The Beninging

Chapter 8

The wind howled through the trees as she stepped into the forest, the boy's words lingering in her mind. You can fail, but you can also rise again. The weight of his past, the countless lifetimes he had lived, settled on her like a shadow. But she had something he hadn't—a chance to break the cycle. To end the war.

The journal was clutched tightly in her hand, its worn pages feeling heavier than before. She flipped through it as she walked, scanning the symbols and notes the boy had left behind. The temple he had spoken of was far to the east, hidden beneath the mountains that loomed in the distance. It would take weeks, if not longer, to reach it. And the leader... he would not stop hunting her.

Every muscle in her body ached from the battle, but she couldn't afford to rest. Not now. Not when she was being hunted by a man who had already defeated her once. A man who knew the stones as well as she did, perhaps better. Her defeat had been a warning—a test she had failed. But she had survived, and now she knew what she had to do.

The fire that had burned in her earlier was dimmer now, but it wasn't gone. It flickered deep inside her, a small but stubborn flame that refused to be extinguished. She had failed, yes, but she would rise again. She had no choice.

As she pushed deeper into the forest, the sky darkened, the last light of day fading into a deep blue twilight. The trees closed in around her, their branches swaying like skeletal hands in the wind. It would be easy to get lost here, to disappear into the wilderness. But she couldn't afford to stray from her path. The journal had marked a route—a safe passage through the forest and across the plains. She had to trust it.

The night stretched on, the air growing colder with every step. The sound of her footsteps was the only noise in the stillness, each one a reminder that she was alone in this fight. But as the hours passed, her thoughts drifted back to the boy—his calm, knowing eyes, the weight of his past pressing down on his small shoulders.

Who had he been before? A general, he had said, but there had to be more to his story. There was something haunted in the way he had spoken, as if the memories of his past lives were more curse than gift. She couldn't help but wonder if that was her future too—reborn again and again, fighting a war that never ended.

The thought chilled her more than the wind.

Suddenly, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. She stopped, her heart pounding in her chest as she strained to hear. The forest was still—too still. The wind had died down, and the only sound was her breathing. But there was something else, just at the edge of her awareness. A presence.

She turned slowly, her eyes scanning the darkened trees, but saw nothing. The silence pressed in on her, thick and suffocating.

Then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught a flicker of movement. A shadow—too fast, too quiet. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she drew the dagger from her belt, gripping it tightly in her hand.

"Show yourself," she called into the darkness, her voice steady despite the fear twisting in her gut.

There was a pause, and for a moment, she thought she had imagined it. But then a figure stepped out from the shadows, cloaked in darkness, moving with the fluid grace of a predator. Her breath caught in her throat as she recognized him—the leader.

His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, cold and unfeeling. He was taller than she remembered, his presence more imposing now that she stood before him again. His face was calm, unreadable, but there was a deadly certainty in the way he held himself.

"I see you survived," he said, his voice smooth and dangerous.

She swallowed hard, refusing to back down. "Barely."