Inside the Forest
Swish!
The arrow screamed through the air, fast and cold, as Grey darted between the trees, his breath forming icy clouds with every exhale. His legs felt like lead, barely responding with each desperate step. He was running on sheer willpower now—his body, bruised and battered, had long since reached its limits. Every step sent waves of pain through his legs, already pierced by the enemy's arrows. His blood, once freely flowing, now barely dripped from his wounds, the freezing cold having turned it into icy clots beneath his torn skin.
Grey's vision blurred, the world around him spinning as he forced himself to keep moving. His right arm, where her arrow had struck earlier, was no longer even bleeding. The blood had frozen solid, the flesh around it hard and numb. It dangled uselessly at his side, a dead weight that made each movement excruciating. His breath came in short, ragged gasps, every inhale burning his lungs as if the very air was slicing through him.
The cold gnawed at him from every angle, sinking deep into his bones. His body was bathed in blood—some of it his, some from the frostbite tearing at his skin. Every inch of him screamed in pain, but his mind refused to yield. Not yet.
Behind him, the girl's presence loomed like an executioner's shadow. That suffocating, inescapable cold clung to the air, drowning everything in its path. He could hear her footsteps, slow and steady, her calm, measured pace mocking his frantic attempts to escape. But Grey wouldn't stop—not until his body collapsed.
Swish!
His arrow flew toward her, aimed at her heart, but it shattered on impact, scattering like brittle ice. She didn't flinch, her cold eyes locking onto him. Grey didn't even hesitate—he shot again, four more arrows in rapid succession. His arms trembled as he aimed for her neck, her eyes—any vulnerable point. But she merely flicked her wrist, her movements smooth and effortless. The arrows were obliterated mid-flight, reduced to dust in the cold wind.
Then came the wave of freezing air.
It hit him like a wall, stealing the breath from his lungs and freezing the sweat on his skin. His bow, the only thing that had kept him alive this long, cracked in his hands. He heard it splinter, felt it crumble, and in the next second, it was gone—shattered into fragments that fell lifelessly to the ground.
His breath became a rasping struggle, the cold gnawing at his lungs. But he forced his legs to keep moving, the taste of blood thick in his mouth. His hands, shaking uncontrollably, summoned his great sword as he deflected her next arrow. The impact sent shockwaves through his body, and the moment the ice touched his blade, frost spread across it like a plague, creeping toward his fingers. He could feel the freezing burn, the numbness creeping up his arms. His hand, now half-frozen, barely gripped the sword, but he didn't stop.
Another arrow came—faster, deadlier. He barely had time to summon his strength, raising his sword to parry the strike. The arrow struck with terrifying force, and this time, Grey felt his hand freeze solid upon impact. The cold latched onto his flesh, the frost biting into his skin until he couldn't feel anything but searing numbness. His arm was useless now, frozen stiff, and every movement felt like it would shatter him from the inside out.
Then he saw it—the white arrow.
It appeared in her hands, glowing with an otherworldly light, bright and cold as it devoured all the warmth around it. The air turned still and heavy, as though the entire world had ceased to breathe. Grey felt it—an overwhelming presence of death, the weight of inevitability pressing down on him like a mountain.
His heart raced with fear, every fiber of his being screaming that he was about to die. This arrow—this one—was different. It wasn't like the others. It was the end.
He knew it.
There was no escaping it, no parrying it, no tricking his way out. The moment she fired, he would die. His heart clenched in terror, his breath coming in ragged gasps. The blood on his body had frozen, his limbs were failing him, and his entire body felt like a broken shell barely holding together.
But he wasn't dead yet.
With one final surge of desperation, Grey hurled his great sword toward her, throwing it with all the strength he had left. The blade spun through the frozen air, slicing toward her with lethal speed. She didn't even blink as the white arrow left her bow, aimed directly at him.
Swish!
The white arrow flew so fast that if not for the sound, Grey wouldn't have even known it was coming. His great sword disintegrated the instant it touched the arrow, obliterated without a trace. But it was enough—just enough to deflect the shot by a fraction of an inch. That single heartbeat gave him the time he needed.
Grey summoned a dagger and rope, hurling the dagger into a nearby tree and yanking himself away. His body swung through the air just as the white arrow struck the ground where he had stood.
BOOOOM!
The explosion was deafening, shaking the earth beneath him. The force of it knocked the wind from his lungs, and for a moment, he lost all sense of reality. The high-pitched ringing in his ears drowned out all sound. His vision blurred, his body trembled violently from the shockwave, and for a moment, he wondered if he had died.
Coughing, gasping for breath, Grey forced his eyes open.
What he saw made his blood run colder than the ice freezing his veins.
The forest—the once vibrant, ancient trees that towered above him—was gone. Everything had been wiped away, replaced by a desolate, frozen wasteland. The ground was covered in a sheet of ice, so thick and pure it seemed to swallow the world. The trees were gone, the leaves gone, everything that had once been alive now frozen and dead.
The cold gnawed at him, creeping through every inch of his shattered body, and Grey's voice trembled as he whispered.
"How…?"
He couldn't believe what he was seeing. How could a human possess such power? The entire forest, stretching as far as his eyes could see, was nothing but a graveyard of ice. The world itself seemed frozen in time, a monument to death and destruction.
His legs gave way, and he fell to his knees. His blood had frozen in his veins, his wounds were no longer bleeding, and the cold was devouring him from the inside out. His breath came in weak gasps, the frost stealing what little warmth remained in his body.
Grey knew, in the deepest part of his soul, that this was over.
There was no escaping her.
There never had been.