It Was Me
1254 Words
I don’t know when I fell asleep.
One moment I was staring into the dying embers of the fire, listening to the slow rhythm of breathing around me. The next, I was somewhere far away—running again, always running.
The growl dragged me back.
My eyes snapped open.
For a moment, I didn’t move. I thought it was part of the dream. But then I heard it again.
A crunch.
Twigs breaking under weight.
The clearing was dark, the fire reduced to faint orange veins in the ash. Shadows clung to the trees, thick and watchful. The night air felt heavier than before, pressed against my lungs like damp cloth.
Another growl.
Closer.
No one spoke.
But they were awake.
Beside the tree line, the woman sat upright, head tilted slightly, listening.
Her voice came calm and certain.
“We have a visitor.”
The words settled into the clearing like a stone dropped into water.
The taller man—Damon—was already moving. He reached for the battered leather bag resting near his side and pulled it toward him. His movements were quick but precise, like this was routine.
From inside, he retrieved a small glass vial.
Even in the low light, I saw it clearly.
Purple.
The liquid inside shimmered faintly, thick and unnatural. Without hesitation, he uncorked it and drank.
The scent hit the air a second later—sharp, metallic, strange.
He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then pulled his scabbard closer.
This time, he pulled out his sword.
The big blade caught what little light remained, reflecting a cold gleam across his face.
The calm one—Aemond—shifted closer to me without speaking.
The crunching grew louder.
Then it stepped into view.
The creature staggered out from between the trees, shoulders hunched, skin stretched tight over bones that looked too sharp, too wrong. Patches of fur clung to its decaying flesh. Its jaw hung slightly open, thick strands of saliva dripping from yellowed teeth.
Its eyes—
They were milky.
Dead.
A zombie lycan.
It let out a snarl that rattled through my chest.
Damon didn’t hesitate.
He lunged forward, sword slicing through the air with a clean arc. The blade connected with a wet sound, carving into rotted flesh. The lycan reeled but didn’t fall.
It roared.
The sound was inhuman—deep and fractured, like something tearing apart from the inside.
“Run!” Damon shouted.
Aemond grabbed my arm.
I didn’t argue.
We moved.
Pain exploded through my ankle the second I forced it into motion. I bit down on a scream and pushed forward anyway, branches clawing at my arms as we tore through the trees.
Behind us, steel clashed against bone.
The lycan howled again.
I risked a glance over my shoulder.
Damon was fast—faster than before. The purple elixir had done something. His movements were sharper, stronger. He drove the sword through the creature’s side, twisted, ripped it free.
But the lycan didn’t fall.
It jerked its head.
And then—
It ran.
Not at Damon.
At us.
It barreled past him with terrifying speed, ignoring him completely, its focus locked ahead.
Locked on—
Me.
The realization hit like ice water down my spine.
It wasn’t chasing them.
It was chasing me.
Aemond tightened his grip around my wrist, dragging me as he increased his pace.
“Faster!”
I tried.
I really did.
But my ankle betrayed me.
My foot caught on uneven ground, pain flaring white-hot and blinding. I stumbled forward, arms flailing for balance that wasn’t there.
And then I fell.
The impact knocked the air from my lungs. Dirt filled my mouth. My vision swam.
The growl was right behind me now.
Heavy steps.
Breath hot and rancid.
I rolled onto my back just as the lycan towered over me.
It was enormous up close. Bigger than it had seemed in the clearing. Its ribs jutted through torn flesh. One ear was half missing. Rot clung to it like a second skin.
It leaned down.
Drool spilled from its mouth, thick and foul, splattering across my cheek and neck. The smell made my stomach twist violently.
I couldn’t move.
My ankle screamed in protest when I tried to scramble backward.
Its jaws opened wider.
Time slowed.
I saw every detail—the cracks in its teeth, the string of saliva stretching between its upper and lower jaw, the dull hunger in its dead eyes.
This was it.
The moment before teeth met flesh.
A blur of steel flashed from the side.
The sword drove straight through the lycan’s skull.
The force of it snapped the creature’s head sideways. A sick, splitting sound echoed through the trees.
Blood exploded outward.
Hot.
Thick.
It drenched me.
Covered my face, my hair, my chest. It poured over me in a wave of dark red, metallic and suffocating.
The lycan twitched once.
Twice.
Then collapsed.
I screamed.
The sound tore from me without restraint, raw and high and shaking. I shoved at the corpse, panic flooding my veins as blood slid into my eyes.
Hands grabbed my shoulders.
“Chryse!”
Damon’s voice.
Alive.
Breathing hard.
The sword was still lodged in the creature’s skull. He yanked it free with effort, stepping back as more blood pooled into the dirt.
My heart wouldn’t slow down.
I couldn’t breathe.
Aemond knelt beside me, wiping blood from my face with the edge of his sleeve. “It’s over,” he said firmly.
But it didn’t feel like it was over.
It felt like something had just begun.
Melissa’s voice cut through the chaos.
“We need to move.”
She was standing still, head lifted slightly, listening beyond the immediate clearing.
“Now,” she added. "There's more."
That was all she said.
Damon didn’t argue.
He grabbed my arm again, hauling me upright despite the way my legs trembled. My ankle felt worse—swollen, unstable—but adrenaline kept me upright.
“We’re leaving,” he said.
We moved.
Faster this time.
The forest seemed louder now. Every rustle felt like a pursuit. Every snap of a twig made my pulse spike.
I didn’t know how long we ran.
Minutes.
Maybe more.
My lungs burned. My ankle throbbed with every uneven step. Blood dried stiff against my skin, pulling at my clothes.
No one spoke.
Not until we stopped again.
Farther from the clearing.
Damon finally slowed, scanning the darkness carefully before lowering his sword.
Aemond helped me sit against a fallen log.
My hands were still shaking.
Melissa stood a few paces away, listening to the night.
“We can’t wait for dawn,” she said quietly. “They’ll smell it.”
The blood.
Of course.
The lycan’s.
Mine.
Damon exhaled slowly. “How far?”
“Far enough that even the wind forgets us.” She pointed towards the distance ahead of us. “They cannot cross the river, but we can.”
No one questioned her.
I wiped at my face again, smearing dried red across my skin. The metallic scent clung to me. It felt like it had soaked into my bones.
Damon crouched in front of me briefly. “Can you walk?”
I nodded.
Even if I couldn’t.
We started moving again.
The forest seemed endless.
We didn’t stop.
We couldn’t.
And as the darkness swallowed us whole, one thought repeated in my mind, louder than the rest:
It wasn’t them it wanted.
It was me.
- Writer
