Beyond the church's distant walls, the storm-worn woods of Gravemount Hollow swallowed the night once more.
Here, the world knew no sanctuary. No consecrated ground. Only the hunt.
Edora tore through the forest—no road, no path, just bramble and shadow. The stallion wove between trunks that stood far too close for any ordinary beast to navigate.
Its hooves pounded packed earth, then damp moss, then mud again, each stride sending leaves flying in sharp bursts.
Branches snapped beneath its chest. Low limbs whipped past its flanks. The woods themselves seemed startled as Edora surged through them.
Shapes scattered from its approach—some small as fox kits, others hulking beasts that dwarfed the stallion in size. Yet not one dared stand its ground.
Even the largest slipped back into the darkness as Edora thundered through.
The rider kept perfect balance—adjusting her posture with every leap, every sway, every sudden shift.
Her cloak snapped behind her. Her shoulders leaned and rolled with Edora's movements; her knees bent with instinctive placement; her hands braced lightly against the mane without ever clutching.
Even in such chaos, she looked composed, as though guiding a waltz rather than fleeing.
Above, the winged creature still pursued. Its enormous form cut through the storm clouds, occasionally dipping lower with violent dives.
FWOOOSH—CRRSH!
One dive shattered a dead tree behind them, splintering it into raining shards. Edora swerved, clearing a cluster of roots and dodging the falling debris.
Another swoop sent a broken trunk flying end over end. It smashed into a second tree with a booming THM—CRAKK—!, the impact sending a spray of bark toward the horse's rear. Edora narrowly avoided the rolling log—but a second tree collapsed too close.
KRRRSH—!
The uprooted stump crashed at an angle, brushing dangerously near.
The rider lurched sideways—her grip nearly slipping. Her eyes widened with surprise, boots losing purchase for a breath.
But mid-fall she snapped her arms outward, locking her posture. Her form went rigid, spine straightening as though some unseen force steadied her.
She inhaled sharply and forced her weight downward, bending into a tight crouch until gravity yielded to her command.
Then she landed upright atop Edora once more, though her breath carried a faint tremor.
Edora huffed, a deep, heated sound, and pushed onward through the maze of trees.
The rider looked back. Her eyes flickered—pain, brief and clear, crossing her expression. She turned forward again and brushed her hand through Edora's damp mane.
"We cannot outrun him, Edora… slow your pace."
The stallion hesitated.
Just for a moment—but enough to be noticed.
Still, it obeyed. Its speed faltered gradually, stride shortening, hooves striking the ground with softer beats.
The rider leaned closer, lowering her voice.
"I shall return to him alone. You must flee and hide yourself—"
Edora stopped dead.
Not slowed.
Stopped.
Its whole body thrashed upward in defiant outrage, hind legs straightening as it reared back with a furious WHRRM—!. The rider was hurled from its back, thrown forward with a force that would have broken any untrained soul.
Her eyes widened as the ground rushed toward her—
But again she forced her posture to obey. Her arms extended outward mid-air, body going stiff for a second before she redirected her fall and struck the earth in a low crouch. The impact cracked the soil around her, sending a faint shock through the nearby trees.
Leaves shuddered overhead. Puddles burst upward, scattering droplets across her hair and cloak. Water dripped from the canopy, showering both rider and stallion in cold streaks.
She rose slowly.
No anger marked her face.
Only guilt.
Above, the winged beast noticed the sudden cessation of movement. Its vast body drifted to a halt mid-air, wings beating slower, keeping it aloft.
It tilted forward, narrowing its eyes. The ridges of its brow twitched downward, forming a deep scowl. Two long canines protruded past its lower lip.
It exhaled.
The sound echoed like a cavern groaning.
Then it began to descend—slow—its silhouette warping slightly as its features shifted, reshaping themselves into a more dreadful form with each wingbeat.
On the forest floor, the rider held Edora's gaze. Her voice was soft—pained, almost pleading.
"It is selfish of me, my dear Edora… but I beg you… watch over the child."
The stallion's immediate huff was firm, nearly offended.
She lowered her head.
"Please…"
Edora stood still for a long moment, breath rising in thick wisps of white. Then it lifted onto its hind legs once more, hooves slicing the air.
WHRRM—!
Landing with force, it launched forward past her, galloping into the dark. Fog began to coil from its nostrils in great curls, sweeping over its legs, dragging tendrils of mist from the forest floor until its entire form was swallowed by vapour.
Only the rhythm of hooves remained.
Then even that faded.
The rider turned.
Lifted her chin.
Raised her eyes.
And faced the descending shadow above—expression steadying into something resolute.
The shadow drifted downward with uncanny grace, descending through the broken canopy as though weightless—more leaf than flesh.
As it neared the ground, its shape shifted, wings folding inward, bones reforming with soft cracks muffled by the damp air.
By the time its feet touched soil, the creature was a man once more.
The blood-red moon slanted across his face, revealing aged features carved with strength and severity.
His jaw was square, his cheekbones sharp, his brow thick and unmistakably dark. A full black beard framed his mouth, trimmed with care, though streaks of silver threaded through the edges.
His eyes—bright red—glowed with a depth that held both authority and sorrow.
He wore a Victorian suit tailored to a martial frame—broad shoulders, narrow waist. The coat was dark, heavy wool with refined stitching, and over it draped a cloak of rich black fabric trimmed in red and gold.
It carried the air of nobility, of old traditions preserved by strict hands.
When he stood at full height, he dwarfed Elizabeth entirely.
Wind shifted the trees around them, branches bowing under the pressure as they revealed fleeting glimpses of his expression.
Despite the steel in his stance, there was pain there.
And betrayal.
Elizabeth lowered her eyes. Guilt drew faint lines at the corners of her mouth.
The man was the first to speak.
"Why…" His voice was deep, but quiet—far too quiet for someone of his stature. "Why, Elizabeth?"
Her throat tightened. She bowed her head further.
"I did it for love, Father. In the same manner you did what you did for Mot—"
His eyes snapped. "Do not bring her into this!"
KRSHH—!
Thunder ripped through the clouds above. The forest shook—branches rattling, leaves ripping free and spiraling around them in the wind stirred by his outburst.
He gestured sharply toward her.
"Have you the faintest idea what she—and all of us—surrendered to give you a life free of those horrors?" His voice trembled—not weakly, but with fury restrained only by will.
Elizabeth's tears pooled at her lashes before spilling, tracing down her cheeks.
"And who are you," she shot back, her voice cracking, "to decree what my life ought to be? Do not feign concern for me now, Father. You have long blamed me for Mother's death."
He closed his eyes—for a moment only—before opening them again, their red glow cold.
Elizabeth inhaled, continuing through her tears, "Had you stood beside me during the torment I endured in those accursed halls—by the hands of my own kin—you would understand why I have done this."
The man's fists tightened, knuckles pale beneath the shadows. His eyes shook with rage. For a moment he looked near to breaking… yet he never raised his voice again.
Silence fell.
A long, heavy silence.
At last, he turned half-away from her.
"We return," he said, voice rigid, "and you shall stand before the Council for judgment."
He paused.
"As for the child…"
Elizabeth stepped forward, interrupting with a faint whisper:
"Your grandson."
His jaw tightened. He turned his head just enough for her to see the cold, merciless edge to his eyes.
"He perished by my hand. Let that be understood."
Elizabeth swallowed, the word escaping her like a wound.
"…yes."
He looked away again and began walking, his cloak dragging over the sodden earth. Trees bent slightly as he passed, as though the air moved differently around him.
Elizabeth lingered a moment.
Her eyes drifted toward the direction Edora had fled—into the dark, into the fog. Her hand lifted to her chest, pressing over her heart as sorrow softened her features.
Then she followed her father into the shadows of the woods.