She used to belong somewhere.
Before the forest.
Before the running.
Before Elion.
Her home was a city built near the river, alive with lantern light and music at dusk. People laughed there. Children ran freely. Love was ordinary.
She was ordinary too.
Until the night she chose love over caution.
There had been someone before Elion. Not a lover, but a family she built from choice. People who trusted her. Who believed she would protect them.
She did not know what lived inside her then.
She only knew that when she felt strong emotion, something answered.
On the night the city fell, she had been afraid.
Anger followed fear. Desperation followed anger.
And the power inside her woke.
She remembered the sound first. A deep, shattering roar that did not come from the sky. It came from her. The ground split. Buildings cracked. Fire surged where her feet touched stone.
She screamed for it to stop.
It did not.
By dawn, the city was silent.
Ash covered the streets. The river boiled. The lanterns were gone.
So were the people.
She survived because the power protected its source.
She held bodies that would never breathe again and begged for a forgiveness that never came.
The survivors called her a curse.
They were not wrong.
That was why she ran.
That was why she never stayed.
And that was why Elion terrified her more than anyone else.
Because with him, she felt peace.
And peace was what she had felt right before everything burned.
Love did not make her gentle.
Love made her dangerous.
And she would rather be alone forever than watch the world take another person from her hands.