Finn

We've been traveling for hours, the landscape blurring together into a seamless stretch of forest and jagged rocks. The further we get, the less it feels like the world we knew. It's almost like we're in a different reality, where the rules don't apply, where survival is the only thing that matters. I keep my eyes on Lyra ahead of me, her silhouette cutting through the dim light of the dying sun.

There's a quiet intensity about her—like she's a predator just waiting for the right moment to strike. I know that look all too well. It's the same one she had when she saved me, all those months ago. I used to think I was the one who was supposed to be strong, but it's always been her. She's always been the one to keep us going.

She stops suddenly, and I nearly run into her back. I blink, shaking off my thoughts, and look around. We're standing at the edge of a cliff, the forest sloping sharply downward into a ravine below. There's no obvious way to go forward, no path, just sheer rock and trees that are too thick to cut through.

"What now?" I ask, my voice hoarse. We haven't spoken much since we split up. Every moment of silence feels like a reminder of everything that's happened.

Lyra's jaw tightens, her eyes scanning the landscape with that calculating focus. "We can't go back," she murmurs, more to herself than to me.

I glance behind us. The others are still too far behind, so we don't have the option of turning around. Not that it's an option anyway. We're stuck. And I feel it—just the smallest flicker of panic threatening to break through. We don't have time for this.

But I can't let myself feel that way. Not with Lyra beside me. She's the last person I should let see my fear. She already knows too much about the things I hide, the things I don't talk about. If I fall apart, she'll have to pick up the pieces, and I won't put that on her.

"We'll figure it out," I say, more to reassure myself than her.

She glances over at me, her lips twitching into something like a half-smile. "You say that like we've got a plan."

I swallow hard. "We will," I say, trying to make it sound convincing.

But before she can say anything, I hear it—like a low growl, something that reverberates in the air and shakes the ground beneath our feet. My heart skips a beat, and instinct takes over.

Something's coming.

I look at Lyra, and she meets my gaze, her eyes narrowing. "We're not alone."

I don't need to say anything. We both know what this is. It's one of those creatures. They've been lurking in the shadows for too long. And now, it's here.

I draw my knife, my grip tight on the handle. Lyra does the same, though she's faster—always faster than me. She's already stepping forward, her body coiled like a spring ready to release.

"Stay close," she says, her voice steady despite the tension.

I nod, though I'm not sure who I'm trying to reassure. The ground shakes again, this time more violently, and I see movement in the trees—something massive. My breath catches in my throat.

Lyra moves first, darting into the trees with an agility I'll never match. I follow, trying to ignore the panic that claws at me. It's not like it used to be. I'm not that scared little kid anymore. I've fought monsters, seen things that could break a person. But every time we face down one of these creatures, it feels like a reminder of how vulnerable we are, how little control we really have over the world around us.

And then, just as I'm about to catch up to Lyra, I hear it.

The roar.

It's deafening, shaking the trees, and it sends a chill through me. I can feel the heat in my chest, the way my heart beats harder in my chest. I don't know if it's the creature's proximity or something else—something deeper. Something I don't quite understand yet.

Lyra's already crouched low, eyes scanning for the creature, her knife at the ready. "Get ready," she whispers, her voice cold with focus.

But as she turns to face the beast, something inside me clicks.

I see it. A flash of light—a golden flare that bursts from the ground, illuminating the forest for a split second. The air feels thick, charged, like static before a storm.

And I can feel it. My connection to the earth, the way the air seems to bend around me. It's like everything is coming alive at once, like the power of the world is pulsing beneath my feet.

I hold out my hand, and for the first time, I feel the ground respond. The trees groan as their roots shift, and the air ripples. The beast roars again, but now it's not just a sound—it's a threat, a force that rips through the trees.

I don't think. I act.

With a single motion, I thrust my palm out, and the world shifts. The trees bend, and a wave of earth surges forward, sending the creature crashing into the rocks. Its roar turns into a screech, and for a moment, the world is silent. My chest heaves, and I feel a strange exhaustion flood over me.

But the creature isn't done. It rises, shaking the earth, and I know we're not out of danger yet.

Lyra's already in motion, darting toward the beast, but I grab her arm before she can go too far.

"Let me handle this," I say, and there's a strange authority in my voice, one that I didn't think was mine to have.

She looks at me, surprise flickering in her gaze, but she doesn't argue. "You sure?" she asks.

"Just trust me," I say, my voice low, a thread of something ancient running through it.

She nods, stepping back to watch.

I face the creature again, feeling the earth beneath me respond to my will. I close my eyes for a second, breathing deeply. When I open them, there's a calmness in me that I can't explain, like everything is suddenly in balance.

The creature lunges, but this time I'm ready. With a wave of my hand, the earth cracks beneath the creature's feet, pulling it into the ground. It struggles, thrashing, but it's trapped. The creature roars one last time before it disappears beneath the earth, leaving nothing but silence in its wake.

I stand there, chest heaving, trying to catch my breath.

Lyra steps forward, her eyes wide. "Finn..." she says, voice full of awe.

I look down at my hands, my heart still racing. "What the hell just happened?" I mutter.

But I don't need to ask. I know. I felt it—the power that surged through me, like the very earth had answered my call.

Lyra's gaze softens, and for a moment, I see the vulnerability in her eyes, the same one I feel in my chest. We've both changed. But we've changed together.

"We make a good team," she says softly.

And for the first time in a long while, I believe it.