Nyx didn't know how long he had been running. Maybe fifteen minutes. Maybe more than twenty. Time had blurred into a single, pounding heartbeat in his chest. He hadn't looked back—not even once. His only instinct was to flee, to get as far from that scream as his legs would carry him.
Finally, when his lungs burned and the terror loosened its grip on his throat just enough, he stopped.
He stood frozen for a moment, then stumbled beneath a crooked tree with roots like grasping fingers. He dropped to the ground, his body too weak to stay upright any longer, and lay down on his chest. His face pressed into the dirt, and he raised his arms on either side, covering his head completely—shielding his eyes, hiding his face. He didn't want to see anything. Not the trees. Not the stars. Not even the darkness.
He knew—he knew—he was far away from that thing. But he wasn't willing to take the risk. He didn't want to see it. He didn't want to give it the chance to know where he was.
So he stayed still.
Utterly still.
Not a single twitch from his fingers. Only his chest moved, rising and falling with shallow, shaky breaths. Even then, he tried to muffle them. As if the sound alone might give him away.
His body trembled.
Tears still streamed from his eyes, mixing with the dirt beneath him. His lips quivered, but he made no sound. He didn't dare.
Even Love was silent now.
She understood. For once, she didn't tease, didn't comment, didn't pry. Her presence sat quietly in the back of his mind, like a shadow respecting grief.
The forest around them was quiet.
Too quiet.
No owls. No insects. Not even the breeze dared move the leaves.
And still, in that unnatural stillness, his ears rang.
The echo of the scream clung to him like cobwebs in the wind. It wasn't just noise—it had been a presence. Something ancient and raw, something that pierced the night like a jagged blade and carved his sanity apart.
No matter how far he'd run, it stayed with him. Not in sound, but in sensation. A lingering cold in his spine. A tightness in his ribs. A pressure behind his eyes.
Because what he had felt back there…
It wasn't just fear.
It was terror.
The kind that bypassed the mind completely. The kind that shattered reason and turned the body into an animal. The kind that said you are prey now, and you were never meant to survive.
He hadn't seen what made the sound. But he hadn't needed to.
The air had changed—thickened, grown colder, denser. Every breath had been like swallowing ice. The moment that voice screamed at him to stop, he knew it wasn't human. It sounded human, but there was something off about it. Something broken.
Wrong.
It hadn't tried to kill him. That would've been easier.
No… it had called to him. In a voice so deeply invasive that it made him want to tear his skin off and vanish from the world entirely.
Even now, curled under the tree like a child hiding from a nightmare, Nyx couldn't stop shaking. His muscles refused to obey. His breath still trembled. Somewhere deep in his mind, something whispered cruelly:
You weren't supposed to escape.
You were supposed to stop.
You were supposed to die.
What was that thing? A voice? A ghost? A god?
He didn't know.
He didn't want to know.
---
Fifteen minutes passed in silence. Maybe more. His breathing had slowed just enough to not hurt. The ground was still cold beneath his chest.
Then, without lifting his head, he whispered, "This… wasn't the same."
He didn't finish the thought.
Because this fear didn't come from memory. It didn't come from Nero, or the palace, or the years of silence and shame. It came from the unknown. From something unnatural.
From something that somehow knew him.
That scream hadn't just chased him—it had called his name.
And that was what terrified him most.
He slowly lifted his head, just an inch or two, and let out a long, shaking breath through his nose. His body still trembled.
"I thought I was going to die," he murmured, voice dry and hoarse.
Love finally spoke, her voice soft.
["You probably would've. If you hadn't run."]
A long pause.
["What the hell was that?"]
"Don't talk about that thing," he snapped, almost on instinct. His voice cracked with fear.
["…Okay, okay."]
A few seconds passed.
["Nyx?"]
"Hm?"
["Don't go back there."]
He didn't respond right away. He turned his face toward the trees. The forest was motionless, pitch-dark, its trunks rising like blackened bones in the night. Somewhere beyond them lay that village. That cursed, dead village that now felt like a wound carved into the world.
He nodded slowly.
"I won't."
---
More than half an hour later, Nyx finally sat up. His breathing was steadier now, and the trembling had dulled to an occasional shiver. The night air was cold against his wet face. His body ached, his throat burned. But he was alive.
He looked up between the trees.
Then, with a faint smile, he whispered, "You know, Love… you really are a lovely girl."
His voice was calm.
For once, sincere.
["I know that already,"]
She replied, her usual smugness just beginning to return.
["But you're an idio—"]
She stopped suddenly.
Went quiet.
Seconds passed.
Then her voice returned, trembling.
["N-Nyx… can you tell me… how big is the moon tonight?"]
He blinked, confused. He glanced up.
"There's no moon in the sky," he said slowly. "It's a new moon tonight. Why?"
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Love screamed.
["NYX! RUN! RUN FAST—!"]