Stories of the Past

Bumping into People

Sana's PoV

I run through the forest, my only belongings being my sword on my back and the clothes on my body, my feet in a furious blur as I race through the trees. I need to get as far away as possible before he finds out I'm missing. I subconsciously touch my face, cringing slightly at the pain that ignites from the dark purple bruise on my cheek. The bruise he gave me. Not the only one, either. I've been in this abusive relationship for years, he comes home angry every night, using me as his little rag doll to smack around a few times then have his way with. And I haven't been able to break free from his grasp, every time I've tried to escape he's found me and punished me. I'm sick of it.

It's not that I'm blind to the fact that I'm in danger, it's the fact that I don't want to be hurt even more than I already have been by trying to escape. That fear has kept me in that house, until I decide to take my chances again. I haven't run this way before, maybe he won't find me? My magic curls into me more, worn out from the amount of Imorphia he's used on me, injecting me with it, tying me down with it, cutting me with blades soaked in it. Always a new form of torture. I hear crunching behind me and whip around, my hand flying up to my sword and brandishing it in front of me, slowly turning around as I study the forest. Maybe I'm being paranoid?

Another crunch has me whirling around in that direction, my hands shaking rather obviously, but I don't care. I would rather die in a fight to the death than go back to Tristan. And if it is him, I will take my own life here and now. I am not going back, not again. "Show yourself!" I yell, my voice hoarse and slightly shaky. Screaming definitely harms your vocal chords. Nothing happens, but I know someone is there. "Do not make me repeat myself!"

Once again, nothing happens. I sigh in annoyance, bringing my magic forward, begging it to do this. It quickly complies, even though it's tired, it wants to keep me safe. It doesn't like seeing and feeling me getting hurt, and I hate feeling it get hurt as well. The wind in the area moves to my command, and I push it through the trees, finding the disturbance. It's stopped by a human shaped figure and I rush towards it, pouncing on them. I collide with them; a man, and we roll across the ground as I fire punch after punch at them. I land on top, our rolling stopping, and I look down to see if it is Tristan.

White eyes stare back at me, wide and obviously shocked.

Fear grips my heart as I jump off him, backing up and settling into a defensive stance. My magic pulls at me, for something I don't recognise, a pull to him, but the adrenaline coursing through me blocks it out for now. He slowly gets to his feet, no rush in his movements. I feel his magic reach out to me, the immense power flowing from him freezing me in place. My magic flares up, ready to attack at a moment's notice, but it and I both know we won't be able to overpower him. He's one of the first original brothers, he's a god for goodness sake, yet he stands here in front of me, seemingly dumbstruck, frozen in place like me. I shake it off and summon two balls of fire to my hand, the flames snapping him back into reality. "Leave me alone," I snarl at him, my magic biting at his, yet to him, it probably just feels like a kitten pawing at it.

"And what if I don't?" he asks, but that trademark smirk isn't on his lips. He seems genuinely curious on what I would do.

"Then you won't live to see another day," I threaten, but I know I wouldn't be able to take him in a fight. I would die trying, and that isn't necessarily a bad thing.

"I can promise you, stronger people than you have tried to kill me and failed, I suggest you don't take things so lightly," he warns.

"What do you want with me?" I bite out.

"I don't know," he responds honestly. His magic reaches for mine longingly, confusing me more, as mine reaches for his, a spark between them that has me stepping back. I really take him in now, his tousled brown hair that my fingers itch to run through, a scruffy beard sticking to his jaw. Ripped clothing defining his muscles that ripple with every breath and little movement. And his eyes. Bright white and glowing, but not the sharp, cutting light that everyone describes, rather a softer glow to them that highlights the features on his face.