The Healer, thin and pale, stumbled into the grove. Her red eyes were wide with fear and exhaustion, darting around as if she expected to find someone lying in wait. Blood seeped through the fabric of her cloak, creating dark patches that spread down her sleeves and side. She ignored the wounds, scanning her surroundings with desperate caution until her legs gave out beneath her.
"I have to—" she gasped, but didn't finish. Her vision swam, and she fell hard against a moss-covered boulder, white hair splaying out around her like a broken halo.
After a moment, she pulled herself into a sitting position, teeth clenched against the pain. Her hands shook as she peeled away the blood-soaked cloak. A deep gash crossed her forearm, ragged and angry, still seeping red. Her ribs were bruised, skin mottled with the violent blue-black of fresh injuries. Tiny cuts and scrapes crisscrossed her body, stinging with every breath.
Enna swallowed hard, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The grove spun around her, the edges blurring and twisting into darkness. She fought to stay conscious, pressing a hand to the worst of her wounds, feeling the sticky warmth of her own blood under her fingers. A distant part of her mind registered the sound of a stream nearby.
She forced herself to move, each motion agony as she crawled toward the water. Her head pounded with every heartbeat, a drum of pain that made it hard to think. But she couldn't stop. She had to keep going. She had to—
"Survive," she whispered through gritted teeth.
The stream was cold and clear, a thin ribbon of life cutting through the grove. She plunged her hands into it, scrubbing away blood and dirt, biting back cries of pain as the water hit raw skin. Her reflection wavered on the surface, white hair tangled and matted with blood, red eyes wide and haunted.
As she cleaned her wounds, the grove seemed to close around her, ancient trees forming a protective circle, sunlight filtering gently through dense foliage. The air smelled of earth and green things growing. It should have been peaceful. It should have felt safe.
It didn't.
Flashbacks flooded her mind, vivid and relentless. Elder Lorin's voice, stern and uncompromising, echoed in her ears.
"You must never reveal what you are," he warned, weathered hands guiding hers over a pile of healing herbs. His eyes were sharp, knowing too much and not enough. "To them, you are only prey. You are only blood."
She remembered the way he pushed her, the way he looked at her like she was both precious and doomed.
"Again," he said, harsher this time, as if willing her to break. As if knowing she wouldn't.
Her hands moved by instinct, weaving bandages from strips of her cloak, applying makeshift poultices with fingers that trembled despite her efforts to steady them. The cuts would scar. She had no time to heal them properly, no safety in taking too long. She was alone now, unprotected by anything except her own failing strength.
Elder Lorin's voice wouldn't leave her. It cut through the soothing sounds of the grove like a knife, relentless and insistent.
"You must be ready," he said, a shadow in the firelight, his presence filling the small room where they worked. "When the time comes, you must be prepared to leave it all behind."
He spoke of prophecy as though it were fact. As though it were a cage made of fate instead of iron. As though it would be easy for her to walk away from everything she'd ever known.
The memory was bitter, acrid as smoke.
"Show me again," he said, softer now, his hands pressing over hers, firm and sure. "Show me what you can do."
In the grove, Enna's breath hitched. She felt the full weight of her grief and exhaustion crashing over her, an endless wave threatening to drown her completely. Her village was gone. Her people were gone. She was alone in the world, bleeding and broken.
And she had no one to blame but herself.
Tears spilled down her cheeks, hot and angry, as she pulled her knees to her chest and tried not to sob. It felt like a betrayal, to survive when everyone else had not. When she had been the one to run, leaving a trail of blood and death in her wake.
But even that memory wasn't hers to keep. It was Lorin's. It was the story he'd given her before she was ready to take it.
The flashbacks came again, too quick, too bright. Lorin teaching her, training her. Pushing her abilities to their limits and beyond.
"You can do this, Enna," he said, conviction burning in his eyes. "You must do this."
She felt the strain of it all, the pull and push of power she didn't fully understand. Her hands glowed with light, too bright, too dangerous. She felt the temptation to let it consume her, to let it be the only thing she was.
She didn't.
"Again," Lorin said, his voice relentless. "Again, until it doesn't hurt. Until it feels like breathing."
She showed him. She always showed him. But at what cost?
The memory twisted, becoming something darker, sharper. Lorin standing at the edge of the village, watching her go. Not stopping her. Not this time.
"Go," he said, his voice the crack of thunder in a storm-torn sky. "Go, and don't look back."
She'd gone. And now, sitting in the grove with bloodied bandages and hands that wouldn't stop shaking, she felt like she'd left part of herself behind in the ashes.
Her tears dried slowly, leaving tracks on her dirt-streaked face. She wiped at them with the back of her hand, wincing at the sting of salt on open wounds. Her pulse was ragged in her ears, each beat a painful reminder that she was still alive. That she was still here, in this temporary sanctuary, trying to piece herself back together.
The grove held its peace around her, the whisper of wind through leaves and the gentle rush of the stream an endless lullaby. She leaned back against the boulder, eyes closed, trying to ignore the crushing weight of her solitude.
She thought of Lorin. Of the village. Of the life she'd left behind.
She thought of the vampires, and how close they'd come to destroying everything.
It felt fragile, this moment. Fragile and fleeting, a thin layer of calm over a chasm of uncertainty.
The grove couldn't protect her forever. Nothing could.
She would have to move on. She would have to find a way to keep running, to keep hiding. To keep surviving.
But for now, she stayed. For now, she sat in the fragile sanctuary of the grove, the weight of her memories pressing down on her like a promise she didn't know how to keep.
For now, she simply breathed.
The sound of breaking twigs startled Enna. She turned sharply, pulse racing, half-expecting to see something monstrous emerge from the forest. But it wasn't a vampire or a human patrol. It was a creature of pure myth, limping and bloodied, its flank marked with a vicious wound. Its fur glowed with an ethereal blue light, illuminating the deep gouges in its side.
She froze, instincts warring within her. The creature should have been extinct, wiped out along with the first Healer Queen. It was worth a fortune. It was worth more than that.
"You shouldn't exist," she said, voice caught between awe and disbelief. Her hands trembled as she reached out, fighting against every lesson Lorin had ever taught her.
Her fear clashed with compassion, memories of Lorin's warnings colliding with an impulse she couldn't deny. Her mouth was dry. Her heart pounded. But the creature's eyes held hers, a plea more powerful than words.
"You shouldn't exist," she repeated, but this time her voice was softer. It was a promise.
The creature regarded her, a mixture of hope and desperation in its luminous gaze. She knew the feeling too well.
The decision was made before she fully realized it. She closed the distance between them, movements cautious, as if she feared it might vanish like a mirage. Her hands were bloodied from her own injuries, but that didn't stop her. Nothing would.
"Let me help," she murmured, half to herself and half to the creature. The words were a lifeline she threw out, unsure if they would save it or drown her.
Her fingers brushed its fur, and she felt the familiar tug of her power. It responded instantly, ferociously. A blue glow spread from her hands, illuminating her veins in ghostly light. The forest erupted around her, flowers bursting into bloom, leaves unfurling like new skins. The ground beneath her pulsed with the same vivid light, vibrant and terrifying.
The creature trembled, and for a moment she feared she'd lost control, feared she would destroy instead of heal. But then the wound on its flank knitted together, flesh mending with impossible speed, leaving no scar behind.
It should have been reassuring. It wasn't. It was terrifying in its intensity, in the way it consumed her.
The healing took moments, though it felt like an eternity. When it was over, she collapsed, her body unwilling to hold the weight of what she'd done. The creature stood over her, nuzzling her gently, gratitude shining in its eyes.
She wanted to tell it to stay, to share her solitude for just a moment longer. But like everything else in her life, it disappeared, vanishing into the shadows with no promise of return.
Alone again, she lay on the forest floor, gasping for air, feeling like she'd given too much of herself and gotten nothing back. Her world tilted, colors too bright, sounds too sharp. It was like being alive in a way she never had been, like every nerve had woken from a thousand-year sleep.
She could feel the heartbeat of the trees, slow and ancient, their roots tangled with veins of magic that reached deep into the earth. She could sense the movement of creatures underground, the scuttle of life that should have been too small to notice. Water rushed through roots, a thousand streams, each drop resonating through her like a drumbeat.
It was wondrous. It was too much.
Lorin had warned her, hadn't he? Her mind clung to his words, an anchor in the chaos of her senses.
"Your gifts are powerful, but they are dangerous," he said, his face lined with worry. "You must learn restraint, Enna."
But she had never learned. Not really. She had learned defiance. She had learned to do what she must, even if it meant risking everything.
Lying there, overwhelmed and exhausted, she thought of all the times she'd used her powers in secret. The times she'd helped when she shouldn't have, and how it had nearly destroyed her.
Her memories were as vivid as the world around her, as overwhelming as the pulse of magic in the earth.
The first time she'd healed against Lorin's wishes, a small animal caught in a hunter's trap. She remembered its pained eyes, the way they reminded her of her own helplessness. She'd done it quickly, hidden in the dark where no one could see the light. It had felt like rebellion. It had felt like relief.
"Never do this in the open," Lorin had said, finding her later with guilt written on her face. "Never, unless you wish to be found."
But she hadn't listened. Not then. Not now.
The village's expectations weighed on her, the prophecy that loomed like a shadow over every choice she made. What did it mean to be the last? What did it mean to be alone?
Her thoughts tangled, a web of uncertainty and fear. This new power—this strange, dangerous magic—what was it? Why now?
Did it matter?
She felt more isolated than ever, the impact of her actions sinking in. She'd done something impossible, something no other healer could do. How long before they found her? How long before her own power betrayed her?
Lying on the forest floor, she tried to catch her breath, tried to find some semblance of calm in the storm she'd unleashed.
Her mind wandered to the creature, the way it had looked at her, the way it had vanished. It was alone, just like her. Was its appearance a sign? Was it fate?
Slowly, she began to regain her strength. The connection to nature faded, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. Her pulse steadied, though uncertainty still thrummed through her like a second heartbeat.
She sat up, wincing at the stiffness in her limbs, the residual burn of overused magic. Her eyes scanned the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of the creature, but it was truly gone.
Gone, but not forgotten.
Maybe it too had felt the burden of prophecy, the weight of being something the world believed extinct. Maybe that was why it had come to her. Why it had given her this gift.
Maybe she wasn't as alone as she thought.
Her hands no longer trembled, though the questions still did. She picked herself up, shaky but determined, and looked at the place where the creature had stood.
She didn't know what this change meant. She didn't know what her power had become. But she would find out. She would keep going.
And maybe, just maybe, there would be answers waiting.
Shadows crept across the grove as Enna pressed herself into the hollow of a twisted tree. She was perfectly still, perfectly silent, like a child hiding from monsters in the dark. Only these monsters were real. Their footsteps echoed across the forest floor, voices sharp and angry, promising her capture. Promising her death.
She stifled her breathing, closing her eyes and willing them to pass, willing herself to disappear.
"I told you I could smell it," one of them said. His voice was vicious, more wolf than man. "She's bleeding. She won't get far."
Enna gripped the wood, heart hammering in her chest, blood pounding like a second heartbeat. Her fingers dug into the bark until it cracked. Until her nails bled.
"Dead or alive," said another. "Doesn't matter which."
When the sound of their footsteps faded, when she was sure they were gone, Enna collapsed, hands trembling, tears burning in her eyes. The visions hit her then, like a tidal wave.
An ancient stone structure, built into the mountainside, symbols carved into rock that matched the markings on her pendant. A sarcophagus, power emanating from it like a scream.
The vision consumed her, leaving her gasping, breathless and disoriented. Her senses roared back with painful clarity, the forest alive and loud around her.
She was alone. So terribly, terribly alone.
But she wouldn't let them take her. She wouldn't let them win. She pressed her palms against the earth and whispered the ancient words Lorin had taught her.
The forest responded.
Moss grew thick and fast over her footprints, vines twisted and shifted to conceal her path. The scent of wildflowers intensified, masking the coppery tang of blood and sweat.
But she could feel the magic slipping. She could feel her grip on it weakening.
She pushed harder, pushed until her whole body ached with the effort. She would not let them find her. She would not let them.
The vampires passed mere feet away, and she felt their presence like ice on her skin. Cold, deadly, suffocating.
"She's here," one growled, voice raw with hunger.
"No," said another, uncertain now. "Keep moving."
Enna held her breath, every muscle in her body straining against the urge to flee. The patrol moved on, shadows shifting and stretching in the dimming light. She stayed still, too afraid to even hope.
Then they were gone, truly gone, their voices fading into the distance.
She should have been relieved. She wasn't. Her hands trembled, the magic barely holding, her strength barely enough.
She didn't know how much longer she could keep this up. She didn't know how much longer she could keep running, keep hiding, keep surviving.
Her world narrowed to a single point, the vision pulling her like a thread sewn tight through her bones. She couldn't ignore it. Couldn't resist it. It was a beacon, a curse, a promise.
It was everything she was trying to escape.
Her breath came in sharp, ragged bursts as she leaned against the tree, feeling it thrum with life beneath her palms.
The mountains. The symbols. The strange, terrifying power.
What did it mean?
The pull was relentless, a magnetic force that refused to let her go. She couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't—
She had to follow it. She had to know.
Her thoughts spiraled, a tangled mess of fear and determination. Her hands wouldn't stop shaking, but she forced them to work, gathering her meager supplies, tucking bandages and herbs into hidden pockets.
Every movement felt like a betrayal, like a surrender. But what choice did she have? She was lost. She was found.
She was hunted.
Exhaustion gnawed at her, every limb heavy with the weight of it. The weight of her solitude, the weight of her own fragility.
But she couldn't stay here. Not with the patrols so close, not with the vision haunting her every thought.
"Move," she whispered to herself, the word both a command and a plea.
The grove was dark now, the sun a fading memory on the horizon. She took one last look at her refuge, her sanctuary, the place where her powers had grown beyond anything she understood.
A place that was no longer safe.
Then she stepped away from it, stepped toward the unknown with a resolve that belied the fear screaming in her veins.
The mountains loomed in the distance, silhouettes against the night sky, ominous and inescapable.
They called to her. The vision called to her. And though she was raw with uncertainty, she answered. She had to.
She walked into the darkness, a small figure against the vastness of the world, red eyes set on the distant peaks.
She walked because there was no other choice.
She walked because she refused to be the prey they thought she was.
Her body ached with exhaustion, but she kept moving, kept pushing, her mind a storm of fear and determination. The grove was a memory now, a flicker of peace that couldn't last.
She wondered how far she could go before they caught her. How far she could run before her own blood betrayed her.
But she wouldn't give in. She couldn't.
The pull of the vision grew stronger with every step, its magnetic force a constant reminder of what awaited. Of what she must face.
Lorin's voice echoed in her mind, the memory of him sharp and accusing.
"You cannot outrun this," he said, eyes piercing, knowing too much and not enough. "You cannot outrun yourself."
But she would try. She would keep trying, even if it broke her.
The mountains grew larger, darker, a shadow on the horizon.
Her only certainty. Her only hope.
Her only chance.
She would get there. She had to get there. Before the patrols. Before her own fear consumed her.
The path stretched endlessly before her, daunting and relentless, but she didn't stop. She didn't falter.
She just kept walking, alone in the dark with only her determination for company.
She didn't look back.