The sun sank low on the distant horizon, painting the world in hues of vibrant, bleeding orange. With its reluctant goodbyes, the colossal forest—a sprawling wilderness that stretched as far as the eye could see—was swiftly swallowed by the encroaching tide of darkness.
In this deepening abyss, two fleeting figures could be seen running desperately. Mere teenagers. Their flight carried them deeper and deeper into the shadowed jaws of the woods, yet even in the encroaching gloom, they were impossible to miss—standing out like beacons in the gathering night.
The boy's hair, an unusual cascade of shimmering silver, seemed to catch and reflect the last vestiges of fading light, making him strikingly visible even in the darkness. Perhaps because of this uncanny luminescence, even after plunging headlong into the inky blackness of the forest, they had not managed to shake off their five persistent pursuers. The men, relentless shadows themselves, had been hot on their heels for what felt like an eternity—a grueling half-hour of non-stop, desperate flight.
Wanda, her breath coming in ragged gasps, could feel the burning ache in her lungs, a searing pain that mirrored the turmoil in her heart. "Bastard Pietro," she gasped, the words tearing from her throat, raw and desperate. "Why... why did you have to do this? Why, why?"
Her voice was shaking, trembling not just from exhaustion and fear, but from the crushing weight of self-blame. She felt an agonizing guilt, a gnawing certainty that she had somehow dragged Pietro into this horrifying mess—a consequence of her own perceived cowardice.
Pietro, hearing the desperate, self-recriminating questions from his sister, couldn't help but lower his head, his silver hair shimmering even in the near-total darkness. Now that he actually thought about it properly, strangely, not a single bit of guilt stirred within him concerning his earlier action. In fact, a quiet, stubborn certainty settled firmly in his chest—he would likely do the exact same thing again if given another chance. The thought was chillingly resolute.
But his mind, momentarily distracted by this internal reflection, failed to register the thick, gnarled branch lying perfectly hidden in the darkness before him.
With no warning whatsoever, both siblings tripped simultaneously, their legs tangling together, sending them sprawling violently onto the rough, unforgiving forest floor. Their bodies tumbled, skidding across roots and sharp stones as pain exploded through them, leaving streaks of raw, crimson agony. Both groaned, choked sounds of pain escaping their lips.
Wanda tried desperately to push herself up, to regain her footing, but an intense, searing pain shot through her leg, completely rendering her helpless. Her body refused to obey, muscles screaming in protest.
"Fuck it!" she screamed, a guttural cry of frustration and despair. "Fuck you! Fuck everybody!" Only curses—bitter and impotent—could escape her lips.
Pietro, witnessing his sister's pathetic, agonizing struggle, felt a fierce resolve harden his gaze. He pushed himself up, ignoring the fresh cuts and bruises covering his body, his stance unwavering.
"Wanda, you try to escape," he commanded, his voice firm despite his ragged breath. "I'll distract them. Don't say anything. I don't care what you say or do, I'm doing it." He paused, his silver hair catching what little light remained, his eyes boring into hers. "If you don't run away now, both our lives will be wasted here. So just run away." A faint, almost wistful smile touched his lips. "And don't forget to taste Italian pizza for me."
"Pietro!" Wanda cried out again, trying once more to push herself up. But her injured leg betrayed her completely, collapsing beneath her weight.
She didn't care if Pietro got killed. Not really. But it could only happen by her own hand. How dare anyone else even think about touching him? This goddamn world had already stolen everything from her—her home, her parents, her innocence, her childhood.
"Try taking him," she seethed, a dangerous tremor in her voice. "I dare you."
A shift began to ripple through Wanda. Her face, contorted in a mask of fury and grief, seemed to fall into a strange, trancelike state. Her hair, usually obedient, began to flutter erratically even though there wasn't a single whisper of wind. And then a dim, unsettling red light began to flicker deep within her eyes—a nascent ember of power awakening.
It was as if the very world around them started to respond to her escalating emotions. A strong, completely unnatural wind began to howl through the trees, picking up speed rapidly, whipping leaves and debris into a chaotic dance. Dark, bruised clouds gathered swiftly in the sky above, swirling and churning ominously. And with a deafening, earth-shaking roar, thunder boomed—announcing the raw, untamed anger of the world itself, mirroring the tempest brewing within Wanda.
The five men, their heavy footsteps drawing closer and closer, seemed completely oblivious to this dramatic shift in the atmosphere. Or perhaps they simply didn't care. Their single-minded pursuit had narrowed their world to only one thing: their prey.
They quickly caught up to the siblings, their figures emerging from the darkness like vengeful spirits. After stopping just a few feet in front of them, they bent over, panting heavily, sucking in long, desperate breaths after their relentless chase.
"Finally," one of the men wheezed, a cruel grin spreading across his face. "Caught you, little brats." He straightened up slowly, his eyes hard and cold. "I'll show you how cruel the world can be. How dare you kill the boss's son?"
The man laughed, but there was no joy in his laughter—only pure, bone-deep despair. "You fucking brat, you screwed us over real bad. You should have just handed over your sister obediently. Maybe everyone could go home happily then. To see another day." His voice dropped into a chilling threat. "Now, every one of us will probably die a very cruel death. So... what should we do with you before your death?"
"Anyway," another man chimed in, a wild, reckless glint in his eyes, "no one's surviving today, so why don't we have some fun before going out?" He turned to a companion. "Man, give me the boy! I always wanted to do it with one..."
"What the hell, do what the fuck you want," another replied with resignation. "All of us are screwed anyway."
"Maybe if we bring them to the boss," a third man interjected, a sliver of desperate hope in his voice, "there's a very small chance he might spare us."
"Stop dreaming, bro," scoffed another. "Just enjoy your last moments before going to the boss." He turned to one of their group. "Oh, Ret, why are you even coming with us? You don't even have a family to take care of. Just run away, you stupid fucker."
Ret met his gaze with grim, weary defiance. "Do you think I'd run away like a bitch, leaving you guys behind? Stop dreaming. Besides, the boss might do something... excessive in his anger if I run away." He sighed, a sound heavy with resignation. "It's just a messed-up life. Don't take it too seriously."
"Ha," another man chuckled hollowly. "You're right. It's just a life."
But now, Wanda's eyes were almost completely consumed by red—glowing embers. Her expression had hardened into an impenetrable mask, completely darkened by the shadows and her raging emotions. It was hard to notice in the overwhelming darkness of the forest, so none of the men saw anything unusual yet.
Then a sudden, utterly unexpected event occurred.
The five men, who had been advancing toward the siblings with predatory intent, abruptly stopped dead in their tracks. Their expressions twisted dramatically, shifting from somewhat relaxed triumph to surprise, then to pure, unadulterated terror.
Wanda, confused by their sudden halt, looked at them carefully, then instinctively followed their wide, horrified gazes. She looked behind her, tracing the direction of their fear.
What she saw—or rather, what she didn't see—was good in a way. But as she stared into the darkness, a deeply creepy feeling welled up within her.
There, in the profound darkness of the forest, two distinct light sources were particularly striking, almost glowing with an unnatural intensity in the absolute blackness.
Eyes. Eyes looking directly at them.
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