The deafening roar still echoed in Thea's ears as she stumbled after Uncle Mike, her legs barely carrying her forward. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and the heat from the burning village scorched the air. Behind them, the shadow of a massive creature loomed, its footsteps shaking the earth as it advanced.
"Faster, Thea!" Uncle Mike urged, his voice strained with urgency. His grip on her arm was firm, pulling her forward as they darted between the wreckage of homes.
The family Thea had saved from the monsters huddled close behind them, the parents holding their two children as tightly as they could. Their faces were pale, eyes wide with fear, but they followed without hesitation, desperate to escape the chaos.
Thea's side throbbed painfully, her breath ragged. Every step felt heavier than the last. She glanced behind them and caught sight of the creature—a towering beast with jagged scales, its red eyes glowing in the dim light of the smoldering village. It let out another ear-splitting roar, sending a wave of terror through her body.
"We won't outrun it," Thea gasped, her voice shaking.
"We have to," Uncle Mike replied without looking back, his spear clutched tightly in his hand. "We can't stop now."
The youngest child, barely able to keep up, stumbled and fell, crying out in panic. Without thinking, Thea turned back, her injured leg screaming in protest as she helped the child up. "It's okay, keep moving!" she said, her voice steadier than she felt.
Thea's mind raced. The terror of the moment blurred with memories from her past, flashing in her mind like scenes from a nightmare. The fire, the fear, the desperation—it all felt too familiar.
Suddenly, a long-buried memory surfaced. Uncle Mike... her mother's words... the night they had to run.
Thea's chest tightened as she recalled the last time they had been forced to flee for their lives. It had all begun with a knock at the door.
---
Ten Years Ago
In the quiet village, life had always followed a predictable rhythm. Days were spent working, talking, and laughing with neighbors, while nights were peaceful, filled with the familiar sounds of nature and the distant hum of the city beyond the hills. For Michael and his family, this calm was the only life they had ever known. But recently, something had changed.
It started with small, unspoken things—a glance exchanged between his parents, a brief moment of tension that dissipated before anyone could question it. For a while, Michael tried to convince himself that it was nothing. But as the days wore on, the sense of unease gnawing at him became harder to ignore. His parents, once a steady source of comfort and warmth, now seemed haunted by something unseen, something they refused to talk about. Michael could feel it—whatever was coming, it was already too close for comfort.
A storm was brewing, one that none of them could outrun.
It started subtly, but Michael noticed the change.
His parents, Emmett and Lila, were spending more time in whispered conversations, always behind closed doors. Though Michael couldn't hear what they were saying, he could feel something was wrong. He'd seen the worried looks they exchanged over the past few days, and he had noticed his mother's hands trembling when she thought no one was watching. Sometimes, Lila would pause in the middle of her tasks, her gaze distant, as though she were listening for something only she could hear. His father, usually calm and steady, now carried a tense energy that made the lines on his face appear deeper.
Whenever Michael entered the room during one of their conversations, they would fall silent, plastering on smiles that didn't quite reach their eyes.
One evening, as Michael sat by the fireplace, pretending to read, he glanced at his mother in the kitchen. She was stirring a pot of stew, but her hands were trembling. She hadn't noticed the soup beginning to boil over, her mind clearly elsewhere. Michael got up quietly and walked over, taking the spoon from her hands.
"Mom, it's overflowing," he said gently.
Lila blinked, snapping back to reality. "Oh, I'm sorry, Michael. I didn't notice…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes flickering toward the window as if she were expecting someone—or something.
Michael frowned. This wasn't like her. "Is everything okay?" he asked.
His mother forced a smile, but Michael could see through it. "Everything's fine, sweetheart. Just… a lot on my mind."
Later that night, after Thea had gone to bed, Michael overheard his parents talking in hushed voices in the next room. Their conversation was muffled, but the tension in their voices was unmistakable.
"They're getting closer," Emmett said, his voice low but urgent.
"I know," Lila whispered, fear creeping into her tone. "But what are we supposed to do? We can't keep running forever."
Michael's heart skipped a beat. Who's getting closer? He leaned closer to the door, trying to make out more, but the floor creaked under his weight, and the conversation abruptly stopped.
A moment later, the door opened, and his father stood there, his expression softening when he saw Michael.
"Why are you still awake, kiddo?" Emmett asked, ruffling his son's hair.
Michael glanced between his parents, their worried faces betraying the words they hadn't yet spoken. "I… I heard you talking. Is something wrong?" he asked.
Lila exchanged a glance with Emmett before kneeling down in front of Michael. She cupped his face gently, her eyes searching his. "You don't need to worry about that, sweetheart. Everything will be alright."
But Michael wasn't convinced. He could feel it—the weight of something big hanging in the air, like a storm waiting to break. His parents were hiding something, and whatever it was, it was serious.
That night, as he lay in bed, Michael couldn't sleep. His thoughts swirled with questions and a growing sense of unease. He glanced at Thea, fast asleep beside him, completely unaware of the danger lurking just beyond the walls of their home.
---