Celm's lungs burned with every desperate breath, each one sharper than the last. His heart hammered in his chest, the sound thunderous in the silence of the forest. Trees loomed tall and ancient around him, their branches twisting unnaturally, as though reaching out to snatch him mid-stride. The air was heavy with the metallic tang of blood and ash, and the faint purple light of the moon barely pierced the thick canopy above.
Behind him, the ground trembled with the approach of the beast. It moved with terrifying purpose, each step cracking the earth beneath it. Celm didn't dare glance back. He didn't need to, the creature's presence was suffocating, filling every inch of the forest with an oppressive weight.
The dragon roared, the sound tearing through the stillness like a violent storm. Celm stumbled as the reverberation hit him, his knees buckling for a moment before he forced himself forward. The sound wasn't just loud; it was primal, a guttural declaration of inevitability.
Why was this happening? His mind screamed for answers, but no clarity came. His memory was a shattered mosaic, pieces missing or warped. He couldn't recall how he had come to be here in this alien, oppressive world. All he knew was that he had woken to the dragon's hunting cry and had been running ever since.
The forest around him seemed alive. Shadows shifted unnaturally, stretching toward him like dark tendrils. Branches swayed without wind, their brittle fingers clawing at him as he passed. He tripped on a gnarled root, his shoulder slamming into the ground with a dull thud. A sharp pain shot through his arm, but adrenaline forced him upright before the dragon could close the distance.
"Move," he hissed to himself, his voice hoarse and barely audible. His legs screamed in protest as he forced them to carry him forward.
A whisper curled around his thoughts, soft yet piercing, impossible to ignore.
"Why do you run, Celm?"
The voice wasn't human. It wasn't even sound, not really. It bypassed his ears entirely, slithering directly into his mind. It was cold and smooth, carrying an unsettling familiarity that made his skin crawl.
"Leave me alone," he muttered, his voice shaking.
The whisper ignored him, its tone amused. "You've always run, haven't you? Running from pain, from fear, from yourself. But where does the road end, Celm? What lies at the edge of escape?"
His chest tightened, the air seeming to thicken around him. The dragon roared again, closer this time. He felt the vibration in his bones, his teeth rattling from the force of it. The voice, however, was far more insidious. It coiled in his thoughts, twisting his resolve into something fragile and breakable.
Celm's breaths came faster, his pulse erratic. Every step felt heavier than the last. His legs faltered, and he tripped again, falling hard onto his hands and knees. He coughed, spitting dirt from his mouth, and tried to push himself up, but his body betrayed him.
"Is this where it ends?" the voice asked, almost mocking now. "Is this all your struggle amounts to? A feeble, gasping creature crawling in the dirt?"
"No," Celm whispered, his voice barely audible. He clenched his fists, his nails biting into his palms. Pain sharpened his focus, pushing back the encroaching despair.
The dragon's footsteps grew louder, its form casting a massive shadow over him. Celm forced himself to stand, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear. He stumbled forward, deeper into the forest, but the dragon's presence loomed ever closer.
The voice persisted. "You cannot run from fate, Celm. It will always find you. You are not the hunter in this story. You never were."
Something shifted ahead of him, a break in the trees. A faint light glimmered in the distance, too faint to be comforting but enough to ignite a spark of hope. His body moved on instinct, dragging him toward the light.
The dragon roared again, a sound that seemed to shake the very fabric of the world. Celm's vision blurred as exhaustion clawed at him, but he didn't stop. His mind screamed for rest, for relief, but his body pressed forward, driven by an animalistic need to survive.
The light grew brighter as he neared it, revealing an open clearing surrounded by jagged rocks. In the center stood a strange structure, a massive stone archway carved with runes that seemed to pulse faintly in time with his heartbeat.
"Do you think that will save you?" the voice hissed. "The dragon is not your enemy, Celm. It never was. It is merely a reflection of what you fear most."
He ignored the voice, his focus locked on the archway. If it offered even a sliver of hope, he had to take it. His legs buckled as he reached the clearing, and he fell to his knees before the archway. The runes pulsed brighter, their glow illuminating the clearing in an eerie light.
The dragon burst into the clearing, its massive form towering over him. Its scales shimmered like obsidian, catching the light of the runes. Its eyes burned with a fiery intensity, locking onto Celm with a predatory gaze.
Celm staggered to his feet, his body trembling as he faced the beast. "I won't die here," he whispered, more to himself than anything else.
The dragon roared, rearing back as it prepared to strike. Celm's gaze flickered to the archway, and without hesitation, he threw himself toward it. The dragon's claws slashed through the air, missing him by mere inches as he dove through the stone frame.
A blinding light engulfed him, and for a moment, he felt weightless, untethered from the world. The whispers faded, replaced by an all-consuming silence.
When the light dimmed, Celm found himself lying on cold, hard ground. The air was still, and the oppressive weight of the dragon's presence was gone. He opened his eyes, his vision adjusting to the dim glow of the runes that now surrounded him. He was in a cavern, the archway behind him glowing faintly before dimming completely.
The voice returned, softer this time, almost tender. "You cannot escape yourself, Celm. Not in this world or any other."
He sat up, his body aching but alive. The dragon was gone, but the weight of the voice lingered, a reminder that his struggle was far from over.
For the first time, he allowed himself to breathe deeply, the air filling his lungs without the oppressive stench of ash and sulfur. But the reprieve felt hollow.
Somewhere in the distance, a faint roar echoed, and Celm's resolve hardened.