Chapter 14

Ysabel pressed on, her bare feet sinking into the yielding earth, each step a testament to her unwavering resolve. The forest, once familiar, had become a labyrinth of shadows and oppressive humidity. Time, a meaningless concept now, held no sway over her relentless march. Her body, however, screamed in protest. Exhaustion gnawed at her muscles, and hunger clawed at her insides, leaving her head light and dizzy. The familiar comfort of Filoa Forest, with its bounty of berries and sheltering trees, felt a lifetime away.

This was no longer the familiar terrain of Sydren. The trees here were giants, their dense canopies creating an almost perpetual twilight. But this dense shade offered little solace. The promised abundance of sustenance – the fruit-bearing trees, the mushrooms, the edible grasses – remained elusive. The forest, once a potential lifeline, had become a cruel mockery of hope. Her stomach growled, a hollow echo in the suffocating silence.

Yet, amidst despair, a fragile gratitude flickered. She was still alive. No predators had crossed her path, no unseen dangers had claimed her. But this reprieve felt precarious, a temporary relief. The deep, festering wound on her leg throbbed, the darkness spreading like a creeping shadow, a silent harbinger of infection. Fever consumed her, its relentless heat sapping her strength. Sleep, once a refuge, now felt like a death sentence.

"How long? How long can I last?"

She whispered, the words lost in the rustling leaves. She leaned heavily on the dagger, its point embedded deep in the rough bark of a tree, a desperate anchor against the overwhelming tide of despair. She bit her own lip, sharp, drawing blood, it was a small act of self-inflicted pain, a desperate attempt to pierce the numbness that threatened to engulf her.

A torrent of self-recrimination washed over Ysabel. The hardships she had endured – her stepmother's cruelty and the sacrifice of her friend – all seemed to culminate in this desolate end. To die here, unknown, unmourned, a nameless casualty of her own desperate flight… the thought was unbearable.

"Wasn't the plan to start somewhere anew?" She hissed the words, a bitter mockery of her shattered resolve. She ripped the dagger free, the act of a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil. Again and again, she plunged the blade into the unforgiving wood, each strike held her rage, her frustration, her utter surrender to the crushing weight of her circumstances. The rhythmic thud of the blade against the trunk was a desperate plea, a silent scream lost in the vast, indifferent wilderness. The forest, once a symbol of hope, now mirrored the desolation within her heart. Her journey, far from being a path to freedom, had become a slow, agonizing descent into oblivion.

***

"I swear to the heavens above, I heard a scream!"

The teenage boy's scowl deepened as the man regarded him with a mixture of disbelief and concern.

"I know, we've been traveling day and night, barely sleeping,"

The towering man conceded, "Hallucinations are possible. Did you even eat breakfast?"

"I'm not hallucinating! I'm not crazy!"

The boy insisted, his patience wearing thin. The man chuckled, ruffling the boy's hair, earning him a glare in return.

Sighing, the man scratched his neck, his gaze drifting to the immense trees surrounding them.

"I didn't say you were crazy. But do you know how vast this place is? What you heard might be an animal. Some animals wail like humans, you know? Or worse, a monster luring prey." He shrugged.

"I know a scream when I hear one,"

The boy muttered, his eyes narrowed.

The man grinned, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Look at your growing fangs!" He teased. "Alright, one more sweep, but if we don't find anything, we're moving on. End of discussion. And, one more thing. We're not going deeper."

The boy nodded, already resuming his search. Moments later, however, he glanced to his left, spotting a woman concealed behind a massive tree trunk, a dagger poised mid-air.

The older man reacted instantly. With a speed that belied his age, he moved to shield the boy, a sword already drawn, ready to defend them.