Layleen
I'm not sure how long I've been running—minutes, hours? Time feels warped—but one thing is painfully certain: I'm about to die. My pulse hammers relentlessly in my ears, and every breath feels like it's setting my lungs on fire, the air too sharp, too scarce.
I have no one to blame but myself.
Back in Dark Wood, physical exertion was never part of my daily routine. Dion made sure of that. He didn't like me engaging in "anything remotely dangerous or harmful," as he'd always phrase it.
I never fully understood what that meant, but I didn't complain. At the time, it felt like a blessing. After all, why train when there was no reason to fight?
But now, I'm paying the price for all those idle days—every burning muscle and every gasping breath a reminder of the strength I never built.
"Are you alright?" Samantha's voice slices through the fog of my exhaustion, and I force myself to respond without choking on my own breath. "Yeah... I'm good."
