The cold wind bit at Xaden's skin as he staggered through the underbrush, every breath he took shallow and ragged. His shirt was torn, caked with dried blood, and his side throbbed violently with every movement.
Each step was a battle, and each breath reminded him how close he was to the edge.
He didn't know how long he'd been running.
Branches clawed at his arms. Stones dug into his feet. His legs trembled beneath him like they no longer remembered how to carry his weight. But he couldn't stop—not now. Not with freedom within reach. Somewhere beyond this forest, beyond the darkness, lay his people.
He had to reach them.
