"Run, Elara. Don't look back."
The words echoed in my mind as the forest blurred past me. My feet pounded the earth, every step a plea to the gods to keep me alive. The icy wind bit at my skin, and the scent of burning wood filled the air behind me. They were coming.
I didn't dare turn to see the flames engulfing the only home I'd ever known. The witch who had raised me who had loved me as her own was gone, her final act a spell that had flung me into the wild.
Tears stung my eyes, but I refused to stop. I couldn't afford to mourn. Not when the witches who had betrayed us were hunting me. Not when they believed I was the key to a prophecy that could reshape our world.
The last hybrid. The last of her kind.
Every creature feared what I was, and yet, none of them truly understood me. A part of me didn't understand myself. I didn't know what made me so dangerous or why my existence threatened centuries of hatred and bloodshed between witches and werewolves.
I only knew one thing: survival.
The howls came next, sharp and scary. They pierced the night like a blade, and I stumbled, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
Werewolves.
They were closer than I thought, their speed like that of a lightning bolt. But witches weren't far behind, their magic seeping into the air like poison. I was trapped between two enemies, each wanting a piece of me.
"Please, not like this," I whispered to no one, my voice barely audible over the sounds of pursuit.
The moon watching me as I tear apart mentally.
Then I saw a clearing up ahead, and in its center, a strange figure stood still as stone.