They would smell the blood.
Enna pressed her palm against the gash on her arm and ran, breath ragged in the misty air. Branches clawed at her cloak, thorns pierced the leather of her boots. Her heart pounded with each step, matching the vampire patrol's distant shouts. The forest was a maze of shadows and tangled roots, her vision blurring as she pushed herself harder.
"Your gift makes you a target, child." Elder Lorin's voice haunted her. "These charms are your shield."
She stumbled, memory and exhaustion merging, and stopped. The concealment charm. Trembling fingers traced symbols in the air as she whispered ancient words through cracked lips. Power flared—then settled over her like a second skin. She ran again before it fully took hold, mind tangled in fear and survival.
Memory struck sharp as pain: Lorin's weathered hands guiding hers, their motions deliberate in the lavender-scented hut.
"Again," he said, voice firm. "Your life depends on it."
Young Enna faltered. He caught her wrist.
"Focus," he said, eyes hard with truth. "You can't afford a single mistake."
Now, in the forest, Enna's hand trembled as she repeated the ritual. She bit her lip, tasted blood. Her breathing slowed. Her fingers drew the last symbol.
She whispered the spell. The charm flared to life, wrapping around her in a soft hum, concealing the scent of blood.
Relief threatened to drop her to her knees, but there was no time. The patrol was still out there. She pushed forward.
The forest stretched endlessly, breath sharp and painful. Her legs burned, her wound throbbed. But she was moving. Faster. Driven by the fragile hope the charm was working.
A shout cracked through the night. Closer. They weren't giving up.
She stumbled on a root, caught herself, pain flaring in her arm. Blood soaked her sleeve, but the charm held. It had to.
Exhaustion threatened to consume her. She ripped her cloak free from a snagging branch and forced herself forward.
"Their patience is infinite," Lorin once said to a circle of young healers. "Your magic is the only thing that will save you."
He'd pointed straight at her. "You hesitate. You fear. And you will fail."
Enna, younger and uncertain, remembered the shame. And the lesson.
Now, she moved blindly through the dark, every breath a blade. The trees thickened around her. The patrol was louder now, too close.
"Keep running," she whispered, a mantra, a curse.
And then
A girl's face appeared. Pale. Wide-eyed. Behind her, a woman, a man, and a coughing child crouched beneath a fallen tree.
"Please," the woman whispered, voice cracked and thin.
Enna froze. She saw the burn on the woman's arm, raw and angry. Her mind screamed at her to keep going.
But she didn't.
She dropped beside them before she'd decided to. Memory surged—Lorin's voice, cold: "You cannot help others if you are captured or dead."
She ignored it. Again.
The man looked away in shame. The woman winced as Enna examined her. "We didn't think anyone would…"
Would care. Would stop.
"I can help," Enna said. She crushed herbs, wrapped the burn.
"You're the healer," the girl whispered. Enna didn't deny it.
"They said you were dead," the man murmured.
"Not yet."
"Why are you…?"
"Running," Enna finished.
She handed over a vial. "Two drops in water."
"There's a settlement two days east. Humans. You'll be safe there."
"What about you?"
"I'll manage."
"You'll die."
Enna met his gaze. Said nothing.
As she turned to leave, the girl's voice stopped her.
"Wait."
But the woman only said, "Thank you."
And it sounded like she was thanking a ghost.
Lorin's voice echoed: "Survival is not abandonment. It's a promise that you'll return."
Enna stumbled into the forest again, their gratitude trailing her like smoke.
She moved through mist and branches, breath burning. The concealment charm pulsed weakly. She pressed forward, unsure whether she was fleeing the patrol or herself.
Night fell like a net. She dove into thorns to avoid passing shadows. Blood welled anew. She waited, breath held. They passed. She stayed still until her body screamed.
"Control it," Lorin once said. "Your breath betrays you."
She crawled from the thorns, shredded and shaking. The charm was nearly gone.
Still, she moved.
The forest dragged at her. Her wounds bled. The charm was no longer protection—it was a whisper. She could feel them behind her. Always.
She ran.
The howls came first. She staggered, then saw the ravine too late. Her foot slipped. She fell.
Stone greeted her.
Then darkness.
She woke slowly, sky above her, stars uncaring. Pain roared through her body. Her head throbbed. Her limbs screamed.
She rolled onto her side. Her hand found blood.
The forest loomed. She was nothing in it. But alive.
She dragged herself to her knees, then upright.
A crevice yawned nearby. She crawled toward it, expecting shallow shelter.
It opened into a cavern.
Inside: symbols. Healer runes. Her breath caught. Her light charm flared, revealing walls alive with history.
Lorin's prophecy whispered: "When darkness rises again, a healer will stand at the crossroads of fate."
The markings resonated with her blood. Her presence.
She went deeper.
The air changed—charged, humming with old power. Her charm flickered.
The symbols brightened as she passed.
A memory rose—Lorin unrolling a scroll. "Old stories?" she'd said.
"Old," he'd corrected. "Not stories."
She'd scoffed. Then seen her name. Her line.
"When darkness rises again, a healer will stand at the crossroads of fate."
"Will you?"
The cave pulsed around her.
Her blood felt electric. Her fear didn't vanish—but it changed.
Hope.
She stepped deeper. The path narrowed. Her light dimmed.
Everything she was hung in balance.
She paused, the threshold before her vast and shadowed. The air thick with presence.
She heard Lorin again.
"It is a promise that you will return."
Her breath caught.
Then she stepped forward.