The crowd senses it too. A shift in the air so wrong it steals the warmth from the torches and the color from the night.  

Chatter dies. The chant falters.  

Even the wind stills, as if the earth itself holds its breath.  

Landon’s shifting freezes mid-motion, his eyes snapping toward the distant tree line, narrowed and alert.  

Bryson doesn’t move, but his entire body tenses, his stance lowering just slightly, prepared for something unseen.  

I take a step back, my instincts screaming louder than reason. Whatever is coming… it isn’t part of this fight. It doesn’t belong to this world. 

I’d felt fear before, but never like this; like something old had opened its eyes beneath our feet.  

I remember a story my mother used to whisper about places that twist when the veil thins, when the air tastes wrong and the trees go quiet. 

Screams slice through the outskirts of the festival, turning the distant joyful music and laughter into a chilling soundtrack of terror.  

Growls and howls of pain erupt from the edges of the gathering, signaling an attack. 

Plates hit the ground. The music died in a warped whine. A child’s wail pierced the hush, and then another.  

Elders stood unmoving, stunned, as though their minds couldn’t yet believe the horror their eyes were seeing. 

Around us, the festival grounds erupt into pandemonium. Screams slice through the air, a stark contrast to the laughter and music that filled it moments before.  

Some of the crowd freeze in shock, others sprint for cover.  

Torches and strung lights that had once softly illuminated the festivities now cast harsh, flickering shadows that add to the disarray. 

“Get her out of here!” Driven by a wounded pride and a genuine protective instinct, Landon reacts instantly to the sudden upheaval. Throwing out an order, he charges toward the source of the chaos, his figure cutting through the crowd which parts in fear. 

Landon rushed in like fire, heat without direction. Bryson moved like water, deliberate, measured, everywhere at once. Even now, they couldn't be more different. 

Byson takes command of those around us, his demeanor shifting to calm authority as he starts giving orders. 

His actions and commands are precise and deliberate, encouraging calm as he moves among the panicked crowd, his voice a steady beacon amidst the growing chaos.  

We start to get separated as people flock to him for instructions. 

I move toward him and he meets me halfway, his hands finding my arms in a gentle, yet urgent grasp.  

His hands, warm and solid, were the same ones that steadied me when I fell learning to fight, the same ones that passed me notes during Pack History. They had always been there. 

His grey eyes meet mine, filled with fear and determination, the sounds of the dying festival and raising attack fading into a distant echo as he leans in close. 

“Sin,” his voice breaks slightly, laden with emotions he has struggled to hold in, “My heart has always been yours, since the day you came into this pack. But your mother made it clear that you will marry him. I knew I’d never have a claim, so I wanted tonight with you. Just this one night I wanted-”  

I opened my mouth to respond, to say I hadn’t known, hadn’t realized how deeply he felt, but I never got the chance.  

His confession, my response, both are brutally severed as a claw erupts from his throat.  

His body locks in place, his eyes, once warm and gentle, are vacant and staring into the void.  

In the next second, between one blink and the next, his body goes limp with his hands falling from my arms, held in place by the claw protruding from his body.  

My knees buckled, but my body wouldn’t fall. My ears rang, the crowd vanished, and every breath felt like it was slicing through glass. 

In a blur, his body is flung.  

As Bryson’s lifeless form hits the ground, I stand rooted to the spot, shock paralyzing me as the grim reality sinks in.  

His last look, filled with emotion and unfulfilled promises, hits me as the chaos continues to swell around us. 

A new wave of terror crashes over me as the twisted malevolent creature responsible for Bryson’s death sets its eyes on me.  

This thing, unlike any beast from the tales my mother used to tell, is a grotesque mixture of nightmares. 

Its claws drip with Bryson’s blood, and its fangs glisten in the flickering light, sharp and menacing.  

It stands tall, towering over the chaos, its eyes burning with a relentless hunger that sends shivers down my spine. 

Its gaze locked with mine, and in that moment I swore it knew me. Not as prey. As purpose. As if I were the end of something it’d been chasing for centuries. 

It lets out a roar, something caught between a howl and a scream, raw and piercing.  

Within seconds, more roars answer in the distance, followed by the heavy thud of paws pounding the earth. 

They've found what they were hunting. 

Me. 

Just as it begins to bear down on me, a few brave men tackle the creature, their fierce shouts mingling with the growls and howls of pain.  

One man takes a bite of it before his transformation into his instinctual form is complete.  

They struggle with the beast, wrestling it away from me with desperate courage.  

These men, each capable of taking down a large bear on their own, are barely managing to push it back even as a group. 

The sight is both horrifying and surreal, their forms a blur of movement and violence as they fight to subdue the monstrosity. 

My legs feel like lead, and I start to sink down next to Bryson, but a group of women rush towards me.  

Strong hands grab my arms, yanking me into motion. 

“Come on, Sinsoel, we have to run!” one of them urges, her voice sharp with fear.  

It’s Minis, the plumbers daughter and a year older than me. 

As we flee, I glance back briefly, the sight of Bryson’s lifeless body burned into my memory.  

His last moments, filled with unspoken love and sacrifice, fuel my steps as we race through the festival grounds. 

We sprint through the chaos, the once-celebratory scene now a battlefield of screams and anarchy.  

The women, driven by the need to protect the Alpha’s daughter, push me forward. 

The air is thick with the acrid scent of smoke and blood, the sounds of battle and cries for help filling my ears. 

Pulling me along with urgency, we stumble over the changing scenery. Their eyes are wide with terror as we navigate through the wreckage and creatures chasing panicked villagers. 

I feel the crushing weight of responsibility pressing down on me. The people we pass being attacked by the creatures is devastating and I feel the loss of each one. 

The women surrounding me, each one determined to protect me, form a shield against the horrors pursuing us.  

“Don’t stop,” one whispered, her grip fierce. 

“Not for us.” Another pressed something into my hand; a charm, a piece of carved bone, her final protection. 

Their breaths come in ragged gasps, but their grips on my arms remain strong, urging me forward with every step. 

“Keep running, Sin! Get to the Fall!” one of them shouts, her voice trembling, “Don’t look back!” Her scream rends the air between one quickened step and the next. 

I stumble, the memory of Bryson’s lifeless body replaying in my mind, knowing that she was suffering the same fate.  

The ragged breaths of the attackers weren’t far behind, I could feel it on the nape of my neck. 

As we run, the tree line just ahead, the women begin to scream, as one by one they are picked off by the creatures.  

Their screams echo in my ears, each loss a dagger to my heart.  

Smoke curled through the branches, blackening the sky.  

The torchlight flickered wildly across the underbrush, casting distorted shadows that made monsters of everything. 

I can’t stop though; I need to keep going. I owe it to them to survive; their sacrifices can’t have been for nothing. 

But what about me is worth saving? The thought darts across my mind, forgotten by the next scream. 

“Go, Sin, go!” another cries out, the last grip on my arm yanked away.  

I almost turned. Almost let my feet carry me back into the fire for her. But then I saw Bryson again, his final breath, his still eyes; I ran. 

I push myself harder, tears blurring my vision.  

The crunch of my steps was lost beneath the chorus of screams, snapping twigs, and inhuman snarls that chased us through the trees. 

The forest around us seems to close in, the darkness punctuated by the flicker of distant flames painted everything in a stuttering orange-red, while the creatures’ glowing eyes gleamed like coals in the underbrush, unblinking and endless. 

Branches clawed at my arms like desperate hands.  

Roots rose beneath my feet, slick with blood and ash.  

The forest no longer felt familiar, it was shifting, bracing, as if mourning what had just been lost.