The Hunt Begins

A low growl rumbled through the trees, deep and guttural, like the sound of something ancient and hungry. Bourne's body tensed, his senses sharpening despite his exhaustion.

He shifted his weight, steadying himself against the splintered frame of the ruined shack. His breath misted in the cold air.

The glowing amber eyes in the darkness didn't blink. It was watching him. Studying him.

Another rustle. To the left. Then another. Behind.

There wasn't just one.

Bourne's fingers clenched into fists, but there was nothing" not Aetherflame, no strength, just the brittle bones of a starving man.

A bitter realization gnawed at him. He wasn't ready for this.

A low snarl cut through the silence, and then" they lunged.

A shadow burst from the underbrush, a sleek form of muscle and fur, fangs bared as it leaped toward him. A dire wolf. Larger than any normal beast, its claws glinted like steel in the dim light.

Bourne moved on instinct.

He twisted, barely dodging as the wolf's claws raked through the air where his throat had been a moment before. Too slow. His body was sluggish and untrained, the reactions of a warrior buried beneath weakness.

He hit the ground hard, the impact rattling his ribs. No time. He rolled just as another beast lunged, its jaws snapping shut inches from his face.

Three of them.

They circled him, their growls vibrating through the cold ground. Their breath was hot, their yellowed teeth slick with saliva. Predators. They knew he was weak.

Bourne's mind raced. He had to survive.

A broken branch lay near his hand" a weapon. He snatched it up, forcing himself to his feet. His vision swam, his limbs trembling, but he planted his stance.

The largest wolf moved first.

It charged, muscles rippling beneath its dark fur. Bourne reacted, swinging the branch with everything he had.

Crack.

The branch splintered against the wolf's skull. The beast let out a snarl of pain but didn't go down. It only staggered, shaking its head before fixing him with furious, bloodthirsty eyes.

Not enough.

The second wolf lunged from the side. No time to dodge.

Pain erupted across his arm as teeth sank into flesh. A savage yank" Bourne hit the ground, the air torn from his lungs.

The wolf didn't let go. Its fangs dug deeper, ripping into his already fragile body. It was going to tear him apart.

Something in him snapped.

Aetherflame.

Not strong, not controlled" but a flicker. A whisper of power.

A spark ignited inside him.

With a ragged cry, Bourne thrust his hand forward.

For the briefest second" heat.

A weak, flickering burst of energy exploded from his palm, not enough to kill, but enough to burn.

The wolf yelped, releasing him as a thin wisp of smoke curled from its muzzle. It stumbled back, shaking its head in confusion.

Bourne gasped, clutching his bleeding arm. The power" was still there. Buried deep. Dormant. But it wasn't gone.

The wolves hesitated now. They had felt it, too.

But hesitation wouldn't last.

Bourne ran.

Ignoring the burning pain in his limbs, he pushed himself forward, bolting toward the treeline. The wolves snarled behind him, their hesitation giving way to hunger once more.

He wouldn't make it.

His legs were weak. His body was failing. He could hear them closing in, the pounding of paws against the earth.

And then" the sound of something else.

A sharp whistle.

An arrow whipped through the air.

With a strangled yelp one of the wolves collapsed mid-stride, an arrow lodged deep in its side.

Another arrow flew and a second wolf fell.

The third hesitated too long. A figure emerged from the trees, moving swiftly. A gleaming blade flashed through the air.

The final wolf's s head hit the ground before its body did.

Bourne staggered his vision swimming. He barely registered the approaching figure, boots crunching against the frost-covered earth.

A voice, deep and steady.

You are either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid.

Bourne looked up, his breath shallow. His rescuer was a man" tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in layered leathers and furs. A bow was slung across his back, a quiver full of arrows at his hip.

His face was rough, lined with age and experience, but his eyes were sharp. A hunter.

The man glanced down at Bourne's bleeding arm, then let out a short sigh.

Come on. Before more show up.

Bourne didn't t have the strength to argue. His legs gave out beneath him.

Darkness rushed in.