Elara limped through the thick undergrowth, every step sending a white-hot pulse up her fractured leg. The forest whispered around her—wind through leaves, birds somewhere distant, too peaceful for the storm inside her chest.

She reached the stream at the border of Northwood territory. Kneeling was torture, but thirst won. She scooped a handful of water, her fingers trembling. Her reflection rippled on the surface—bruised, swollen, broken. She barely recognized herself.

Her mind drifted to Draven, and her throat tightened.

“Turns out he always hated me…” The words cracked. “Even after everything Father did to protect us…”

Her voice echoed faintly, then faded—until another voice whispered, soft and cruel, “Why not run away…”

Elara stiffened. “I’m hearing things I shouldn’t,” she murmured, pressing her palms to her ears. “Even if I run, where do I go?”

She dragged her injured leg and pushed deeper into the forest. “I should fetch the herbs as soon as possible,” she muttered, half to herself. The faint scent of pine turned sour, metallic—and wrong.

Crack.

She froze. Another step. Crack. Crack.

Movement. Heavy. Surrounding.

Her pulse roared in her ears. “Who’s there?”

Four figures emerged from the shadows. Bare, filthy, and snarling—eyes glowing with the feral madness of rogues. The leader sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. His expression twisted. “That scent…” His lip curled. “Northwood.”

The others growled, hate flashing in their eyes.

“Draven’s pack,” one spat. “Thought we wiped out all your patrolling leeches.”

“She reeks of that bastard’s house,” another snarled. “Your Alpha drove us out—took our lands, our mates, our cubs. Burned our homes and called us traitors.” His voice dripped venom. “And now one of his pets dares walk free in our woods?”

Elara’s breath caught. “I—I’m not—”

The leader’s snarl deepened. “Shut up!”

His hand struck her across the face, hard enough to send her sprawling into the dirt. Pain flared through her skull. She tried to push back, but her leg buckled beneath her. “Please…” Her voice cracked. “Stay away…”

That only made them laugh louder.

“Look at her beg,” one jeered. “Pathetic little freak.”

Rough hands grabbed her arms. The leader’s breath hit her cheek, hot, foul, hungry. “Maybe she’s good for one thing,” he whispered.

She tried to fight—biting, clawing—but a kick slammed into her ribs. Her scream tore through the trees. Another blow followed. Someone grabbed her hair and dragged her through the dirt.

“Please! Stop!”

They didn’t. They ripped at her dress until it shredded, exposing her trembling, scarred skin. A hand struck her face again; another stomped on her broken leg. Pain exploded white.

“Smell that?” one of them laughed. “She’s bleeding.”

“Think you can sneak out of your pack’s leash?” another spat. “Northwood filth.”

The leader crouched, his smile cruel. “Ugly half-breed. You shouldn’t exist.” He spat on her and unzipped himself. “Let’s see if halflings bleed like real wolves.”

A blade flashed. Fire tore through her side as steel sank just beneath her ribs. She screamed. “Stop! Please!” When she screamed, he laughed harder, pressing his weight against her. And the world shattered.

“Ugly little freak,” the leader sneered. He yanked the blade free and licked her blood from it. “You’ll die as what you are—nothing.”

Something inside her began to crumble.

Her chest heaved with shallow breaths. Her vision swam. All the memories slammed into her at once—her father’s death.

Draven’s face.

His friends’ laughter.

Maya’s sneer.

Her own voice begging back then too.

Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she couldn’t even cry right anymore. Her voice came out broken.

“Why… why does it always have to be me?”

They laughed. They always laughed.

Something cracked—not in the forest, not in her bones—but in her mind.

Her breath came fast, uneven. The world blurred at the edges. “Why…” she said again, louder, her fingers curling into the dirt. “Why me?!” Her body convulsed with sobs that no longer sounded human. “Why do you hate me? Why do you all hate me?!”

Her voice climbed higher, cracked, and broke. Her tears turned to shaking breaths.Then something inside her snapped “WHY?!”

The word exploded like a thunderclap. The air rippled. The ground trembled.

The leader’s smirk froze. Elara’s hand shot up to his neck—and then snapped it sideways with a wet, brutal crack.

He fell dead. The others reeled back, eyes wide. “What the hell—”

“Kill her!”

They charged. Elara moved before she thought. She caught one’s wrist mid-swing and twisted until bone burst through skin. His scream tore the air apart. She shoved the jagged limb into his chest. Another lunged. She drove her elbow into his throat, then crushed his skull against a tree. The impact echoed. The last one tried to run. She caught him by the hair, yanked him back, and slammed her fist through his chest.

Silence.

Four bodies on the ground. Blood everywhere. Elara stood shaking, her breath jagged, her arms drenched in red. Her fingers twitched. Her heart wouldn’t slow down. Then she looked at her hands. Her breath hitched—and then broke.

“No…” she whispered. Her knees hit the ground. “No, I didn’t… I didn’t kill them…”

The forest was too quiet. The air too still. She began to shake violently, whispering it over and over. “I didn’t kill them. I didn’t kill them. I didn’t—” Her chest heaved. Tears mixed with blood on her face. The smell of death made her gag.

“I’m not like them… I’m not…”

The words turned to sobs, then screams. Her voice tore through the woods—raw, terrified, guilty.

Her body trembled uncontrollably as panic swallowed her whole. She tried to run, but the world tilted, spinning. The forest was still quiet, save for her sobs. Until it wasn’t. A snarl — deep, low, right behind her. Then a heavy weight crashed onto her back. Fangs sank into her neck.

Pain. Burning. Screams.

With her last strength, she grabbed the creature’s head, fingers digging deep—

Crunch.

The head burst.

Her eyes rolled back as the darkness rushed in.

And for the first time in a long time, she stopped feeling anything at all.