The forest seemed alive, every branch bent by the wind echoing like a scream, every leaf shaking overhead sounding like the snap of bones. His small feet pounded against the damp earth, kicking up mud and twigs, while his shallow, desperate breaths came in broken gasps. He ran—not Damon, not yet, not the being Ester knew. He was the boy, the body, the host before reincarnation.
His legs ached as if they had been chained from within. With each step, a brutal stabbing pain shot from his ankles to his hips. His chest burned, there was no breath left to sustain the pace, and yet, instinct told him: Keep going. Keep going, or it will be the end.
The boy kept glancing back, as if hoping his pursuers were farther away could make it real. But they weren't. Among the dark trees, figures glided, shadows larger than ordinary men. There was the metallic glint of blades reflecting the dim light of dusk. There was muffled, murmured laughter, like jackals savoring the wait for their prey.
