The Attack

The first thing Elara noticed when she reached the edge of the forest was the sound.

Or rather, the absence of it.

No birdsong. No wind. Not even the hum of faraway traffic. Just silence—thick and waiting, like the woods themselves were holding their breath.

Branches tangled overhead like the fingers of ancient gods, blotting out the last shred of sky. Beneath her feet, the earth was soft and spongy, littered with damp leaves and the bones of fallen twigs.

She didn’t know why she’d come here.

Only that she couldn’t stay in the house—not with Mrs. Harrow banging on the door, Garrett’s sneers echoing in her mind, and the mark glowing on her shoulder like it had a pulse of its own.

She’d tried scrubbing it raw.

She’d tried denial.

But the crescent moon cut through her skin like it had always been there, just waiting to be seen.

And now… now everything felt wrong.

The forest had never frightened her before. It had been the only place she could disappear. Where no Harrow followed. Where no teacher gave her that pitying glance. Where the silence welcomed her.

But today, the silence growled.

She took a shaky step forward. Her hoodie stuck to her back with cold sweat, and the pendant around her neck—the only thing she’d ever had when she was found—swung out and struck her chest, like it, too, wanted to warn her.

Elara gripped it instinctively.

And that’s when she saw him.

A figure.

Just ahead.

Standing between two gnarled pines.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

But his eyes…

They burned.

Amber-gold, like molten metal poured into sockets too human to be safe.

She blinked.

Once.

Twice.

He was still there.

The figure wasn’t cloaked, but something about him shimmered—like shadow clung to him even in the dimming afternoon light. His hair was raven-black, wind-tossed, wild. His body lean and still, except for the slow rise and fall of his chest.

Predator, her instincts whispered.

She stumbled back a step, and the snap of a branch underfoot echoed louder than it should have.

His gaze followed the sound.

Not startled.

Amused.

Then—he moved.

Fast.

Too fast.

One blink, and he was three feet closer.

Another, and Elara didn’t wait for the third.

She turned and ran.

Her legs burned as she tore deeper into the forest, heart hammering like war drums in her chest. Branches clawed at her skin. Roots snarled around her boots. But she kept going, breath ragged, lungs straining.

Behind her, the woods came alive.

Not with sound, but with presence.

Whatever he was, he was following her.

Not running.

Drifting.

Like the trees parted for him.

Like the woods knew his name.

She didn’t know how long she ran. Minutes? Hours?

The world blurred, a smear of green and black, light and shadow.

Until her foot caught something.

A root.

A rock.

She fell hard, shoulder-first, her hands scraping against the forest floor.

And when she tried to rise—he was there.

Standing over her.

Still. Silent. Watching.

But he didn’t strike.

Didn’t speak.

He simply looked at her, the way wolves look at stars: with something ancient in their stillness.

Elara’s breath came in ragged gasps.

She stared up at him, dirt smudging her cheeks, her palms bleeding, the mark on her collarbone burning hotter than fire.

He saw it.

His gaze dropped.

And for the first time, he reacted.

He knelt.

Not with reverence. Not with malice.

With knowing.

“You don’t remember,” he said.

His voice was deeper than she expected. Rough with something unspoken.

She opened her mouth. Closed it.

He reached out, but didn’t touch her. His hand hovered just over her shoulder. Over the mark.

“It called to us when it woke,” he murmured. “It sings like blood remembers.”

Elara’s voice finally broke free.

“Who are you?”

He smiled. Not kindly.

“The beginning of the end.”

And then—he vanished.

No footsteps.

No rustle.

Just wind sweeping through the trees like an exhale finally released.

Elara lay there, heart pounding.

Alone.

But not forgotten.

Not anymore.

When she finally rose, she didn’t head home.

She walked deeper into the forest.

Because whatever that mark was…

It wasn’t finished with her yet.

And neither was the boy with the golden eyes.

The person from the forest came out of nowhere. A flash of amber eyes, a hiss that sounded like metal tearing flesh.

Elara screamed and stumbled backwards, landing hard against the cold earth. Her shoulder slammed into a tree trunk. Pain shot through her. The figure was tall, cloaked in ragged black, its limbs too long, its fingers clawed. The thing hissed again and leaped.

And the mark on her shoulder lit up. It pulsed with searing heat, and the creature screamed—not in anger, but in pain. It reeled back, clawing at its face like it had been burned.

But by the time she could run somewhere else, two more emerged.

Elara scrambled to her feet and ran, her shoes slipping in the wet leaves. Branches whipped at her arms and face. Her breath came in ragged gasps. Something caught her hood, yanked her backwards—she spun and slammed her elbow into a face that felt like stone.

It didn’t flinch.

It raised a hand, claws gleaming—

—and then it was gone.

Torn away in a blur of silver.

Elara blinked. Another figure was in front of her now. Broad-shouldered, moving like a shadow with blades in both hands. One attacker lunged; the silver-eyed man met it midair.

A crack of bone. A gurgle. Silence.

Then the second came from behind. Elara cried out—

—but the man twisted, flipped the blade in his grip, and drove it clean into the creature’s chest.

Everything was still.

The forest held its breath.

Elara stared, panting, heart pounding like a drum inside her chest. The man turned slowly. His eyes—bright silver, impossibly calm—met hers.

“You’re not safe here,” he said.

“Who what, what were those?” she asked.

Don't you see that! Person stated.

“They were hunting you,” he said. “Because you’ve awakened.”

She blinked. “Awakened?” What the hell are you talking about?

He took a step closer. “Your mark lit up. That means they can smell you now. More will come and hunt you down.”

She backed away. “Stay away from me.”

“If I wanted to harm you,” he said flatly, “you’d be dead.”

Elara faltered.

Then he told her, “My name is Kael Thorne,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

She frowned, still trembling. “Why?”

He said, “Because your mother died to keep you hidden,”

He said, “And it’s time you knew who you are.”

Elara should’ve run. Should’ve screamed.

But that whisper inside her, the same one from the dream, said: Trust him.

Kael extended his hand towards her, “They won’t stop, Elara. Not until you’re dead… or you go with them.”

The forest behind her crackled.

Kael said let's hurry, more are coming. I can't handle them all.

Elara reached for his hand. And the moment she touched him, everything changed.

She felt something deeper from inside, like a voice.