ariel, in turn, seized Ryn’s good arm, the three of them stumbling together through the choking dark. Branches tore at their clothes; roots caught at their feet. The only sound louder than their breathing was the beast’s furious thrashing somewhere behind them, trees splitting, ground cracking, that awful inhuman shriek chasing them deeper into the forest.

  They stumbled until their lungs burned, until the noise began to fade.

  Then Lilia saw it.

  A hollow in the earth. Half a cave, half a collapsed ruin. barely a crawlspace.

  It wasn’t safety, but it was something.

  ‘Here,’ she thought,

  dragging them inside.

  They squeezed in, shoulder to shoulder, pressed tight against the cold stone. The air was thick with dust; each breath felt like inhaling ash. Ariel’s hair brushed Lilia’s cheek. Ryn’s blood was still warm against her arm. None of them spoke. None of them dared.

  Outside, something shifted.

  A slow, scraping drag, like stone grinding against stone, passed just beyond the entrance.

  Lilia clamped a hand over her mouth. The sound moved closer, paused.

  it brushed against the cave wall, heavy and close enough that dust rained down on their heads.

  Silence again.

  They stayed like that for what felt like forever.

  No one moved. Not even to breathe.

  The scraping stopped once, then started again, slower this time, deliberate.

  Lilia’s nails dug into the dirt. Ariel trembled beside her, one hand clutching Ryn’s sleeve. Dust fell with every heartbeat, each grain loud enough to make them flinch.

  Then… nothing.

  A minute. Two. Ten.

  The sound faded into the distance, swallowed by the forest. The weight in the air loosened, but only barely.

  Lilia didn’t dare move until the silence felt real, until her lungs screamed for air.

  Only then did she release the breath she’d been holding.

  Ariel’s head fell forward, her whole body trembling. Ryn, unconscious again, was slumped against the wall, blood seeping faintly through his clothing.

  Lilia pressed a hand to her chest. Her heartbeat was wild and erratic, echoing in her ears.

  She drew her knees close, curling into herself, every muscle taut from fear and exhaustion. The faint drip of water from somewhere deep in the hollow marked the silence.

  Her throat felt dry when she finally spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “We–We… cant keep going like this…”

  The words hung there, small and fragile.

  A truth she hadn’t dared say aloud until now.