Elsewhere in the forest, the fog was thicker. Shadows shifted between the trees. 

A figure darted through.

Their green cloak moved behind them, and each frantic step kicked up bits of dirt and leaves. Their breathing was shallow, panicked. The hood of their cloak had slipped slightly, revealing two pointed ears poking out. An elf. Beneath the edge of the hood, blond hair caught the light. The bottom of their cloak was frayed, streaked with dirt, and dotted with the faint dark stains of blood.

The symbol on their back was a blue moon crest. If anyone had been close enough, they might have noticed that the crest’s design gave a strong resemblance to one that another fox-like figure wore. But there was no one close enough.

No one, except the figure behind them.

A second figure moved with a menacing aura presence. Their cloak was dark black. No face could be seen beneath the hood. Only the faint shape of a head tilted downward, following the trail.

Their left hand had pale, cold fingers. Two of which had been replaced with thin, sharp metal prosthetics. Rings lined every knuckle inscribed with runes too small to read.

But it was the right hand, a crossbow with runic carvings. Each one glowed brightly as energy pulsed into it. The moment the glow reached the bolt resting on the string, the air itself seemed to buzz.

Whip!

The arrow sliced cleanly through the air, a flickering purple aura. Sparks crackled along its edges, as it zipped just past the elf, grazing their hood. A spark ignited on impact, singeing the fabric at the edge. The elf stumbled. They hissed in pain, clutching at their chest where a dark tear in the fabric revealed blood-stained cloth beneath. Their movements grew sloppy, every step more uneven than the last.

"Run, run, little sprout," came a voice from behind. "Faster now. You've done so well so far. Don't stop now."

The fog began to thin.

Ahead of them, the forest opened into a clearing, and they nearly tripped at the sudden shift in terrain. Their gaze darted to the space ahead, searching for an escape route. But there was no open path.

Only a ruined structure. It was a dead end.

They skidded to a stop. Their eyes flicked toward the edge of the clearing.

The hunter was there, standing just at the edge of the fog, still cloaked in darkness. Their posture was relaxed.

"That was fun," the hunter said. "But it seems we've reached the climax."

The elf cursed under their breath, shooting out a hand from under the cloak. A green tear split in space the air. Runes circled its edges, leaves swirling as a hole in reality formed before them.

A weapons gate.

From within, a wooden staff with a red gem. Golden vines curled around its length, forming two spikes near the top, like horns. The elf snatched it desperately.

Her hood fell.

Long blond hair tumbled free. One-half of her face had marks from a burn scar, her eye was damaged shut. Her other eye was green and filled with rage. Blood seeped from a wound on her chest, but she raised the staff high.

Her lips moved and green rune circles appeared at her feet and behind her back. More runes shimmered in the air, forming a layered, multi-tiered magic circle. Its glow painted her face in pale green light.

The ground beneath her feet pulsed with power, and for a moment, it looked as though she would strike.

The hunter just raised their hand, revealing a floating red gem hovering just above their palm. Its shape was sharp — a diamond marked with intricate runes glowing faintly red.

“We can’t have that now, can we?” they said. Their fingers curled slowly. The red glow of the gem shifted to green.

The elf’s eyes went wide with realization.

“No!” she gasped, as though she could stop what was about to happen. But it was too late.

The layered green rune circles around her cracked like shattered glass. One by one, they broke. Symbols burst apart in flashes of light. Her magic fizzled in her hands as the staff’s glow faded into the dull wood.

Her face contorted with rage and desperation. “You will regret this,” breathing heavily. “Atheria will see you.”

The hunter chuckled softly. "That's the thing about you mages, sooo much confidence. I love it.” They paused. “But it seems the chase is over. Atheria's gaze doesn't reach here, little sprout." They stepped forward slowly, their shadow stretching like a claw. The dark aura seeped out from their cloak like ink, rolling over the grass in thick, curling tendrils.

The light of the clearing dimmed. The glow of magic vanished.

All that remained was the shadow.