'What was that?'
The anger that had burned so fiercely just moments ago vanished, replaced by a primal need to survive.
His hands clenched into fists at his sides as he scanned the thick underbrush, his pulse pounding in his ears.
Then he heard it—a low, guttural growl.
Beasts. He was in the woods! The woods!
Skander swallowed hard, his throat dry. Stories of the beasts that prowled these woods at night flooded his mind.
His mother had once told him stories about them and here the whole faction warned each other to stay away, to never stray too far.
His mother would have been furious if she'd known he had wandered this deep into the trees.
But she wasn't here and this was where the Sovereign Daltus condemned them to because his father had rebelled after his unfair treatment.
Skander's chest tightened at the thought of her. She would have stopped him from leaving, not because she thought he was a child but because she cared.
She'd always cared.
She was the one person in his life who truly loved him, and now she was gone—taken away to who-knows-where, by those who thought they could take anything.
'If I die here, I'll never see her again.'
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut, but before he could dwell on it, a sudden rustle snapped his attention back to the present.
Skander took a cautious step backward, his body trembling. Maybe he could slip away quietly, unnoticed. Maybe whatever it was would—
A massive standing hyena-like beast leaped out from the shadows, landing directly in his path with a feral snarl that shook him to his core.
Its eyes glowed faintly in the twilight, it let out a humorless cackle that sent a chill to run down Skanders spine.
The beast with sharp teeth bared as its hulking frame blocked any escape and the other way was further into danger.
He'd have to choose. Go ahead or turn into the possible worse.
Skander let out a strangled screech, his fight-or-flight instinct kicking in as he turned and bolted in the opposite direction.
He ran blindly, his feet pounding the uneven ground. Branches whipped at his face and arms, but he couldn't give up. Giving up means death, literally.
Twigs and loose stones tripped him when he kept glancing back and that sent him stumbling more than once.
He fell hard, scraping his knees, but scrambled back up, ignoring the pain. He could still hear the beast behind him, its heavy footfalls and guttural growls closing the distance.
"Help!" he shouted, his voice cracking with desperation. "Somebody, please!"
But no one answered.
Tears blurred his vision as he darted between the trees, weaving and tripping like a frightened deer.
'Is this it? Is this how I die?'
His chest burned, his breath coming in ragged gasps, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
Suddenly, the sound of the beast's pursuit faltered. Skander's ears picked up on a sharp snarl—different from before, more distracted.
Something had drawn its attention away.
Skander didn't wait to find out what. He kept running, his legs moving on pure adrenaline until the outline of his house appeared in the distance.
Bursting through the door, he slammed it shut behind him and collapsed against it, his whole body trembling.
His lungs screamed for air as he tried to catch his breath, but his mind was racing too fast to let him think clearly.
He'd made it.
But the realization didn't bring relief. It only brought a new wave of fear.
He was alive, but he wasn't safe—not in these woods, not in this house, not without his mother and the government.
The woods was so close how long will it take for the beasts to decide the woods weren't enough?
The first incident with the cackling beast had happened two years ago now and despite Skander telling himself it was better he avoided the woods, he found himself going there once in awhile to confirm if the beasts were still there and unfortunately they were.
And what was even more unfortunate was that Skander loved going back and running from the beasts because they never caught him.
Maybe it wasn't only his father with an addiction problem.
Skander had submitted a report about the beasts nearing the edge as time went on and the government had reluctantly promised to take care of it but apparently they'd lied.
They didn't.
Tonight Skander was coming back from another run for his life with the beasts when it started to rain and he knew it wouldn't be the last time he would come back here.
The adrenaline rush was the best.
Skander slipped inside the house, shutting the door behind him as quietly as he could. The air inside was stale, heavy with the smell of smoke and spilled liquor.
His shoes left faint, muddy prints on the grimy floor, but he didn't care. Every part of him was trembling, his nerves shot from the terror of the woods.
He could never get used to it.
He wanted to wash off the dirt and sweat clinging to his skin, but his legs felt too weak to carry him to the bathroom.
Even the thought of standing under the cold trickle of their half-functional shower made his stomach churn.
Instead, he stumbled toward his small, creaky bed and collapsed onto it.
His stomach growled, reminding him he'd skipped dinner, but he was too miserable to care.
The house wasn't quiet—laughter and muffled music thudded from the floor below where his father and a girl were still at it—but it all felt distant. Detached.
He curled up on his side, his hand reaching out automatically for the small, framed photograph on his bedside table.
It was the only picture he had of his mother, taken back when life still had moments of peace. Her soft smile and warm eyes stared back at him, and his throat tightened.
What sorta dominion is this?
What could he do?