4 | Chances

*** Nailo’s POV

I slam into the ground, the impact knocking the wind out of me instantly. The cold, unyielding earth rises to meet me with an unforgiving force, jarring every nerve in my body. Before I can even register the pain, I’m tumbling, rolling down an embankment, the world spinning around me in a blur of dark shadows and cold, damp soil. Every bump, every jolt sends a shockwave of agony through my body, my mind screaming at me to stop, but there’s no stopping gravity. I have to keep going, have to fight through the disorientation, the pain. The wolfsbane is coursing through my veins, dragging me closer to unconsciousness with every passing moment, and I know—if I give in now, it’s over.

When I finally come to a stop at the bottom of the embankment, my body sprawled awkwardly across the forest floor, I’m gasping for breath, each inhale like shards of ice ripping through my lungs. The cold air burns, but it’s nothing compared to the searing pain that radiates from every part of me. My head throbs with a relentless ache, and I can feel the darkness creeping in at the edges of my vision, threatening to pull me under. But I can’t let it. Not yet. Not like this.

I force myself to stand, my body screaming in protest, the world around me tilting dangerously. Every muscle, every bone feels like it’s on fire, but I can’t stop. I have to keep moving. My knees buckle slightly as I push upward, the uneven ground beneath me shifting, making me stagger. A sharp, jagged rock digs into my palm as I steady myself, the sting grounding me, reminding me that I’m still alive—for now.

No one seems to be coming after me yet. Maybe they didn’t see me go over the wall, or maybe they think I’m already dead. Either way, I can’t waste this opportunity. I glance upward toward the ridge I tumbled from, my eyes straining to pierce through the canopy of branches overhead. The moonlight filters weakly through the leaves, casting fragmented shadows across the ground. It’s eerily quiet—too quiet.

Shit. I can do this. I have to do this. My heart pounds in my chest, a frantic rhythm urging me forward. I’m not even sure where I am. No wolf to guide me, no heightened senses to give me direction. Just me—human, fragile, and very, very breakable. But I know one thing for certain: I have to keep going. My ribs ache with every breath, a deep, sharp pain that makes me wince with every step. Broken? Probably. But the pain in my chest is nothing compared to the fire burning in my veins. The wolfsbane is a cruel enemy, relentless and unyielding, its poison tearing through me like molten lava.

I stumble forward, each step a battle against the weight dragging me down. My legs feel like lead, my head pounding with a fog that threatens to consume me. My thoughts are scattered, like leaves in the wind, but one word surfaces through the chaos: The thought is like a lifeline, a fragile thread holding me together in the storm raging inside me. Hematite can ward off the effects of wolfsbane. That single fact is the only thing keeping me from collapsing where I stand.

The Reginale region is rich in iron deposits, or so I’ve heard, and hematite is supposed to be easy to find in waterways with heavy iron content. But where the hell am I going to find a river out here? My mind reels, trying to make sense of the fragmented memories I can still hold on to. I think back to the maps I’ve studied, the terrain around the palace grounds. There was a river nearby, wasn’t there? A tributary that fed into the main waterways? I can almost picture it, the lines on the map swimming before my eyes.

If I can just get to that river, maybe I can find some hematite. Maybe I can survive this. I have to try.

My breaths come in ragged gasps as I push forward, the world around me a blur of shadowy trees and uneven terrain. My foot catches on a root, and I go sprawling, catching myself just in time to avoid another tumble. The sharp sting of scraped palms makes me curse under my breath, but I force myself up again, driven by sheer willpower. The thought of that river is the only thing keeping me upright, the only thing keeping me moving.

The wolfsbane is relentless, eating away at my strength with every passing moment. It’s a slow, insidious poison, dragging me down inch by inch, and I know I’m running out of time. My vision blurs, my balance falters, but I keep going. One step at a time, I tell myself. One foot in front of the other. I can’t stop now. I won’t stop now.

I’m not ready to die yet. Not like this. There’s still a chance, slim as it may be. And as long as there’s a chance, I have to take it.