Got it! I'll revise the chapter to match your specifications:
Start immediately with Sabre being chased.
Sabre is powerless, weak, and cannot fight back.
This is the first time this situation has happened.
He escapes the forest, no geothermal vein involvement.
Keep the cinematic, immersive tone with tension, vivid action, and atmosphere.
Here's the rewritten chapter:
Chapter: Flight Through the Frosted Shadows
The forest was alive with menace. Every snapped twig, every rustle of leaves underfoot, marked him, branded him as prey. Sabre ran, lungs burning, legs trembling with exhaustion, yet the weight of his fear pressed him onward. Behind him, the princess moved like a storm incarnate, her white hair whipping through the cold air, her knights in relentless pursuit. Snow swirled around her like a cloak of living frost, every flake an icy blade. And now, it rained on him.
He was weak—so very weak. His hands shook, his vision blurred with cold sweat and panic. This was the first time he had faced her wrath up close, the first time the forest had turned into a cage that threatened to devour him alive. He had no fire, no weapon, no chance to fight. All he could do was run, dodging roots, vaulting fallen trunks, and hoping, praying, that somehow, someway, he could outrun what seemed unstoppable.
"Stop!" The princess's voice cut through the forest like a whip. It was commanding, chilling, carrying the weight of authority and danger. Her eyes glowed with frost; the snow around her responded as if alive, twisting into jagged spikes and whirling currents that threatened to slice through any obstacle in their path. Her knights fanned out, a living wall of steel and discipline, closing the distance with relentless precision.
Sabre stumbled into a tangle of brambles, scraping his arms, feeling the sting of cuts as red bloomed on pale skin. Panic clawed at him. He had never run like this before, never fled without a single plan, without hope. Yet, some part of him—a raw, primal instinct—refused to let the forest claim him.
And then it happened.
From the heart of the trees, a roar shattered the tension. The ground trembled beneath his feet, and a monstrous form emerged, a nightmare given flesh. Fire danced along its obsidian skin, molten veins pulsing with fury. Its eyes burned like twin furnaces, scanning the frozen battlefield, and when it roared again, the heat was a tangible thing that seared the very air.
The princess faltered. Her snow magic surged violently, a defensive shield forming as icicles erupted around her and her knights, but the beast was immense, unstoppable, and it attacked with the force of a hurricane. One swing of its molten arm sent knights tumbling like rag dolls, snow melting into hissing steam. The ground shook, the trees quivered, and sparks leapt like fireflies into the frosted canopy.
Sabre froze for a heartbeat, the chase momentarily paused in his mind as he watched chaos unfold. He didn't understand the creature, didn't know if it was a natural force or something born of magic, but he saw its power, and instinctively, he knew this was his chance. Not to fight, not to confront—but to escape.
He darted left, twisting through a corridor of trunks and undergrowth, heart hammering against ribs. Behind him, the roar of the flame monster and the shouts of the princess collided, a cacophony that left him dizzy with fear. Every step carried him closer to the forest's edge, closer to freedom, but the terrain betrayed him. Mud and roots clutched at his boots, branches lashed at his face, and the cold bit into his muscles. He was weak, trembling under the weight of exhaustion and panic, yet he ran, because there was no other choice.
The princess and her knights engaged the creature fully now. Ice met fire in violent spirals; the forest erupted into smoke and snow. One of her knights fell to the ground, trapped beneath a burning branch, and another narrowly dodged the molten claws of the beast. The princess's hair whipped wildly as she hurled shards of ice, her eyes flashing like cold steel, yet even she struggled to contain the inferno. It was a battle that reshaped the forest, a storm of chaos and elemental fury.
And through it all, Sabre ran.
Branches tore at his clothes, scratches marking his arms and legs, but he ignored the pain. He could hear the princess's voice again, sharp and commanding: "He cannot escape! Do not let him leave this forest alive!" But the beast distracted her now, and that was enough. That moment—just a sliver of chaos—was the one thing Sabre needed.
He stumbled through a thick thicket, cutting his hands on the sharp edges of frost-coated branches. Snow crunched beneath his boots, brittle and uneven, making every step a gamble. Behind him, the noise of pursuit was fading, the clash of fire and ice pulling the princess's attention away. His chest heaved, lungs burning, heart hammering as if trying to escape his ribcage. And then, at last, he saw it, the normal surroundings of the world no trees.
Summoning every ounce of his dwindling strength, Sabre sprinted. The undergrowth tore at him, roots and vines trying to claim him, but he did not stop. His vision blurred with sweat and tears, his body screaming for reprieve, but he ignored it all. One step after another, one desperate motion after another, until the trees finally parted.
The open land lay before him, quiet, empty, and mercifully free of the snow magic that still clung to the forest like a frozen specter. He didn't stop running until the treeline was far behind, until he could hear nothing but the wind and his own ragged breaths. Only then did he collapse, chest heaving, body trembling from exhaustion, limbs shaking with relief and terror combined.
He had survived. He had escaped.
The flame monster had been something entirely unexpected. He had been powerless, weak, and cornered—but somehow, fate had allowed him to slip through. For the first time, he had faced true danger, and survived not through strength, but through the chaotic mercy of circumstance.
Night stretched around him, still and indifferent, a cold wind brushing his sweat-soaked hair. He sat in silence, feeling every ache, every sting, every tremor of fear that lingered in his body. The forest behind him was alive with battle, the sounds faint now, distant echoes of chaos. He had no plan, no magic, no allies. All he had was the knowledge that he had survived.
And that was enough—for now.
Sabre rose slowly, testing his legs, feeling the trembling give way to cautious strength. He would move at first light, follow the shadows, slip through valleys and roads no one else dared. The forest had not claimed him. The princess had not caught him. And though he was weak, though he was frightened, a tiny ember of determination flared within him.
The world outside the forest awaited, and Sabre knew one truth with unshakable clarity: he would survive, he would endure, and he would return stronger. But for now, he was simply alive—and that, in itself, was victory.