“Eridessa,” Orán coaxes. “Listen to me. You’re safe here, safe with us. We’re not here to hurt you.”
She doesn’t listen. Doesn’t calm.
Her head cocks unnaturally toward the night beyond the window. She draws in one deep breath, eyes burning as she bares her teeth in one final snarl, then she bolts.
The window explodes outward as she hurls herself through it, more glass raining down like ice shards to the ground behind her. By the time we reach the opening, she’s already gone—bare feet pounding earth, her shape, her pale nightgown whipping in the wind, vanishing into the living forest as if it parts, making way for her escape from us.
For a single stunned heartbeat, there is only silence.
Then Orán is moving. “We need to find her,” he shouts, already running.
We tear down the hallway together and through the house. We enter the light of the red moon as two new gods chasing a creature reborn, knowing with conviction that this will most likely end in more bloodshed.
The glow in Orán’s hands climbs his arms, gathering in his chest before spilling outward, until his entire body radiates with the same supernatural brilliance. It isn’t blinding, but it is absolute—golden light etched with something older, deeper. Leaves lift from the forest floor, spiraling upward as if caught in an unseen current, and then Orán rises with them, boots clearing the ground by inches.
Only then do I truly see what my brother has become.
The forest bends to him.
Trees whisper and lean. Branches grow and intertwine, roots shifting beneath the soil as though the earth itself is listening. Wind answers his call, rushing past us in a sudden surge that carries the scent of sap and smoke and living magic. Orán’s hands close slowly, deliberately, shaping the air between his palms the way he once shaped magic as a Druid—patient, practiced, reverent.
Nature obeys without question.
A tight cyclone forms between his fingers, and sparks of light spiral within it. With a sharp thrust of his hands, he sends it flying. The spiral dives into the forest, weaving between trunks and branches with unerring precision.
Within moments, Eridessa cries out.
“She hasn’t reached the perimeter,” Orán says, tension threading his voice. “She’s caught, but it won’t hold her for long. She’s cutting through the branches. Tearing them apart.”
“Where?” I demand.
He lifts a hand to point, then stops. His gaze locks with mine, steady and unflinching. “Pollock, when you find her, fight the beast. The animal inside her, not the woman. Push it back as much as you can. She needs the Horseman now, the one who can quiet the storm in her mind.”
I nod once. “I’ll try.”
Orán closes his eyes and points. “There. That way.”
I take off at a run, letting the animal surface just enough to lend me speed and deftness. My stride lengthens, feet barely touching the ground as I cut through the dense woods, following her trail. Her scent is unmistakable—wild, scorched, intoxicating—and it doesn’t take long to find her.
I slow as I near the place where she’s trapped, tangled in a nest of twisted roots and living branches.
Before she senses me, I stop behind the thick trunk of an ancient tree and gather myself. I do as Orán asked. I close my eyes. Quiet my thoughts. Breathe.
Inside my own mind, I turn first to the beast, speaking to him directly. You’ll have your moment, I tell him. But not now. I need her mind, not her fear, and I cannot reach it as something half feral and ruled by instinct.
If he wants her alive—if he wants her at all—he must yield.
For now.
Judging by the snarls tearing from her chest, she’s more riled than ever. The branches creak and strain under the force of her thrashing, bark splintering where her claws rake again and again. If I don’t reach her now—if I hesitate—she’ll tear herself free and vanish into the forest once more.
I steady myself.
When I trust my control enough to hold, I step out from behind the tree and move toward her openly, my pace unhurried. No sudden movements. No challenge.
She stills the instant she sees me emerge from the shadows. Her head snaps up, and her eyes lock on me, ones that blaze with unnatural light. The growl that follows is redundant. I already know she’s displeased to see me once again.
“Shh,” I murmur, lifting my hands slowly, palms open. “None of that. I’m not here to hurt you.”
