The morning sun that had once blessed their kitchen with golden warmth now felt cold and foreign against Ethan's skin. Anxiety crept through his veins like poison, each passing minute without Emberlyn's return carving deeper wounds into his heart. The silence of their forest sanctuary, once a blessing, now echoed with his growing desperation.
*Maybe Emberlyn is still in the town?* The thought flickered through his mind like a dying candle flame, but darker possibilities crowded behind it—shadows that whispered of dangers he dared not name. His chest tightened as images flashed unbidden: his beloved wife trapped, wounded, calling his name while he sat helplessly in their empty home.
What if something terrible had happened to Emberlyn? The distressing thought wrapped around his throat like a noose, choking away his ability to think clearly. His hands trembled as he touched the chain beneath his shirt where his wedding ring lay hidden—their secret symbol of love now feeling like a talisman against his worst fears.
Without hesitation, Ethan burst through their front door and sprinted toward Eldervale, the forest stretching endlessly between him and the answers he so desperately sought. In his burning panic, he forgot the most crucial detail—he had stepped beyond the magical barrier that Emberlyn had carefully woven around their home, protection against the monsters that prowled Greenhaven Forest.
His feet pounded against the earth, each step driven by love and terror in equal measure. The familiar scents of cedar and wildflowers that usually comforted him now seemed to mock his desperate flight. Fifty feet from their sanctuary, he felt it—the subtle shift in the air as the protective magic fell away behind him, leaving him exposed to dangers he was utterly unprepared to face.
Yet amidst the suffocating darkness of worry and fear, one thought blazed brighter than all else—Emberlyn's safety. Her smile from yesterday morning, the way she had nestled against his back while he cooked, the gentle press of her lips against his hand before she left. With each memory, his determination crystallized into something unbreakable, propelling him forward despite the terror gnawing at his soul.
The forest around him seemed to grow more menacing with every step. Branches reached out like gnarled fingers, and shadows danced with malevolent intent. But Ethan ran on, his chef's lungs burning with unaccustomed exertion, his soft hands already blistering from pushing through thorny undergrowth.
After what felt like an eternity but was only ten minutes of desperate flight, misfortune struck with the force of a sledgehammer.
"Growwwwl!"
The sound froze his blood. Ethan skidded to a halt, his heart slamming against his ribs as he faced the wolf that had emerged from behind a massive oak. Its yellow eyes gleamed with predatory hunger, lips pulled back to reveal fangs designed for tearing flesh from bone.
Even through his terror, Ethan's analytical mind—the same one that calculated cooking times and flavor combinations with precision—automatically assessed his opponent. In the monster classification system that every citizen of Eldervale learned, this wolf ranked as Rank F, the lowest tier. Any novice hunter with a week of training could dispatch such a creature without breaking a sweat.
But Ethan was no hunter. He was a chef whose greatest battles had been against stubborn soufflés and temperamental ovens. His weapons were whisks and wooden spoons, not swords and shields. The closest he came to combat was the precise knife work that had so impressed Emberlyn during their courtship.
His right hand instinctively reached for the small paring knife in his pocket—barely longer than his palm, designed for peeling apples and trimming herbs. Could such a modest blade possibly save him from the beast now lowering itself into a predatory crouch?
Terror made his entire body shake like a leaf in a windstorm. Sweat poured down his face despite the cool forest air, and his breath came in ragged gasps that seemed to echo through the trees. For a moment, he considered running, but one glance at the wolf's powerful haunches told him everything he needed to know about his chances of escape.
The wolf and the chef stood frozen in tableau, predator and prey locked in a deadly dance. Time seemed suspended, the very forest holding its breath. Somewhere beyond these trees, Emberlyn might be in danger, might be calling his name, might be wondering why her husband hadn't come to find her.
That thought—that she might need him—sparked something fierce and desperate in Ethan's chest.
ROARR!!!
The wolf launched itself through the air, a missile of fur and fangs aimed at Ethan's throat. He threw himself sideways, his reflexes honed by years of avoiding splattering grease and sharp kitchen corners serving him now in this deadlier dance. But fear betrayed him—his foot caught on a root, sending him sprawling face-first into the forest floor.
The precious knife flew from his grasp, spinning through dappled sunlight before disappearing into a pile of fallen leaves. Ethan scrambled frantically, his fingers digging through decomposing foliage as the wolf wheeled around for another attack.
Time slowed to a crawl as the beast launched itself again. Ethan rolled desperately, feeling the wind from passing claws ruffle his hair. His hands continued their frantic search even as he dodged, muscle memory from thousands of hours searching for the right utensil in cluttered kitchen drawers guiding his movements.
The third attack came faster than his exhausted body could evade. The wolf's weight slammed into him, driving the air from his lungs as they crashed to the ground together. Fangs snapped inches from his face, close enough that he could smell the creature's rank breath and see his own terrified reflection in its predatory eyes.
In desperation born of love, Ethan's hands shot up to grip the wolf's jaws—one palm pressed against the upper jaw, the other against the lower, holding back death by the narrowest of margins. His arms screamed with the effort, muscles that had only ever lifted mixing bowls and flour sacks now straining against raw animal power.
"GRRRRRAAAGHHH!" The sound that tore from Ethan's throat was barely human, a primal roar of defiance against the darkness threatening to swallow him whole.
His vision began to blur as his strength wavered. The wolf's jaws inched closer, saliva dripping onto his cheek as his grip slowly failed. This couldn't be how it ended—not when Emberlyn needed him, not when their love story was supposed to have so many more chapters.
*NO!*
The word exploded through his mind with such force that something fundamental shifted inside him. In his panic and desperation, his telekinesis—the power he'd used for years to effortlessly manage multiple ingredients while cooking—responded to his desperate need. But this was different from floating spoons and knives during meal preparation. This was raw, desperate, and aimed at survival rather than creation.
"ARRRRRGHHHHH!" With a roar that shook the very trees, Ethan summoned strength he didn't know he possessed and hurled the wolf away from him.
At that same instant, his telekinetic ability—so familiar in the kitchen, so foreign in combat—seized the lost knife from the leaves and sent it spinning through the air. The blade, guided by his power but clumsy with his inexperience in violence, found its mark with desperate precision, burying itself to the hilt in the wolf's skull.
THUNK!
The forest fell silent except for Ethan's ragged breathing. He lay on his back, staring up at the canopy above, struggling to process what had just happened. His telekinesis, which had always been a gentle tool for cooking—lifting salt shakers, rotating spoons, managing multiple pans—had just been used to kill. His hands—hands that had only ever created, never destroyed—were stained with blood. But there was no time for shock or philosophical contemplation.
Emberlyn. She was still out there, possibly in danger, and maybe even wondering why he hadn't come to find her yet.
Ignoring the pain shooting through his battered body, Ethan forced himself upright and resumed his desperate sprint toward Eldervale. The forest seemed to sense his urgency and threw obstacle after obstacle in his path—more wolves, a family of razor-tusked boars, and creatures he couldn't even name emerged from the undergrowth.
His telekinetic ability, honed through years of precise culinary work but never used for violence, felt clumsy and wrong when applied to combat. He could manipulate his familiar kitchen knives and small cooking utensils with perfect precision, but using his power to hurt living creatures went against every instinct. Still, love for Emberlyn drove him forward, forcing him to use his gentle gift in ways it was never meant for.
Each victory came at a cost. Claws raked across his arms, teeth found gaps in his desperate defenses, and exhaustion clawed at him like a living thing. His clothes—the same ones he'd worn while making breakfast for his beloved wife—hung in tatters, soaked with blood both his own and that of the creatures he'd been forced to kill.
But nothing could stop him. Not pain, not exhaustion, not the growing catalog of wounds covering his body. Every step brought him closer to Emberlyn, closer to answers, closer to the reunion that would make all this suffering worthwhile.