Celeste laid there in the wreckage, her blood cooling on her skin. The shadows around her lengthened as the sun slipped behind the canyon's edge and yhe rain stopped falling. Her breathing was shallow, her limbs stiff, her clothes soaked in water, and dried and fresh blood alike.
But her thoughts were only on one person.
Padrin… he'll come…
Her lips moved, barely a whisper. "He'll come… I know he will…"
Every few breaths, she repeated it like a mantra. It was the only thing that pushed back the dark thoughts threatening to creep into her mind. She imagined him storming down the path into the valley, leaping over broken planks, calling her name. He would kneel down, his eyes wide in panic but soft with relief. He'd say he was sorry, that he let it happen. And he'd carry her out of here. He'll come.
The silence around her began to grow louder—broken only by the occasional rattle of wind pushing through the debris, or the distant whistle of birds far above. Celeste shifted slightly, trying to find a less painful position, but it was hopeless. Her entire body felt like it had been ground into the earth.
Then a sound broke through. Crunch. Celeste froze.
Her heart jumped up into her throat. It was subtle, a soft but steady movement—stone shifting under something's weight. Her hand crept instinctively toward the hilt of the dagger at her waist—then she remembered: the dagger had been left besides her when she was driving in the cart, and it must've fallen somewhere.
She turned her head slowly, her neck stiff, and saw a wolf.
A single lean, gray-furred beast was walking down into the wreckage. It weaved between the broken cart pieces and crates with unsettling ease, nose twitching, golden eyes scanning the carnage. It was alone.
Celeste's breath caught. She didn't move. Her eyes were wide, locked on the predator as it sniffed the air, and then it saw her.
The wolf paused, its ears flicked forward, its snout lifted, and it let out a low growl.
She forced her body upright, using her good arm to push herself against a fallen plank. Her left leg buckled the moment weight shifted to it, and she gasped, barely managing to keep herself upright by leaning on the wooden debris.
The wolf started circling her, cautious but hungry.
Celeste tried to breathe slow, tried to think.
Her eyes darted to the side—searching the rubble. That's when she saw a pair of daggers still in their sheaths, lying just a few steps away, half-buried in the splintered wreckage.
Her pulse quickened. Every step would hurt. Every motion would draw attention. But it was either that or die.
She began to move.
One step. Her foot screamed. The bones in her ankle ground together like glass being shattered. But she kept her eyes on the wolf, refusing to show it her pain.
The wolf's muscles tensed.
She bent forward—carefully, slowly—and reached toward the daggers.
The wolf leapt.
She dove sideways with what little strength she had, landing on her ribs with a sickening thud, pain exploding through her chest like fire. She barely registered it, her hand scrambling across splinters and broken wood until it found the hilt.
The wolf turned mid-air, recovered on all fours, and growled.
Celeste ripped the dagger free from its sheath.
The wolf lunged again.
She screamed—not from fear, but from fury—and raised the dagger above her head, both hands clenched around it as the beast crashed into her. Its weight slammed her back against the earth. Its teeth snapped an inch from her face.
The dagger met its throat. It didn't stop—not immediately.
The wolf snarled, biting and clawing as blood spilled down Celeste's arms. She twisted the dagger deeper, her face contorted in pain, pushing upward with every ounce of strength she had left.
The beast yelped.
It stumbled off of her, stumbling back a few paces, blood streaming from its neck. For a moment, it looked as though it might charge again—but then it hesitated.
It turned. And it ran.
Celeste lay there gasping, chest heaving, the dagger still clutched in her blood-slicked hands.
She didn't cheer. She didn't smile.
She just cried. But the tears didn't last long.
The sun was dipping low now. And she knew what came out when the dark rose. That wolf was alone. The next one might not be.
"I… can't stay here," she whispered, dragging herself upright.
Her shoulder screamed. Her leg throbbed. But her spirit didn't waver.
She found a stick, about her height, and tested it against the ground. It would hold. It would have to. Then she took a strip of cloth from the wreckage—a tarp, or maybe part of a passenger's coat—and wrapped it tightly around her mangled foot, binding it as best she could.
Her fingers trembled as she fastened the makeshift brace with another piece of cloth. She used the rest to tie off her bleeding shoulder. It wasn't perfect—it wasn't even close—but it was something.
She found a second dagger and tucked it into the ragged belt at her waist.
And then she started walking.
After some time of walking, when it got dark, she finally reached the forest.
Celeste limped beneath the swaying canopy. The makeshift brace around her foot was soaked with dried blood and dirt, the cloth stiff against her skin. Each movement sent lightning bolts of pain through her bones, but she gritted her teeth and bore it, whispering to herself between breaths.
"One more step... just one more step..."
The moon cast soft silver rays between the trees, creating patterns on the ground like pale ripples on water.
She didn't know how long she walked. Minutes felt like hours. Hours felt like days. But eventually, in the distance, she saw a rock formation—a low cave mouth tucked between two trees and barely visible in the dark.
She blinked and stumbled toward it, not even caring what might be inside.
If it was a bear, it could eat her. If it was empty, she might finally sleep. That was the only decision she could afford.
She dragged herself into the cave. The inside was cool, the air stale. Moss lined the walls in patches, and the ground was slightly uneven, but flat enough to collapse on.
Celeste dropped against the wall, her body shaking from fatigue. She let her back slide down until she was seated, her right hand clutching her stomach as it groaned with hunger. Her eyes fluttered. Her breath slowed.
She slowly began falling asleep, when she heard a weird schlurk.
The sound was subtle at first—wet, sluggish, deliberate. Like something dragging itself across the stone.
Celeste's eyes snapped open, bloodshot and wide. She turned her head toward the deeper cave, and what she saw made her breath freeze in her chest.
It was shaped like a leech—but bloated, grotesque. Its skin shimmered with a sticky, almost translucent sheen. It slithered over the stone, slow but steady. It was the size of a rat. Then another emerged behind it. And another.
She blinked and whispered in horror, "No…"
A dozen of them. Maybe more.
Her body screamed for rest, but her instincts screamed louder.
One of them lunged.
She didn't think—her hand shot to her waist, drew the dagger, and slashed as it flew through the air. The creature split mid-air with a sickening schleck, its innards spraying across the cave floor. The rest paused, but only for a heartbeat.
Celeste scrambled upright, gripping the wall with her good arm, and staggered backward toward the entrance.
She left the cave, stumbling over a root, her dagger still in hand, breath ragged, panic pulsing in her skull. She kept walking. The moment she stopped would be her last.
Every rustle in the trees, every shift of leaves, every snapping twig became a death sentence waiting to happen. And she was exhausted.
Her body felt like a puppet with cut strings. Her right arm trembled with every step. Her foot dragged with increasing weight. Her lips cracked from dryness. Her stomach felt like it was folding in on itself.
But she kept going.
As the night faded, the first rays of sun broke through the trees. The warm glow kissed the tips of the leaves above, but to her, it brought no relief. No warmth. No comfort.
She needed food. Water. Rest. Mana.
She tried to cast the spell again, but the light in her palm flickered and died.
"I'm… so tired," she mumbled. Her voice was barely audible. Her throat was raw.
Around midday—though she couldn't tell anymore—she spotted something. A bird.
Small. Blue. Nestled low on a branch just ahead.
It looked at her curiously, head tilted.
Her stomach turned. She didn't want to hurt it. Its feathers were soft, its body light. It was innocent. Pure.
But hunger gnawed at her like teeth under her skin.
Celeste whispered, "I'm sorry… little one. I'm so sorry…"
She bent her knees slightly, trying to lower her center of gravity. Her right hand gripped the dagger again, her shoulder shaking. She crept forward, inch by inch. The bird fluffed its feathers but stayed put.
She could do it. Just a little closer. And then she lunged.
But her foot slipped. Her balance vanished. She fell hard. The bird, startled, took flight with a flurry of wings and vanished into the trees.
Celeste didn't move. She stayed there, her face pressed to the dirt. Her hand still outstretched.
And then, the tears came. She just cried silently, tears slipping into the soil beneath her.
Then she laughed—weak, breathless, hollow.
"I can't even catch a bird…" she whispered, her voice cracking.
She turned her head, gazing at the flickering sunlight through the trees, and whispered to no one, "I don't want to die like this... I want to see him again."