The woods had become a living nightmare.
What had been merely dark when Lyra first emerged from her sanctuary was now an impenetrable wall of blackness, punctuated only by the sickly silver glow of a cloud-veiled moon. The trees, ancient oaks and twisted pines that had stood for centuries, seemed to lean inward with malicious intent, their branches clawing at the sky like skeletal fingers. Each shadow was a potential threat, each rustle of leaves a promise of violence.
Lyra was running. Not smooth, effortless sprint, but a grueling, desperate effort to cover the ground between the cave and the safety of the Estate. Lyra's breath came in ragged gasps as she ran, her clawed feet finding purchase on the uneven forest floor with the sure-footedness born of desperation. The satchel containing her treasures bounced painfully against her hip, but she clutched it tighter, unwilling to abandon even now the symbols of her dreams. Her other hand rested on the pommel of her short sword—a blade of pure silver that hung at her waist, its weight a familiar comfort. The weapon had been a gift from her cousin Kael, one of the few family members permitted to venture beyond the estate walls and return. He'd brought it back from some distant city, claiming it had been blessed by a priest of the dawn. "For protection," he'd said with a knowing look, as if he'd understood even then that she would one day need it. Corvus had taken flight the moment danger announced itself, circling above the canopy, his harsh cries serving as both warning and encouragement.
The first growl that rolled through the darkness was deep enough to vibrate in her chest, a sound that spoke of hunger and ancient, mindless rage. Lyra skidded to a halt, her golden eyes scanning the gloom. Her horns caught what little moonlight filtered through the branches, creating twin beacons that she immediately regretted. In a world of predators, visibility was a death sentence.
The creature emerged from behind a moss-covered boulder with the fluid grace of a nightmare given form. It was a Shade Stalker, one of the lesser horrors that prowled these woods after dark—but "lesser" was a relative term. The beast stood nearly seven feet tall at the shoulder, its body a grotesque fusion of wolf and something far more ancient. Its hide was the color of wet ash, seeming to absorb what little light touched it, and its eyes glowed with a putrid yellow luminescence. Saliva dripped from jaws that could easily crush bone, sizzling where it struck the forest floor.
Lyra's tail lashed behind her in agitation as she slowly backed away, her mind racing. She had studied these creatures in her family's extensive library, poring over accounts of their hunting patterns and weaknesses during long, sleepless nights. Knowledge, however, was a poor substitute for experience.
The Shade Stalker lowered its massive head, hackles rising along its spine as it prepared to charge. Lyra had perhaps three seconds to act.
Her hand shot to her belt, fingers closing around the hilt of her silver short sword. The blade sang as it cleared its sheath, the pure metal gleaming even in the dim light. As the creature lunged forward with terrifying speed, Lyra dropped to one knee and rolled hard to the left, feeling the displaced air as the beast's jaws snapped shut where her head had been a heartbeat before. The monster's momentum carried it past her, its claws tearing deep furrows in the earth.
She didn't wait to see it recover. Lyra was already running, her scaled tail streaming behind her like a rudder as she weaved between trees, using every advantage her smaller size afforded. Behind her, the Shade Stalker roared its fury and gave chase, crashing through underbrush with the subtlety of an avalanche.
The forest became a blur of motion and terror. Lyra leaped over a fallen log, ducked beneath a low-hanging branch, and splashed through a narrow creek without breaking stride. Her lungs burned and her legs screamed in protest, but fear was a more potent fuel than any earthly endurance. The creature was gaining—she could hear its panting breaths growing closer, could smell the charnel-house reek of its hunger.