Elowyn’s breath came ragged, every inhale sharp as a blade. The dream wrapped around her like a snare, so vivid it felt carved into her bones.
The ground beneath her bare feet was slick with mud, each step sinking, sucking at her heels as she ran.
Behind her, the sound came—harsh, heavy, merciless.
Axes striking stone, then earth, then ringing against shields as if the night itself had taken up arms against her.
Shadows leapt in her periphery.
Men, faceless, their eyes glowing like coals. Their axes glinted in slivers of moonlight, each swing promising the same end: to split her down the center, to silence her before she could even scream.
Her lungs burned. Her legs refused her command.
Still, she pushed forward—through thorn, through fog, through trees that twisted and shrank into
