By The Moon's Blade

Interlude 2: 30th of Frostbite, Close to Daybreak

I whip my head around, greeted with nothing but darkness, branches contorting into crude smiles.

Panting. It was panting. Right behind me.

But, there's nothing there, I'm sure of it. I slowly turn my head back around, afraid to find the monster staring back at me, trapping me like a mouse. But as I do, I'm met again with nothing. I decide to calmly walk through the woods, softening my footsteps as I wander. I reach in my pocket and grab the hilt of the crystalline knife, willing magic to form a shield around my feet, muffling the sound of my movement. But nothing changes and I feel my mental energy drain slowly with each strained effort.

Eventually, I give up and continue walking. I've deserted the markers on trees, opting for a complex zigzag through the forest instead of relying on speed to escape. I'll never win in a dead sprint against these beasts, at least from what I know. I'm much better off trying to escape on wits alone.

In a vain effort to warm my body, I grab the dagger again and try to pull on any bit of umbramancy lurking within my veins to warm my body. I can't start a fire, that would draw too much attention as I attempt to sneak through the forest. But if I can somehow bring up the temperature of my body by a few degrees, I might not succumb to frostbite before I can even get out of this godforsaken place.

With all of my failed attempts to use magic, I take the risk and open up the top of my pocket where I have the knife stored. Upon looking inside, I just see the faint purple glow, threatening to extinguish. It's darker than I've ever seen it. A crumbling feeling bursts within my gut as even hope becomes a pipe dream.

I've spent countless months working on this, trying to sharpen my skills and be what my mother needed. But even now, it's not enough. I'm not enough. Sure, I've failed myself, but what's worse is that I've failed everyone else. My mother, my father, the rest of the Lunari, Shalia... I don't know what will come of them, but it feels like this responsibility fell into my lap and what did I do? I squandered it.

I was never ready for this responsibility. I want to be angry at my mother for shielding me, for hiding everything from me my entire life. She was so sweet and compassionate, some may argue too compassionate, and I was sheltered from the inevitable responsibility. But right now, I can't help but hold anger only for myself.

I want to scream, slam a fist into a tree, rip out the throat of the monster currently breathing down my neck.

But I don't do any of that. I'm scared. I'm running. I'm trying to escape, tail between my legs. As I feel the anger and shame curdle inside of me, I look back in the pocket. It's dimmed again. The faint light taunts me and I shut the pocket again.

I return my eyes to the ground below, snow gently crunching beneath my feet, a sound that used to bring me happiness. I reflect back on the fond memories of Cloudridge, the crunch of snow a joyous echo. But with the devastating cold I'm facing, the sight of snow makes me sick. And as I desperately cling to any sense of heat, I find comfort in the warmth of the stream of tears I've finally let myself release.