He darted between tree trunks, breath already ragged, though he'd only just begun to run. Every step splashed mud against his leather boots as storm clouds roiled overhead. Each fistful of rain turned colder, heavier, but he barely felt it; fear's icy grip froze his mind. Not behind him yet, he told himself, as branches tore at his tunic and fingers. He was moving too slowly—every moment wasted was a dagger in his back.
A snap of a twig behind him made him spin, peering into the darkness. Only flickers of moonlight lit the dense undergrowth. He couldn't see who followed him, but he could hear the rasp of footsteps. The sounds were too deliberate to be the wind. Something—someone—was hunting him. His heart thudded in his chest. Donning panic like a cloak, he turned and sprinted deeper into the forest with all the fear-driven speed he had.
"Aelric?" He couldn't remember anyone calling his name. He shoved the thought aside. Now was not the time to think of naming or safety, just to survive. Exertion burned in his lungs as mist coiled around his shoulders like a cloak of shadow, chilling his neck. Ahead, the path forked. Right would lead him toward the river; left deeper into the woods. The shout from behind answered his silent question, closer now. Adrenaline made him think fast. Right—perhaps the river's banks could give some distance, maybe a way to lose a pursuer. He charged right, splashing through icy mud.
Crushed brambles tore at his shins, but he stifled his cry and pressed on. There was a faint glimmer on his leather wrist—the old charm his mother had given him—glowing slightly. Almost comforting, as if assuring him it was still there. But it did nothing to slow his breath or steady his pounding heart.
The forest shifted around him, leaves shuddering as if whispering something. He remembered stories—the old oak grove was said to be haunted by more than ghosts. It crossed his mind that he was fleeing a fate worse than ghosts. His mother had warned him not to wander beyond the orchard at night, that the shadows out here were the stuff of nightmares. Aelric had laughed at that once, sitting on the porch with a mug of cider under the stars. Now, laughter would choke him.
Somewhere behind, a low growl rumbled. He stammered a prayer into the rainfall, hating himself for having no faith left. Not that there was anyone to answer. Not with that voice.
Anger, a feral realization, shot through him as the cry from behind grew closer. They were gaining. The illusion that he could outpace fear vanished in one snarl. He stumbled over a hidden tree root, hand slashing through a thornbush instead of air. Pain flashed across his palm, stinging and thick. As he lurched forward, the thorns caught the hem of his cloak and ripped, leaving it snagged.
He wrenched the hem free, crying out as the sting blossomed along his skin. For a moment he paused, tears of pain and frustration mixing with the rain. The cloak was torn and hanging loose, leaving him half-exposed and even lighter. But now, if he had any chance at escape it was running. So he ran, faster than ever.
Ahead, the trees thinned out and he saw open ground. A meadow lay under the storm-dark sky; tall grass soaked in rainwater swayed around him. In the distance he glimpsed a flicker of silver—perhaps an abandoned lantern or a twisted piece of broken metal gleaming among the stalks. The open expanse made him uneasy. He glanced back; the forest gloom behind him was thick, alive. Somewhere in it, he heard snapping twigs and the footfalls of a determined predator.
Lightning crackled distant, and the first thunder rolled as if the entire sky roared with him. For a moment he thought the clouds had split with his own despair. He wondered, as he skidded through the tall grass up to his waist, if the storms were a sign. Maybe he was damned.
Then the growl behind was abruptly replaced by a human cry. Not his own. Closer and urgent and startled, it pierced the storm's rumble. He whipped around, squinting against flashes of lightning. In a clearing behind him, a monstrous shape broke from the trees. Tall and hunched, it barked an inhuman laugh, eyes glowing like embers. It should have been impossible to laugh in a storm like that, but it did.
Aelric's chest stuttered. He backpedaled into a row of jagged stones that had once been a wall, barely catching himself. His palms tingled where the broken thorns had cut him. Mud spattered his boots as he set them. The creature stepped into the clearing. It was monstrous indeed: long, sinewy limbs covered in dark fur and bark; pointed ears; and rows of curved teeth. Moss and brambles clung to its skin as if it had been born from the forest itself. Lightning flashed, and Aelric saw its eyes: a dull red glow under twisted fur, its mouth stretched in a cruel grin.
It spoke in a voice like broken twigs, hungry and childish all at once: "Treewalker… child of the storm?"
Aelric couldn't move. His throat worked, trying to form words, but none came. The creature's eyes fixed on him. He felt bile rising but choked it down. His stomach growled. He had never even heard of a Treewalker, he realized with horror. And he was pretty sure he had never said he was child of anything.
The beast advanced, splitting the already paltry distance between them at an unnatural speed. Aelric tried to scramble away but tripped over a loose stone in the grass. He fell hard, hand catching against a sharp rock. Pain flared up his spine. It was too late. The monster hovered over him. Mud from its boots splashed onto his face. The monster's grin stretched impossibly wide as it lowered itself to his level.
He remembered the stories his grandfather had told of the Cedarwood. Nobody talked about Treewalkers these days—not in town, not to a boy like him. Maybe he should have listened. The trees around him seemed to lean in closer, as if to hear the outcome.
Every memory of boyhood warmth vanished. All that was left was this horrible creature and his survival. He had nothing to offer—no sword, no magic he could trust. He had been preparing for this moment all his life with nothing but hope and recklessness. Perhaps he should try anyway. He dug his fingers into the dirt, feeling useless. He knelt in the mud.
With a cry, Aelric did something almost as foolish as fighting this beast himself: he blinked at it. Fear pulsated, his mind shut down except for panic. "Stay back!" he squeaked, raising his hands, almost in prayer.
The beast laughed, stopping only at the edge of the clearing. "You're far from home, child," it crooned. "All alone."
He shook his head, desperate. He had nothing to offer, no sword, no magic he could use. He had been practicing for this moment with nothing but hope and recklessness. Perhaps he should try anyway. He dug his fingers into the dirt—feeling useless—and knelt in the mud again.
As thunder grew louder, a sudden flicker passed over the boy. He felt the first spark of something too powerful to name inside him—latent, bound up. Around him, the rain intensified. Cold tears mixed with the downpour on his cheeks as an odd calm overtook his terror for a second. The charm on his wrist flared, glowing bright against his skin. It pulsed as if matching the thunderous heartbeat in his chest.
The beast snarled, "You can't hide from the storm within!" and lunged a jagged claw through the air.
Aelric cried out and clasped the charm. A single pulse shot up his arm, as if answering its ancient legacy. For an instant, the entire clearing lit up with silver fire—a blinding halo around the boy. The trees flinched, the rain faltered, and the beast halted, eyes wide with shock.
When the light faded, Aelric found himself standing outside the circle of carved stones, where reality seemed thin and shimmering. He didn't know how, but somehow he was there, behind the creature. His consciousness spun, and he felt a crackling like lightning run through him—power coursed beneath his skin. The air pulsed, and the creature yelped as though burned.
The monster hissed and recoiled, staggering. "Run, boy," it rasped from its own lips. "Run, while you still—"
Before it could finish, a new voice cut through the storm like a blade. "Stop, there!"
Aelric's head snapped around, his senses reeling. There, framed by the tree line, stood a figure taller than any man should be. Cloaked in a heavy dark coat that billowed in the wind, a hood drawn low over his face like some rending void. Lightning glinted off an arm that hung casually at his side, as if he held nothing but authority.
The creature snarled, whipping around again. Aelric saw the stranger raise a hand slightly, and instantly the monster froze—its limbs hung limp, as if on invisible strings. Then a spring of blue-white light shot from the figure's palm into the sky. The storm answered it with a thunderous crack. For a heartbeat, the entire forest fell silent, as if listening.
When the echo of thunder faded, the stranger moved forward. Lightning arced again in his grasp—and it struck the creature square in the shoulder. The Treewalker let out a final cry of agony and unraveled into a puddle of black leaves and whispers, sucked dry by the storm's magic. Aelric could barely comprehend what he'd seen.
For a moment they just stared, the boy and his savior. A small sigh drew from the stranger's lips. "Easy now," he said, voice soft but carrying through the surging wind. He lowered the hand that had commanded lightning. "You're safe now."
Aelric's chest heaved. His limbs felt weak. The stranger glanced around, assessing them both. "My name," the man said quietly, "is Master Nordan."
Master Nordan. The boy repeated it in his head. The name felt both foreign and familiar. He realized he was still trembling under the dark coat. "Nordan…" he managed, voice hoarse. "I—I'm Aelric."
Nordan offered him a hand. "Let's get you up." Aelric took it, pulling himself to his feet. His body protested—bruises on his ribs, scrapes along his arms—but he made it. The storm's wild rain had ebbed to a drizzle; the clouds above slowly parted to let faint moonlight through. Somewhere to the north, the moon's pale beam broke through briefly.
Aelric glanced down at his torn cloak and dirtied legs. He almost smiled through relief. "I've had worse running chores in the village," he lied, rasping a weak laugh.
Nordan gave a low chuckle, the tension easing from his shoulders. "I'm glad you're okay. The way that thing moved… you were lucky." His eyes flickered to where the creature had stood, then back to Aelric. "A Treewalker. Not often they come out so far from the mountains."
Aelric shivered despite the light breeze now. "Why was it after me?" he whispered.
Nordan regarded the spot of the vanished monster in silence. He finally answered softly, "Because, as I said, you're far from home, child."
Aelric's stomach lurched. Everything sounded bigger than he could imagine now. The clearing around them was quiet aside from distant dripping water. For the first time in hours, if not days, he felt something besides fear. He was safe—at least for this moment.
Nordan then said, "We should move before any more trouble finds us. There may be others around." He put a gentle, firm hand on Aelric's shoulder. "This way."
He guided Aelric off into the darkened woods. The forest around them still steamed from rain and storm-magic residue, but the clouds above slowly parted to let faint silver stars peek through. Somewhere in the distance, a warm orange glow appeared—perhaps a campfire or a waystation. Shelter, at least, or a break from this night.
Aelric took a steadying breath. For the first time since the chase began, he allowed himself a sliver of hope.
The storm clouds parted just enough for silver stars to peep through the dark sky, as Aelric followed Master Nordan into the forest's shadows.
Master Nordan's steady presence gave Aelric courage. Whatever danger still lurked in the night, he knew he was not alone.