The Night will not end as it Began

 Not in an earthquake's raw violence, the ground trembled beneath my feet, but in a way that sent a shudder through my bones. The air itself felt tighter, like a rope wound too tight, ready to snap. The last howl still echoed in my ears, carried on a wind thick with the scent of iron.

Darius shifted beside me. The grip he had on my arm was no longer just firm—it was possessive. Holding me back. Holding me in place.

Another rustle in the trees. Not just the whisper of wind through leaves, but something alive. Watching. Waiting.

A command had been given. The pieces had been arranged. And I—I was standing exactly where they wanted me to be.

My breath came sharp and fast, my pulse hammering against my ribs. Darius had always been my shield, my anchor. But now, his presence felt wrong. Not just unfamiliar—oppressive. Like a force I had never questioned was suddenly pressing down, molding me into a shape I didn't recognize.

And then, I saw it. The shift in his stance. The flicker of doubt in his eyes. The hesitation.

Betrayal does not announce itself. It does not scream or rage. It waits in the silence.

A figure stepped from the shadows, their silhouette blending into the night. They walked with the confidence of someone who knew they had already won. And in that moment, I knew—I had never truly been in control.

A sharp gust of wind carried their scent to me. Familiar, yet wrong. Twisted. Corrupted.

Darius tensed. Not in preparation to fight. But in something else.

Submission.

My stomach lurched. A hand rose to my throat, but I forced it down, forcing myself to breathe and focus. But the moment stretched, brittle and endless, as the figure moved closer.

The moon cast just enough light to carve their features from the darkness. And when I saw their face, the world shifted beneath me.

No. No.

This isn't real. This isn't happening.

But the way Darius stood—silent, unmoving—told me everything I needed to know.

I had been betrayed before. I had known loss, known pain. But this—this was different. This was not just a knife in the back. This was a knife pressed into my hand and forced through my ribs.

The ground beneath me might as well have crumbled to dust.

And then, the figure spoke. Their voice, smooth as a blade gliding through silk, cut through the night.

"You were never supposed to survive this long."

A chill crawled up my spine. My body screamed to move, to run, to fight. But my feet were frozen to the earth, as if it had opened its jaws and swallowed me whole.

Darius's grip on my arm tightened for just a breath. And then, he let go.

Let me go.

And I understood.

He had already made his choice.

A crack of a branch. The whisper of feet on dead leaves. More figures emerge from the dark.

I was surrounded.

I should have seen this coming. I should have felt it in the way Darius had held me back. In the way, his voice had wavered. In the way his scent had changed, laced with something foreign, something that did not belong.

I had ignored the signs. Because I had wanted to believe in him.

But belief is dangerous. It blinds. It binds. And when it breaks—it shatters.

I clenched my fists. If this was the night I died, I would not go quietly.

The first strike came without warning—a blur of movement, the whisper of air displaced. My body reacted before I thought, twisting and dodging. But there were too many.

A sharp pain burst across my ribs as a blow connected. I stumbled back, breath stolen from my lungs. Another figure moved in, fast, merciless. I swung, catching flesh, but they barely flinched.

Then hands. Grabbing. Pulling. Holding me down.

No. No. No.

I thrashed, teeth bared, nails digging into the skin, but they were too strong. Shadows closed in, and voices blurred.

And then—Darius stepped forward.

He knelt before me, his expression unreadable. For years, I had searched his face for meaning, for truth. Now, I saw nothing.

Empty.

He reached out, fingertips brushing my cheek. A ghost of the man I once knew.

"I never wanted it to be like this," he murmured.

The words should have meant something. But they were as hollow as the night.

And in that moment, I realized something terrible.

This was not just about me.

This was bigger. Older. A thread woven through time, unraveling at last.

A secret buried so deep, that not even I had seen it coming.

And as the shadows dragged me under, as the world blurred and twisted, one final thought burned through the darkness:

The night would not end as it began.

And neither would I.