"Lord Azael. We're talking about humans here," the demon ghost mediator said, his tone edged with surprise.
Azael hated these land-check sessions. He had to be personally involved just to keep the lycans and humans from trespassing onto his domain.
He had told the ghost mediator—the intermediary of the lands of the supernaturals—to extend the border path farther today.
A good number of humans fleeing from war would have enough space to escape.
"Leave the part open for at least three days." Azael said coldly, "I don't care about humans. I need it open for a reason."
Liar
It was because of Elana.
Through one of his bats, he had glimpsed the carriage leaving the refugee city. Azael couldn't see inside—his carriages were built to resist all kinds of magic.
Including his monochrome vision, he felt anxious to see her.
He tried again, the carriage was gone, safe beyond the chaos.
"It has been done, Lord Azael," the ghost mediator said.
Azael rose. "I'll kill any shapeshifter I find on my land. Warn them."
He left the ancient brick office—once belonging to a real estate agent who'd died at the crossroads where all supernatural paths meet.
**
The soldier coughed in Elana's arms, the warm liquid soaking through the sleeve of her blouse confirmed he got shot.
"Mister," she whispered, barely audible. Enemy soldiers were combing the woods nearby.
The man who'd shielded her through the bombs and gunfire, pushing her forward while the air burned with the smell of death and smoke.
They had managed to reach the woods, the clear scent of damp leaves—anything was better than the reek of gunpowder.
But he had been shot. She dragged him behind a tree, desperate to save him.
They would find her soon—she knew they had seen her move.
"R..u..n." he rasped. Then his body went still in her arms.
Elana's heart dropped. Voices grew louder.
She pressed a trembling kiss to his forehead, a silent goodbye, and ran. Praying silently not to bump into a tree.
Was it day or night? She couldn't even tell.
**
Azael arrived at his castle, pretending not to care, though every step felt heavier with the ache to see her again.
"Zel!" a voice whispered from the shadows.
He sighed. "Go on and lecture me on how much of a softie I am."
"After you save her," Trisha replied.
His gaze snapped toward the sound. "She's safe—in my carriage."
Trisha stepped forward, her pale face expressionless.
"I saw a distant misfortune in her eyes the time she mentioned her sister, Naina."
Azael stiffened. "What did you see, Trisha?"
"I stole a glance at her fate," she murmured. "I think she's going to die."
Azael's heart twisted like a blade had driven through it.
His eyes darkened, glowing with fury and disbelief as they settled on her.
Trisha's following words felt like a curse.
"Elana's not in the carriage."
**
Meanwhile, miles away, beneath the smoke-choked sky.
Elana felt a flicker of relief as the voices behind her grew faint—perhaps the soldiers had grown weary of searching.
Someone grabbed her hand, and she yelped, but a heavy shushing followed. Her nose caught a whiff of baby food. A soft suckling sound—a baby in the middle of this. Oh no.
Surely the soldiers would have mercy.
"I'm sorry, miss," a young boy's voice whispered. Immediately, she thought of Israel. Please, God, wherever they are, let them be alive too.
"I had to pull you out of the way like that cause the soldiers are up ahead—they might see you," he said.
A young boy couldn't nurse a child. "A baby?"
She whispered, rubbing her elbows against the cold.
"My m-mom was in the hospital," the boy said softly, "She had just given birth. She hasn't even recovered."
"Where…where is your mom?" She reached out, her hands searching.
She felt the little boy's hesitation as he guided her hands to his mother's still body.
Elana felt no warmth. Tears spilled down her cheeks.
The woman was dead. What was the baby surviving on?
She reached for the boy. Even through his muffled sobs, he forced himself to stay quiet—to survive
"I just didn't want to be alone," he whispered.
"I knew when she stopped telling me 'it's fine, it's all in your imagi…"
"Imagination," Elana finished softly—those exact words she used to tell Israel when he was scared.
"Give me your hands." She said gently. He obeyed. His palms were rough and cold—he'd been out here too long.
"You're a strong and brave little man, but you'll be even braver if you keep going on for mummy from here," Elana said, her lips trembling. "So what do you say?"
His cries tightened into sniffles. "Yes," he said.
"That's a brave boy. I cannot see, but I need you to be my eyes, and I'll make sure we find safety. I'm Elana."
"I'm Christian," he said quietly.
"The bravest Christian I'd ever known," She smiled faintly, hoping it would ease his pain.
"Christian," Elana whispered, her palms tracing the tree bark they hid behind.
"How much space do we have on the sides, since the soldiers are ahead and behind us?"
"It's a big space," he whispered, his voice steadier.
"Is it morning or night?"
"It's nearly morning."
No wonder it was hard for the soldiers to find her.
But if morning catches them here, they'll be doomed.
She reached out for Christian and lifted him into her arms.
"Hold tight to me, Christian. Never let go."
He nodded against her shoulder.
She exhaled, prayed—and started toward the side path, careful not to stumble.
Then Christian began to cry.
She stumbled over a stone, scraping her hand, then forced herself upright, gripping Christian tight.
That was when she heard the horses.
They were surrounded.
"Please," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "He's just a boy."
The soldiers spoke a foreign tongue, and she couldn't comprehend.
Someone wrenched Christian from her arms.
He screamed and kicked. Her hands reached for him desperately.
Israel's voice flashed in her head again, 'Lana.'
"Elana!" Christian's small panicked voice cut through the chaos to her left.
A brutal kick slammed into her ribs. She gasped, the pain blooming hot and deep as laughter echoed around her.
Then—a gunshot.
Christian was silent.
Why wasn't he crying? Elana thought, as her heart tore open. The realization hit like ice, then fire.
Despite her pain, she screamed.
A sound that shook the woods—raw, feral, unholy.
Her scream sent the forest's rodents scurrying in terror,
Yet it was haunting music to the King of night—who searched frantically for the woman his heart ached for.