Chapter 19

4E, 196

The voices, thick with malice, filled the room, echoing in my ears and drowning out all else. “Come on!” one growled, his breath searing against my skin. “Make her face me, yeah, just like that.”

His words barely registered, lost in the haze of pain and numbness that had claimed me long ago.

“Do you enjoy that, you little Thalmor slut?” another sneered, each syllable dripping with contempt. His voice twisted into a cruel mockery, a venomous joke, as his hand gripped my chin, forcing my eyes open. My gaze met the distorted, stained faces of the men towering above me—Imperials, perhaps, with sharp features like brothers. Their faces blurred together in a sickening montage of cruelty.

“She feels so good,” another groaned, his voice low and guttural, reverberating through my core. Their words were nothing more than noise in the endless abyss they had thrown me into.

A thick length filled me again and again, the rhythm hammering against my body. But the numbness had settled in long before, dulling every sensation, turning the pain into an unending, agonizing void.

“Look at me,” the man gripping my chin demanded, his voice cold and commanding. I had no choice but to obey, to meet those empty, soulless eyes. “Please,” I whimpered, my voice barely a breath, the last shred of strength I had left.

“Just like that,” the one on his right chuckled darkly, “Make her beg.”

Tears burned at the corners of my eyes, but I forced them back, choking them down as I had done for hours now. I couldn’t let them see me break, not completely.

“Don’t tire her out, boys,” the silent one finally spoke, buckling up his pants, his voice dripping with casual cruelty. “Helvo and the others will want a taste at the party tonight.”

A sudden, sickening pull as one of them withdrew left a warm, disgusting stream trailing down my leg. It was a mockery of relief, another in a series that seemed endless.

“I don’t get why we can’t just keep her to ourselves,” the one who had been lounging nearby leaned over, his hand brushing strands of hair from my sweat-streaked face. His touch was deceptively gentle, almost tender. “I could fuck her for all eternity.”

“She won’t live long,” the other replied, a cruel grin stretching across his face. “You know what they do to Thalmor like her around here.”

“We,” the man on the left growled, grabbing my aching, bruised behind with a grip that sent fresh waves of agony through me, “just want to have all the fun with her before handing her over.” He pulled me against him, his mouth descending on mine in a savage, suffocating kiss. His tongue invaded my mouth, and I gagged, choking on the taste of him.

“I said enough, Samuel!” the leader snapped, his tone laced with finality.

The lips that had trapped mine finally released their cruel hold, but his gaze remained, locking onto mine with a possessiveness that sent a shiver of revulsion through me. “She deserves kisses, doesn’t she?” he murmured, the words dripping with a twisted kind of affection.

Before I could respond, his mouth was on mine again—another long, wet kiss that left me feeling more disgusted than the acts that had preceded it. When he finally pulled away, his eyes gleamed with a sick satisfaction.

“I was her first, after all.”

As if that gave him some claim over me, some right to this madness.

I stared into his eyes—the man who had inflicted the most pain. His greenish-blue gaze was unfeeling. Each time he forced himself into me, the pain had been beyond anything I could have imagined, yet it was the cold, detached cruelty in his eyes that truly shattered me. It was as if he took pleasure not in my suffering, but in my slow, inevitable destruction.

A moment passed, and his gaze darkened, a cruel flicker of satisfaction as he finally pushed me away, rising from the floor as if discarding something worthless.

Three men loomed over me, their faces a twisted, nightmarish reflection of one another—three versions of the same monster, each leaving their own distinct brand of torment seared into my soul. They took their pleasure in different ways, carving out pieces of me until there was nothing left but a hollow shell.

My torn clothes were thrown at me, a pathetic heap on the floor, like scraps tossed to an animal. A final, degrading insult before they turned their backs on me. The door slammed shut with a resounding thud, the sound echoing through the silence like the toll of a death knell.

In that moment, I knew I was dying—not just in body, but in spirit, in every way that mattered.

The person I had been was gone, torn apart by their hands, replaced by a void as empty and cold as their eyes. I felt it in the hollow ache in my chest, in the numbness that spread through me like a poison, seeping into every part of who I was.

The silence that followed was suffocating, a void that swallowed everything. I lay there, broken and discarded, staring up at the dark ceiling, and all I could think was that this was it. This was how I would die—alone, in darkness, with nothing but the echoes of their laughter and the remnants of my shattered soul.

I survived the trial, didn’t I?

Even as the agony tore through me, as the cold, detached cruelty of these men threatened to break what little remained of my spirit, I clung to that truth. That trial had taken everything—Elamoril, my love, my friend. It had shattered me, leaving me a hollow shell, yet I I had endured that nightmare, and somehow, I would endure this one too.

I have to.

When I finally stirred back to consciousness, a numbness had settled over my lower back and legs, rendering them almost useless. Gritting my teeth, I placed my elbows on the filthy floor and tried to pull myself up. But the effort sent a sharp, stabbing pain through my body, forcing me to collapse back down.

The floor beneath me was a slick, nauseating mix of blood, the vile remnants of those three men, and filth. It clung to my skin, a constant reminder of the horror that had just transpired. I was in an attic somewhere, its walls steeped in darkness so thick that even with my eyes straining to adjust, I could barely make out any shapes. No windows, no cracks, no light—nothing to guide my escape.

How could I escape?

My eyes darted around the room, desperate to find an exit, but my legs were dead weight, and every movement sent unbearable pain coursing through me. I could try to walk, but the fear of collapsing, of my legs buckling under me, paralyzed me with dread.

But I had no choice. I had to reach deep inside, grasping for the smallest thread of restoration magic I had left. My hands trembled as I placed them over my legs, willing the numbness to fade, begging for just enough strength to stand. The pain was excruciating, sharp and relentless, and I was never good at healing. I bit down hard on my lip, trying to stifle the cries of pain, but small groans escaped through my clenched jaw. Each attempt felt like I was tearing myself apart from the inside.

Using the wall for support, I forced myself to my feet, every inch a battle against my broken body. My legs quivered beneath me, barely holding my weight, but I couldn’t let myself collapse. Not now.

I searched the crates and barrels scattered around the attic, hoping for something, anything that could aid my escape. But all I found were rotten food and scurrying mice, reminders of the filth and decay surrounding me. My heart sank further with each futile attempt. I was running out of options, running out of hope.

Leaning heavily against the wall near the door, my eyes locked onto the rusty lock. It looked like it could be picked, but I had nothing—no tools, not even a hairpin. The realization struck me like a hammer to the chest, crushing the last remnants of hope I had clung to.

I was really trapped.

The weight of it all crashed down on me, a suffocating wave of despair. My breath hitched, the hopelessness sinking into my bones, making the darkness around me feel even more oppressive. I had survived so much, endured horrors that should have broken me, yet here I was, caged like an animal with no way out.

When I first encountered them, there had only been one. It was laughable, really—me, defeated by a mere man. I, who had faced trials that would break lesser beings, brought low by a single enemy. But I had reached for the magic within me, the power that had once flowed so freely through my veins, ready to unleash it in one final, destructive move. And it had betrayed me. The connection slipped from my grasp like a ghost, leaving me scarred and bleeding, too weak to fight, without even a weapon to defend myself.

I remembered his eyes—how they darkened with a sinister gleam the moment he realized I was vulnerable—a Thalmor, alone and helpless. There had been no mercy in that gaze, only the cold, calculated hunger of a predator sensing easy prey. The realization of my weakness had brought him to life, igniting a twisted pleasure in my suffering.

Sitting here, waiting, was torture. Every second felt like a blade slicing into my skin, a slow, agonizing reminder that death was creeping closer. I was terrified, but I’d been terrified before—too many times to count. The day I was taken from my family, my first night at Clamcora, when I saw the Forsworn on the bridge with his bow… But through all of it, he was with me.

He was always with me.

Tears welled up in my eyes, not from fear, but from a deep, overwhelming sadness. My fear had turned into mourning so quickly that it took me by surprise. Here, in the darkness where no one could see or hear, I let the tears fall. No one would know.

The sorrow, so heavy and consuming, was like a cloak around my heart. The loneliness was unbearable, more painful than the wounds inflicted on my body. It was the absence of his presence, the emptiness where once there had been comfort and strength, that tore at me the most. Without him, the world felt colder, the darkness deeper, and the pain more intolerable.

I am lost without him.

So, I let the tears fall, each one carrying a piece of my soul with it. Because in that moment, I realized that this was the real trial—facing the darkness alone, without the one who had always been there to guide me through.

I wished he was here. Maybe then, everything would be okay again. His presence had always brought a sense of safety, a shield against the darkness. But now, with only shadows and silence as my companions, I felt that safety slipping away, replaced by a gnawing fear that threatened to consume me.

After what felt like hours of waiting and quietly crying in the shadows, I finally mustered the strength to check my body, marred with bruises and the lingering traces of all that had happened. The sight was a cruel reminder, but it also ignited a flicker of something deeper—anger, determination, a burning need to reclaim what had been taken from me.

I waited, letting the stillness work in my favor as I began to regenerate my magicka, drawing it back slowly, carefully, from the depths where it had retreated. With every ounce of strength I regained, I planned my next move—carefully, methodically, lethally.

Just like he taught me.

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“Ah, you look ready for the party.” Samuel’s voice was light as he approached, his steps deliberate, each one bringing him closer. A radiant smile lit up his face, but as I mirrored it with a smile of my own, his expression faltered, the brightness in his eyes dimming like a flame snuffed out by the wind.

He gazed down at me, his eyes filled with uncertainty. I did not let him see the emptiness that lay beneath my facade. "Samuel," I said softly, my voice gentle but laced with a profound weariness, "I want to be with you again, first, before—" I struggled to steady my voice, "before all that.”

His eyes searched mine for something real, anything beyond the surface. I knew he would only find what I had revealed, sincerity, longing, even love, crafted to manipulate the moment to my advantage.

The corner of his lip curled up in a smirk as he began unbuckling his pants, his movements slow, deliberate. My eyes quickly shifted to the dagger strapped to his belt, hidden beneath his clothes. It was my only chance, my only hope to turn the tide. The grim reality of my situation pressed heavily on me, but I steeled myself, preparing for the moment I would act.

“Onto the table.” he commanded, his voice cold and authoritative. I complied, driven by a mix of fear and determination as he approached, his pants discarded along with the dagger. The weapon lay there, a symbol of my only hope, though it seemed distant in my desperation.

With a swift motion, he pulled my trousers down, his knee forcing my legs apart. His grip on my thighs was cold and unyielding. I felt a searing pain as he forced himself inside my brokenness, the rhythm of his movements harsh and relentless.

His arm slid beneath me, gripping my waist, while his other hand braced against the table. His lips met mine in a forceful, demanding kiss, a cruel reminder of his control.

“You loved it, didn’t you?” His gaze was locked onto mine, demanding a response as the table trembled beneath me. “Tell me.”

I knew what I had to do. Among the three, he was the most possessive, as if asserting his dominance over me meant something. I had watched and listened, and I knew that I had to survive.

“I only love what you do to me.” I whispered, my voice carrying a seductive edge that would appease his desires, a silent surrender amidst the chaos.

His grip tightened painfully as he lifted me up, and I wrapped my trembling legs around his waist. He carried me a few steps, the weight of my predicament pressing down on me.

My lips locked onto his, and my eyes darted to his discarded pants on the floor. My heart pounded with every step he took forward. He laid me down on the floor, his lips still pressed against mine as he continued his relentless rhythm. I could sense his satisfaction, his pleasure in knowing that he had my silent acquiescence—something the others had not received. It made him feel special, his sense of dominance bolstered by the illusion of my submission. My gaze flickered to the side, where the dagger lay just a few steps away.

I placed my hand on his chest, and he paused, his gaze lifting to meet mine for the first time. There was a flicker of confusion in his eyes, quickly replaced by surprise as he looked at me. For the first time since he had forced himself upon me, he hesitated—halting when I wanted him to.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

I offered a playful smirk, using the briefest of opportunities to push him off and roll on top of him. His eyes lit up with amusement at the sudden shift in control, clearly enjoying the reversal of roles.

“Samuel,” I whispered softly, my voice a gentle caress against his ear. Despite my calm tone, my eyes burned with determination. I lowered myself closer to him, my breath brushing against his neck, and my hand reached out carefully to the side. My fingers found the edge of his trousers, and I tugged them just enough to access the weapon I needed.

“You were my first.” I whispered, my lips trailing up to meet his, a dark sense of irony twisting in my heart.

It was a cruel joke, just like the one he had played on me.

He moaned under my lips, his breath hot and ragged as he gripped my lower back, reveling in the intensity of the moment. “Yeah,” he gasped, clearly enjoying every second.

“And I, will be your last.”

The blade bit into his flesh, and a splatter of blood marked my face. I wiped it away with the back of my hand, then gripped the dagger firmly and pulled it out. Samuel’s eyes met mine, their vibrant blue and green dimming as life drained from them.

“Gahh!”

He gasped, another spurt of blood escaping his lips as I drove the dagger in once more. Tears traced down my cheeks, a silent testament to my inner turmoil.

Stop crying.

The third thrust, and the others that followed, did nothing to stir him from his lifeless state. The blood splashed across my face, each drop igniting a primal, dangerous urge within me. I could feel the frenzy threatening to consume me, but I knew I couldn’t give in, not now.

With urgency, I pushed myself away from Samuel’s lifeless body, quickly dressing and securing his dagger beneath my sleeve. My legs trembled with the aftermath of the ordeal, but I forced myself to move forward.

I approached the door, easing it open just enough to peer into the hall. The sound of laughter and chatter from the men beyond filled the space. I took measured steps toward the light, my breath steady but growing colder with each step.

A door to the hall suddenly flew open, and a jolt of panic surged through me. My heart raced as I realized there was no escape. Desperation clawed at me, and my gaze shot back to the room where Samuel’s lifeless body lay, but I couldn’t go back.

I shrank into the shadows, drawing my shoulders in, as a man emerged from the hallway and turned away. He was oblivious to my presence. With a silent, frantic resolve, I closed the distance and launched myself onto his back. My legs encircled his torso, and my arm tightened around his neck. His strangled grunt filled the air as I stabbed into his neck with brutal efficiency. Each thrust was a release of my rage. His body fell limp, crashing to the floor with a heavy thud.

The sudden voice from the hall pierced through my frenzied state, “What was that? Samuel?”

Fear gripped me as I scrambled to my feet, dragging the man’s lifeless form into the bathroom. My heart pounded violently against my ribs as I hefted his weight, my body trembling with the effort.

The footsteps in the hallway grew louder, closer. I pressed myself against the doorway, clutching the dagger tightly. The tremors that wracked my body were not just from fear but from the relentless, searing pain that seemed to pulse through every nerve. The agony was a constant, torturous reminder of the brutality I had endured. I dared not imagine how many bones were shattered beneath my skin.

“Samuel?” the voice called, filled with rising panic. There was a grunt, a gasp, and then, “He’s dead!” The footsteps quickened, and my pulse raced with mounting dread.

“Find that whore!”

A voice echoed in the distance, and my heart almost stopped when I spotted the bathroom window. With trembling hands, I climbed through the narrow opening, my body scraping painfully against the edges. I tumbled onto the snow outside, the cold numbing my bruised flesh as I crumpled into the snowbank.

“Look everywhere, find her!” the command cut through the night air, a chilling reminder of the hunt that had begun.

Panic surged as I staggered to my feet, each movement sending sharp jolts of agony through my battered body. I had no idea where I was, but my eyes locked onto the pine forest ahead. It was my only chance. The path through the trees was a grim reminder of the escape route I’d once taken—one I had to use again now. I couldn’t go back.

A sharp whistle pierced the air as a crossbow bolt whizzed past, grazing the snow beside me. My head snapped around, catching sight of at least five figures sprinting toward me. My heart raced, the unbearable pain in my legs pushing me to move faster. I barreled downhill, ducking my head to avoid another deadly bolt.

The icy wind cut through me, mingling with the excruciating pain. Despair clawed at my resolve, but I forced my legs to carry me forward. Every step was a struggle, every breath a battle against the agony. The forest loomed closer, its dark embrace offering a fleeting hope of escape.

My gaze lingered over the horizon, the vast, frozen tundra of Skyrim stretching endlessly before me, a desolate promise of freedom just beyond my reach.

Suddenly, the thunder of hooves shattered the silence, the noise closing in as six men on horseback encircled me, their steeds kicking up the snow in a whirlwind of power. I was their prey—weak, cornered, and helpless.

“Get her back here!” a voice barked, harsh and unyielding.

“She murdered our brother!” another shouted, his words dripping with venom as he drew his sword, the cold steel catching the faint light of the fading day.

“Easy, Elias!” one of the men tried to calm him, but Elias was beyond reason. His eyes, wild with rage, locked onto me as I stumbled backward, my legs giving out beneath me, sending me crashing into the snow. From my position on the ground, I looked up, the men towering over me from their horses, their expressions twisted with a mix of fury and disgust.

Elias advanced, his footsteps crunching through the snow as he closed the distance between us. His gaze burned with unwavering fury, the promise of violence etched into every tense line of his body. My breath caught in my throat, fear choking me as I prepared for the worst.

But before he could reach me, the third brother, the silent one grabbed Elias by the mantle, yanking him back with a force that made Elias stumble.

“I said stop!” his voice was low but commanding, brokering no argument.

“Why, Levi? She killed him!” Elias growled, his voice raw with pain and anger, but Levi remained calm, his eyes scanning me with a cold calculation before turning back to his brother.

“Legion will pay for her.” Levi whispered, his words meant only for Elias, but I heard them clear as day, the implication heavy in the air.

“Damn the gold! Samuel is dead!” Elias spat, his grief morphing into blind rage, his hand tightening around the hilt of his sword.

A sharp crack echoed through the clearing as Levi slapped his brother across the face, the sound cutting through the cold like a whip. Elias reeled back, stunned into silence, his eyes wide with shock as he stared at Levi, the raw sting of the slap stifling his protest.

“Enough!” Levi’s voice was firm, final. The fury in Elias’s eyes dimmed, replaced by a simmering resentment, but he said nothing more.

I have to run away.

I hadn’t prayed to Y’ffre in nine long years. My faith, once a flickering flame, had been extinguished by the Thalmor and their twisted teachings. But now, as I lay in the snow, battered and bruised, with death circling around me like a pack of wolves, I felt the old words rise from somewhere deep inside me, unbidden but powerful.

Please, Mother, help me. Give me strength.

The cold bit into my skin, numbing the pain that radiated from every inch of my body. My fingers dug into the snow, desperate for something, anything, to anchor me. I could hear them closing in, their footsteps crunching over the frozen ground, their breaths heavy with anticipation. I wanted to run, to scream, to fight—but my body refused to obey. I was trapped, surrounded, helpless.

“Take her!” one of them barked, and I heard the sound of a man dismounting, his boots crunching through the snow as he approached me.

My heart raced, every beat like a drum in my ears. The fear was overwhelming, a suffocating blanket that threatened to smother what little resolve I had left. I squeezed my eyes shut, praying with every ounce of strength I had left.

Please, Y’ffre… Mother…

Hunger. The hunger was overwhelming, gnawing at the edges of my sanity, a primal, insatiable need that consumed me from within. My hands trembled as they gripped the snow beneath me, the cold barely registering against the fiery desperation coursing through my veins. I felt as though my very essence was unraveling, each breath stoking the fire in my belly, sharpening my senses until the world around me seemed to blur and fade.

But then, a voice—a woman’s voice, soft and soothing—whispered in the depths of my mind, a voice that warmed my heart like the sun after a long winter.

“Will you pay the price?”

Her words echoed in my mind, cutting through the fear like a knife. The hunger that had consumed me began to fade, replaced by something else—something deeper, something I hadn’t felt in years.

Love.

Not the cold, distant love of my mother, but a fierce, protective love that wrapped around me like a warm blanket.

“Price of the Wild Hunt?”

The words echoed in my mind, a whisper from the abyss that threatened to consume me entirely. I trembled as one of the men grasped my shoulder, yanking me to my feet with a roughness that jarred me from the haze of my thoughts.

“Get her, right now!” His voice was sharp, but distant, drowned out by the pounding in my head. As his grip tightened, I was once more yanked into an insatiable hunger that clashed with the embrace around me—a love that wasn’t truly there. For a fleeting moment, I wished for death, to follow Elamoril wherever he had gone, to escape the unbearable weight of survival.

I already paid the price.

“Come here, you—” His words cut off as pain seared through my body, a pain unlike anything I had ever felt before. It twisted and tore at my bones, an agony that no man could have inflicted. I felt as though I was being remade, each movement becoming lighter, faster, stronger.

“Shor’s bones…”

“Ulkar! Gods! He’s dead!”

“What are those?”

I sprang up from the snow and Ulkar’s lifeless body slumped to the ground, his throat slit open, blood gushing out. But my dagger was still on the floor. My hands—no, not hands—were now thinner, longer, and tipped with razor-sharp claws.

I didn’t need a blade. The hunger was all I needed.

So hungry.

The next man fell before me, my claws sinking into his flesh with ease, his blood warm and sweet against my tongue. Two pairs of hands grabbed at me, trying to pull me away, but I was beyond their reach. My teeth found his neck, and I bit down with a primal fury, tearing through flesh, muscle, and bone with terrifying ease.

This was no ordinary hunger—it was a hunger for the world itself, for everything in it. And I would devour it all.

“Kill that monster!” Elias’s voice shattered the night, raw and desperate as he scrambled toward one of the panicked horses.

Not so fast.

I advanced with a predator’s grace, the two men holding me down clutching at my frenzied form. I met the gaze of one, black creeping into the corners of his pale blue irises. Fear. I snarled and twisted, my claws raking across his torso, drawing a guttural cry from him.

So hungry.

I broke free from their faltering grip, driven by a force beyond my own, and closed in on Elias. His earlier bravado had dissolved into sheer terror, his gaze darting away as he tried to flee.

“Look… at… me.” My voice was a rasp, laden with the primal hunger that had replaced my words. Each syllable was a snarl, a challenge.

Elias stumbled back, his face contorted with fear, his attempts to escape growing frantic. The hunter was now prey, and his fear was palpable, a stark contrast to his previous arrogance.

A crossbow bolt thudded into my shoulder, but it was inconsequential. The searing pain was a mere distraction, barely registering as I pressed forward. My eyes were locked on Elias, who had backed against a tree, his hands raised in a feeble attempt to shield himself.

“I said,” I snarled, my fingers forming a lethal point as I drove them into his torso, below his ribcage. The impact was visceral, a sickening crunch resonating through the night. “Look at me.”

His eyes met mine, a mixture of horror and desperation. I drove my claws into his torso, feeling the resistance of flesh and bone yielding beneath my grip. The sound of cracking ribs and tearing organs filled the night, mingling with Elias’s gasps and groans. His body writhed, a grotesque dance of agony, but he was forced to look into my eyes as his life slipped away.

The hunger within me roared, an insatiable beast that drove me to consume the very essence of my tormentor. The crossbow bolts that continued to fly past me were mere distractions; nothing could deter me from my purpose.

I looked into the now moss-colored, lifeless eyes of Elias, feeling the warm, sticky remnants of his insides dripping from my claws. His body slumped softly to the ground, leaving a trail of blood smeared across the snow and staining the bark of the surrounding trees.

Turning my gaze to the remaining men, I moved with the precision of a predator, my steps silent and swift. I could taste the coppery essence of Elias as I chewed on his remains, the hunger that had driven me to this moment now transforming into a fierce, consuming power.

The men around me began to scatter as panic took hold. “Behind us!” one of them shouted, his voice breaking the chaotic rhythm of the fight. The horses neighed in terror, adding to the frenzy.

With a speed that matched the striking of an owl, I lunged forward. My claws sliced through the throat of one man effortlessly, and I stepped back, my movements fluid and predatory. I grabbed the next victim by the throat, my enhanced strength making the task of ending his life as easy as a flick of my wrist.

The remaining men were visibly shaken, their confidence eroding as they beheld the bloody aftermath of their comrades. Levi’s face paled as he watched the carnage unfold, his voice cracking with anguish.

“Elias! No!”

The sight of their fallen allies drove me further, my hunger transforming into a relentless drive. I leaped at the two men on my right, their surprise making them easy targets. One man grabbed at what appeared to be antlers on my forehead, an odd, distracting gesture. But I shook him off with the grace of a deer, my claws finding their mark as I tore into him with brutal efficiency.

The screams and shouts around me became a blur, drowned out by the pounding of my own heartbeat and the rhythmic thumping of others’ rapidly fading pulses. The thrill of the hunt, the strength surging through me with each death, was intoxicating.

“Come here, demon!” One of the remaining men roared, his blade swinging wildly. I evaded his attacks with the agility of a fox, sidestepping and dodging with ease. Each movement was precise, calculated.

The man’s desperation grew as I danced around him, picking off his companions one by one. The only sounds were the gasps of the dying and the relentless beat of my own pulse.

As one man tried to flee, mounting his horse in a panic, I grabbed the reins, pulling him off the steed with a brutal yank. The horse, now wild with fear, reared and bucked, but I ignored it.

Levi was still at my heels, his blade swinging in increasingly desperate arcs. I dodged his every strike, my focus on the growing weariness in his eyes. Each movement, each dodge, was calculated to wear him down, to make him vulnerable to my relentless assault.

As Levi raised his arm to bring down his blade with all his might, I stood before him, my silence deadly, like a serpent lying in wait. His eyes, once full of fury, now brimmed with terror as he realized the futility of his strength against what I had become.

He straightened his posture, trying to regain some semblance of control. But as his sword descended, I moved with the swiftness of a feline, twisting around his strike. In an instant, my hand closed around his throat, lifting him effortlessly off the ground. The other men froze, their breaths caught in their throats as they watched in stunned silence.

But my focus was solely on Levi. The once silent, composed warrior now dangled helplessly in my grip, his eyes wide with fear, tears spilling down his cheeks.

The silent one. He was no longer a threat, but I had no intention of letting him go.

With a cruel precision, I forced his mouth open, my fingers prying it wide. His muffled grunts of pain echoed in the still air as I reached inside, grabbing hold of his tongue. My other hand tightened around his neck, and with a ferocity that matched a bear’s strength, I yanked. The sickening sound of tearing flesh filled the air as I ripped his tongue—and everything else attached to it—from his throat.

“Run! Now!” One of the remaining men shouted, his voice trembling with terror. The desperation in his words spurred the others into motion, but they were too slow. The stench of fear clung to them, intoxicating and overwhelming.

But the hunger was gone. My stomach churned, revolting against the remnants of flesh and blood I had consumed. The satisfaction of power was overshadowed by a sickening nausea that threatened to consume me.

I don’t want to eat anymore.

But then, a voice, soft and insistent, echoed in the recesses of my mind. Mother’s voice.

“Eat, child.”

I approached the remaining men as they desperately tried to flee, their fear a palpable force in the air. But this time, it wasn’t hunger that drove me—it was something deeper, a power that called out from within me. My magic surged, primal and potent, demanding release.

Dropping to my knees, I pressed my hands into the snow, the cold biting into my skin. My eyes closed as I reached out, feeling the frozen veins of the earth beneath me, sensing its icy pulse. The snow responded, its heartbeat quickening as my magic intertwined with it, awakening something ancient and unstoppable.

A horse’s anguished cry shattered the night, pulling me from the depths of my power. My eyes snapped open, and what I saw stole the breath from my lungs.

Spikes of ice, tall and merciless, had erupted from the ground, piercing through horse and man alike. The crystalline structures stood tall, gleaming in the faint light, reaching up toward the dark sky like frozen fingers of death. Blood stained the snow around them, the life force of my enemies frozen in place, a gruesome testament to the power that had surged through me.

And then, there was silence.

A silence so profound that it seemed to swallow the world, signaling the end of everything. The end of the hunt. The end of the fight.

The end of me.

A sharp coldness pressed against my side, and only then did I realize I had fallen, my body too drained to move. The world tilted as I lay on the frozen ground, my gaze fixed on the sky above. The stars, countless and eternal, shimmered down at me, their light cold and distant.

But to me, they were warm, beckoning.

I am ready.

Ready to join him, to follow Elamoril into whatever came next. The thought filled me with a peace I had not known in years. The pain, the hunger, the fear—all of it faded as my heart began to slow, its beat growing softer and softer until it was nothing more than a whisper.

I closed my eyes, surrendering to the darkness that crept in at the edges of my vision.

This was the end.

“Well, well, look at what we have here, Nazir!”

To be continued…