The forest stretched endlessly beneath the cold, silver light of the full moon, a labyrinth of ancient trees and tangled undergrowth. Kane Mahaar's breath came in sharp, controlled bursts as his powerful legs propelled him forward. The sound of his boots pounding against the earth was muted by the dense moss carpeting the forest floor, but his pace was relentless. Around him, the night breathed with life—the rustling of leaves in the wind, the chirp of distant crickets, and the occasional howl of a wolf echoing faintly in the distance.

The air was thick with the rich scent of pine and damp soil, mingled with the sharper metallic tang of blood—his blood. The gash along his ribs burned with every stride, a searing reminder of the ambush he'd barely escaped. But pain was an old companion, one he welcomed like an old adversary. He gritted his teeth, amber eyes blazing as he pushed harder, his body moving with a fluid grace that defied the bulk of his muscular frame.

The trees loomed like shadowy sentinels, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. Moonlight filtered through the canopy in fragmented shards, illuminating the path ahead in fleeting glimpses. Kane didn’t need the light to guide him. His heightened senses painted the world in vivid detail—the whisper of a branch bending under the weight of a distant predator, the faint vibration of a stream trickling somewhere to his left, the acrid scent of his pursuers trailing far behind.

The forest seemed alive, conspiring with him and against him in equal measure. Low-hanging branches lashed at his face and arms, but he welcomed the sting. It grounded him, sharpening his focus. He vaulted over a fallen tree with practiced ease, landing silently despite his speed. His boots crushed dried leaves and scattered pine needles as he adjusted his trajectory, veering toward higher ground. The terrain was uneven, a treacherous mix of slick mud and jagged rocks, but Kane moved as though born to it.

The forest whispered its secrets—the distant snap of a twig.