Dratia’s feet pounded against the forest floor, a cacophony of twigs snapping and leaves rustling in a frantic symphony of desperation. The cold air bit at his skin, each breath a sharp reminder of the reality that had thrust him into this nightmare. He was no longer the boy of the revered Eldrath clan, shrouded in the warmth of magic and familial love; he was a hunted wraith, a shadow fleeing from the specter of death. The forest loomed around him, ancient and twisted, its gnarled branches clawing at the sky. It was a place whispered about in fearful tones, a realm of nightmares where even the bravest souls dared not tread. The Forbidden Forest, they called it—haunted by the remnants of those who had ventured too far and never returned. But for Dratia, there was no choice. The assassins had chased him like hounds on the scent of prey, their cold, merciless laughter echoing in his ears, spurring him onward into the depths of darkness. His feet throbbed in agony, bare and bloodied from the jagged rocks and thorny underbrush. The cloak that swirled around him offered little protection, mere fabric against the unforgiving wilderness. He had slipped into the night wearing only his sleep clothes, the remnants of a peaceful slumber shattered by the chaos he had awoken to. The memory of their faces, twisted with malice, haunted him—each glint of a dagger or flicker of a shadow reminded him of the danger that lurked just behind him. With every step deeper into the forest, the oppressive silence enveloped him, thick and suffocating. The trees loomed taller, their trunks wide and twisted, creating a canopy that blotted out the moonlight. Dratia felt the weight of the darkness pressing against him, each breath a struggle against the unseen forces that conspired to trap him here. How long could he run? How far could he go before the forest claimed him as its own? He stumbled, catching himself against the rough bark of a tree, the dampness of the moss seeping into his cloak. Panic clawed at his throat; he could hear the faint whispers of the forest, the rustling leaves murmuring secrets that sent chills racing down his spine. A gust of wind howled through the branches, and in its fierce embrace, he thought he heard the voices of the lost. “Kill him,” they hissed, a chorus of dread that echoed from the shadows. “Kill him. Kill him.” Dratia’s heart raced, fear wrapping around him like a noose. The words seemed to seep into his bones, an insidious chant that threatened to drown out his thoughts. He pressed his back against the rough bark, fighting the urge to scream. He was alive, but at what cost? He was a boy marked by the gods, cursed to wander in the shadows of his potential, and now it seemed the forest itself was hungry for his end. And then he saw them. A pack of wolves emerged from the underbrush, their eyes gleaming like embers in the darkness. They moved as one, a fluid mass of fur and muscle, their growls low and menacing. Dratia could see the sharp glint of their teeth, white and deadly, as they circled him. The whispers intensified, a storm of voices urging him toward despair. “Kill him,” they cried again, louder now, reverberating in his mind. “He must die.” Dratia raised his hands instinctively, a reflex born from fear. “Stay back!” he shouted, but the words felt feeble, lost in the suffocating shadows. He could feel the energy crackling around him, a force he had never acknowledged, something deep within him stirring like a dormant beast awakening from its slumber. The wolves paused, their movement stuttering for an instant, confusion flickering in their eyes. They were predators, instinctual and ruthless, and yet something held them back. The air around Dratia thrummed with tension, a palpable energy that radiated from his outstretched palms. “Kill him,” the voices urged again, more insistent, drowning out the rising panic that threatened to consume him. But this time, he felt something shift within him—a spark igniting in the depths of his soul. In that moment of desperation, he focused, summoning the raw energy that coursed through him, feeling it rise like a tempest. The wolves lunged, an explosion of fur and fangs propelling toward him. Dratia’s heart raced, but instead of fleeing, he concentrated on the swirling force within him. He thrust his hands forward, a gesture of instinct rather than intention. The air rippled before him, a shimmering barrier forming in the space between Dratia and the wolves. Time slowed as the wolves collided with the unseen wall. A shockwave pulsed outward, forcing them back, their snarls turning into startled yelps. Dratia’s eyes widened in disbelief. He had done this. He had created something, a shield, a barrier that had repelled the feral beasts. The energy surged through him, intoxicating and terrifying all at once. “Kill him!” the voices screeched in fury, but now they felt distant, muffled by the rush of adrenaline that flooded his veins. The wolves regrouped, circling again, their eyes narrowing as they assessed this new threat. Dratia could feel their hunger, their primal instincts urging them to attack, to feast on the boy who dared to defy them. But he stood his ground, fear morphing into a resolve he had never known. “Get away from me!” he shouted, and with a fierce thrust of his hands, he sent a wave of energy rippling outward. The forest responded to his command, branches snapping and roots shifting. The wolves were thrown back once more, their snarls transforming into howls of confusion and rage. Dratia felt the power surge through him, wild and untamed, a torrent of magic that had lain dormant for too long. It was intoxicating, exhilarating, and yet, beneath it all, a creeping dread lingered—a reminder of the curse that bound him, the gods that had set him on this path. As the wolves regrouped yet again, their eyes glinting with the promise of violence, Dratia knew he was teetering on the edge of something dark. The forest whispered around him, beckoning him deeper into its embrace, a siren song that promised power and destruction in equal measure. He had barely escaped one threat, only to find himself face-to-face with another. The realization settled heavily upon him; he was alone in a world that saw him as a monster. The gods had cursed him, and now he was becoming something they feared—a force of nature, a harbinger of chaos. The wolves lunged again, a coordinated attack driven by instinct and hunger. Dratia felt the energy within him swell, a tempest of magic igniting in response to their assault. He thrust his hands forward once more, and this time, the energy exploded outward in a brilliant wave of light and sound. The ground trembled, the air crackled with raw power, and in an instant, the wolves were sent sprawling, tumbling through the underbrush like leaves caught in a storm. The energy surged through him, electrifying, as though the very essence of the forest had responded to his call. Dratia stood at the center of it all, panting and wild-eyed, a tempest unleashed in the heart of the Forbidden Forest. The howls of the wolves faded into the distance, replaced by the eerie silence that followed the storm. He had survived. For now. But even as he caught his breath, the weight of his actions pressed down on him. He was no longer just a boy on the run; he had tapped into something primal, something dark. The forest had awakened a part of him that was both exhilarating and terrifying, and he could feel the eyes of the gods upon him, watching and waiting. As the silence settled around him, Dratia took a step back, heart pounding in his chest. He had survived the wolves, but the greater battle lay ahead. He was not only escaping the assassination attempt; he was racing toward a destiny that had been woven into the very fabric of his being. With determination burning in his veins, he turned deeper into the forest, the whispers now a haunting melody that guided him forward. The path ahead was uncertain, shrouded in shadows, but he would unravel its mysteries. He would confront the gods who had cursed him, and he would find his place in a world that had cast him as an outcast. The night was far from over, and the journey had only just begun.


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