The morning mist clung to the forest like a shroud. Every tree loomed tall and wet, their trunks darkened with dew, their branches dripping cold beads onto Ahayue's shoulders as he moved. His knife hand never relaxed. His other arm steadied Alusya, who was pale from exhaustion but pushed herself forward with stubborn silence.
The quiet was wrong. Not the stillness of an untouched forest, but the silence of something watching. Birds had stopped singing. Even the stream behind them flowed too softly, as if muffled by the weight of unseen eyes.
Ahayue slowed, signaling Alusya with a hand gesture Andalusia had taught him years ago: stay low, stay still.
She crouched instantly, though confusion flickered across her face. She didn't need to ask what he sensed—her own skin prickled, hairs rising on her neck.
Then came the first sound. Not a birdcall. Not the crunch of a beast. But the faint, deliberate snap of a twig.
The survivors had not abandoned the hunt.
Ahayue knew it in his bones. He'd seen too many warriors survive impossible wounds, fueled by vengeance and faith. A tribe could forgive the killing of hunters or the burning of fields, but they never forgave an insult to the gods.
And to them, Alusya was worse than an insult. She was a living blasphemy.
Another twig cracked—closer now.
Ahayue's body tensed. He pulled Alusya behind a tree, his palm covering her mouth before she could speak. Her wide eyes mirrored his: fear sharpened with memory.
A shadow passed through the mist. Human-shaped. Cautious. Searching.
He counted three heartbeats, then another shadow appeared. Then another.
"They're fanning out," he whispered into Alusya's ear. She nodded, trembling against him.
The hunt had begun again.
They moved slow, deliberate, silent as predators. Warriors trained for the chase, their bodies painted with ash and mud, their eyes scanning for tracks. The forest was their ally, and their patience deeper than Ahayue wished to test.
Alusya clutched Ahayue's sleeve as he inched them away from the searching shadows. His mind raced through every trick Andalusia had drilled into him: misdirection trails, false scents, using streams to cover steps. But with Alusya still weak from unleashing the god's power, their pace was slower than it should be.
The gap between predator and prey would close. It always did.
Hours stretched into a cruel dance. Ahayue led them in zigzags, doubling back, wading knee-deep in streams until his legs numbed. Once, they hid under a fallen log as two warriors passed so close Ahayue could see the scars on their ankles.
Alusya buried her face against his chest, trying not to breathe too loudly. Her body quivered with terror, but she did not cry out. She had grown harder in the short days since their flight, and Ahayue silently thanked Andalusia again for teaching him patience enough to guide a child through fear.
When the hunters were gone, he whispered, "Good. You're learning."
But her whisper back was trembling: "What if I lose control again? What if I hurt you?"
He shook his head. "Fear won't help us. Use it to stay sharp. That's all."
She pressed her lips tight, nodding.
The day dragged mercilessly on. Hunger gnawed their bellies. Sweat soaked Ahayue's tunic. Still, he refused to stop moving. He could feel the hunt tightening. The air itself seemed to press them forward, funneling them toward something—whether trap or escape, he couldn't yet know.
Then, just as twilight bled through the canopy, a horn call split the silence.
It was low, mournful, and terrible in its simplicity.
The signal of sighting.
They'd been seen.
"Run!" Ahayue seized Alusya's wrist and tore through the undergrowth. Branches whipped their faces, roots clawed their ankles, but they plunged forward. The horn sounded again, answered by another, further away.
The forest lit with cries. Shouts in the hunters' tongue. The rhythm of pursuit.
Alusya stumbled but forced herself upright, her breath ragged. Ahayue dragged her when needed, carried her when she faltered. The curse in his blood throbbed with every step, aching to be unleashed, whispering how easily he could tear through his pursuers if he let it rise.
But he bit down on the temptation. He'd seen what Alusya's surrender to divinity had cost her. He would not lose himself that way.
They burst into a ravine. The walls rose sheer on both sides, jagged with stone and vines. Only one path stretched forward.
"Trap," Ahayue muttered. His instincts screamed it. But behind them came the hunters, their voices swelling, feet pounding.
No choice. Forward or die.
He pushed Alusya ahead. They scrambled over stones slick with moss, the ravine narrowing until it became a throat of earth. Their breathing echoed, too loud.
From above, a spear clattered down, narrowly missing Ahayue's head.
He shoved Alusya flat against the wall. Looking up, he saw figures silhouetted against the dimming sky—warriors lining the ravine's edge, spears poised, eyes burning with righteous fury.
"Keep moving!" he barked, shoving Alusya forward again.
The spears rained down.
One struck his shoulder. Pain flared white-hot, ripping a shout from his throat. Blood streamed, but he ripped the shaft free and hurled it aside, teeth bared.
Alusya screamed his name, but he growled, "Don't stop!"
More spears fell, clattering against stone, splintering on rock. One grazed her arm, drawing blood, but she bit back her cry and ran on.
At last the ravine widened into a clearing, and they staggered free of the stone throat. But no relief came.
Ahead, more shadows emerged. Warriors. Waiting.
They were surrounded.
Ahayue planted himself in front of Alusya, blood running down his arm, knife glinting in his grip. His chest heaved, but his eyes blazed with the same iron that had carried him through curses, avalanches, and beasts.
The warriors advanced slowly, spears leveled. They did not rush. Prey that cornered itself could be taken at leisure.
Alusya clutched the back of his tunic. She whispered, "Ahayue… I can feel him again. The god. He wants me to use him. If I let him in, I can—"
"No." His voice was sharp.
"But we'll die!"
"Better dead than puppets."
Tears filled her eyes. "You don't understand—he won't stop—"
The horn blared again, closer, triumphant.
The hunt was no longer tightening. It had closed.
Ahayue lifted his knife, blood dripping from the wound in his shoulder, body braced against impossible odds. Alusya's sobs twisted into a low, terrible hum, the kind that made the mist stir and the ground tremble faintly beneath their feet.
The forgotten god stirred once more, whispering into the girl's heart.
And Ahayue knew: the true battle had only just begun.