The forest path blurred beneath our feet as we pushed forward. Branches whipped at our faces, roots threatened to snare our ankles with every desperate stride.
"Don't stop! We gotta hurry!" Smith's voice carried back to us, ragged with exhaustion and fear.
He was twenty paces ahead, Lilia's limp form draped across his broad shoulders. Her hair cascaded down his back, occasionally revealing glimpses of her ashen face. Dark crimson stained her tattered clothing and Smith's hands where he gripped her.
I followed behind with the others, lungs burning with each breath. My muscles screamed for rest, but there was no time. The metallic scent of blood mingled with the earthy smell of the forest floor, a constant reminder of what we stood to lose.
Beside me, Earlston stumbled, barely catching himself against a tree trunk. His face contorted in agony, right hand pressed against the makeshift bandage at his side. The fabric had soaked through, fresh blood seeping between his fingers.
"Earlston, let me help—" I reached for him, but he shook his head sharply.
"Keep moving," he gritted through clenched teeth, pushing himself upright with visible effort. "Lilia first."
We all needed medical attention—cuts, bruises, and worse marking our bodies after the ambush—but Lilia's wounds were fatal and if we have any chance at saving her we have to hurry.
Smith's Pov
My legs had gone numb miles ago, moving now purely on desperate will. Every muscle fiber screamed with fatigue, but the weight on my back was all that mattered. Lilia felt lighter than she should—too light—and that terrified me more than anything.
I couldn't protect her.
The thoughts hammered relentlessly against my skull as I forced one foot in front of the other. The memory of her body flying past me slamming against the tree, crumpled against the ancient oak, blood pooling beneath her slender form, replayed in my mind like a cruel punishment.
She's going to die. She's going to die because of me.
My vision blurred—from tears or exhaustion, I couldn't tell anymore. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered except reaching town, finding a healer who could save her life.
If my legs stop working, I'll crawl. I'll do whatever it takes.
The coppery tang of blood filled my nostrils as her breathing grew shallower against my neck. Each labored breath from her lips sent a wave of renewed panic through me.
"Hold on, Lilia," I whispered, unsure if she could hear me through the veil of unconsciousness. "Just a little longer."
My eyes caught on something in the distance—the weathered wooden buildings of Dawnscross, our destination. Hope and desperation surged through me in equal measure, lending strength to my failing body.
I pushed harder, ignoring the burning in my thighs and the stabbing pain between my shoulder blades. Behind me, I could hear the others struggling to keep pace—boots pounding earth, ragged breathing, occasional curses when someone stumbled.
As we drew closer to town, the wind shifted, carrying with it the unmistakable scent of decay. My stomach lurched.
No. Not after everything we've been through. Not like this.
The first buildings of Dawnscross loomed before us, sturdy structures of oak and stone. The streets were sparsely populated as it was now getting deeper into night—a few merchants closing up shops, tavern-goers ambling toward the promise of ale and companionship.
I barreled through the main thoroughfare, past startled faces and shocked gasps.
"Move!" I shouted, my voice barely recognizable even to my own ears. "Get out of the way!"
Most scrambled aside at the sight of us—bloodied, wild-eyed travelers carrying a dying woman. But as I rounded the corner toward the healer's quarter, a stocky man laden with crates stepped directly into my path.
The collision sent us both sprawling. I twisted desperately mid-fall, trying to protect Lilia, but couldn't prevent her from hitting the cobblestones with a sickening thud.
"No! Lilia!" I scrambled toward her on hands and knees, heart threatening to burst from my chest.
She lay motionless on the street, face turned toward me. In the moonlight, her skin had taken on a bluish pallor, delicate features relaxed in a way that terrified me to my core.
For a heartbeat, I nearly surrendered to despair, wanted nothing more than to gather her into my arms and weep for all we'd lost, for the future that was slipping away with each passing second.
But there wasn't time.
I scooped her up in a bridal carry, one arm supporting her shoulders, the other beneath her knees. Her head lolled against my chest, a strand of hair caught on her bloodless lips.
"MOVE!" I bellowed, charging forward once more. "GET OUT OF THE WAY!"
Faces blurred as I ran, focused solely on the building at the end of the lane—a modest two-story structure with a weathered sign depicting a mortar and pestle hanging above its door. Warm lamplight glowed from within, the only beacon of hope in my darkening world.
With the last of my strength, I slammed my shoulder against the heavy oak door, nearly falling as it gave way. The sudden transition from darkness to the dimly lit interior momentarily blinded me.
"HELP!" My voice cracked, desperation stripping away all dignity. "I NEED HELP!"
The interior was quiet, smelling of herbs and beeswax. For a horrifying moment, I feared the place was empty, that we'd come all this way for nothing.
"Please," I whispered, my legs finally giving out as I sank to my knees, still cradling Lilia's broken form. "She's dying."