Elira POV + Kael POV
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The camp sleeps like a beast temporarily fed.
Wolves — men wrapped in their furs — breathe slow and heavy. The moon glints on steel helms arranged around the sleeping warlord's tent.
Elira's heart pounds loud enough to wake gods.
She moves.
Every sound becomes a threat: the rustle of her ragged cloak, the faint clink of the chain on her wrists, her own breath trying not to escape her throat.
She steps over a sleeping soldier.
A blade rests beside his hand.
She wants to take it— but the scrape of metal would mean death.
So she leaves it.
---
Toward the Trees
The world narrows to the dark treeline.
If she can reach the forest… if she can hide until daylight…
Maybe she'll find someone—anyone—not bound in shadows and blood.
Her bare feet hit grass.
She runs.
Branches whip at her skin—sharp, but not enough to slow her. Tears sting her eyes, though whether from fear or relief she doesn't know.
Freedom.
For a heartbeat, she tastes it.
---
Kael POV — The Monster Awakens
The serpent wakes before Kael does.
"She's gone.
She ran.
Ours. Hunt".
Kael's eyes snap open—cold, sharp, golden. His pulse strikes like war drums.
He is on his feet before thought forms.
The shadow uncoils from his back like living smoke, tasting the air.
His soldiers stir at the growl ripping from his chest.
"She's escaped!" a guard shouts, scrambling to rise.
Kael's voice cuts through the chaos:
"No one touches her.
She is mine to retrieve."
He runs into the forest—silent as a blade.
---
Elira crashes through underbrush, lungs burning, panic clawing her throat.
Then she hears it.
Not footsteps.
Breathing.
His.
Deep. Steady. Getting closer.
"No—no—" she gasps, sprinting harder.
A hand snatches her from the dark.
She screams.
But it is only a branch snapping her arm back—she stumbles, collapsing against a tree.
Her chain tangles around roots.
Trapped.
Footsteps approach, deliberate and slow.
Kael emerges from the night like a wolf sculpted from shadow.
His voice is a low growl:
"You truly thought you could outrun me?"
---
She pushes herself up, shaking.
"I won't be your prisoner," she spits.
His jaw flexes.
"And I will not allow you to die," he snarls back. "Is that truly so terrible?"
"Yes," she whispers, voice breaking. "Because I would rather choose death than chains."
Something inside him freezes.
His heartbeat—always steady—falters.
He steps closer, fury laced with something far more dangerous.
"I chained you to protect you," he says. "The Abyss hunts you. The gods watch you. You are a storm in a girl's skin, and you don't even know it."
He reaches for her.
She flinches.
He stops.
The hurt is quick—buried before it reaches his eyes.
"You should have stayed," he says, softer now. "With me, you live."
"And without you?" she demands.
Silence.
Kael bows his head just enough that the truth slips free:
"I don't know."
---
He kneels—yes, kneels—to free her chain from the roots.
Her breath catches.
He grips the chain gently this time, not harsh.
"Next time you run," he says, gaze locked to hers, "I'll catch you faster."
He waits.
The monster waits.
The forest waits.
Slowly… Elira nods.
Not in surrender.
Not in obedience.
But acknowledgement.
She walks beside him as they return to camp.
And Kael realizes the worst truth yet—
He didn't chase her to punish her.
He chased her because the thought of losing her
terrified him more than war.