Chapter 366: Run For Your Life

The forest was alive with noise—thundering hooves, snapping branches, the echo of horns. The morning mist clung to the earth, wrapping the hunt in a ghostly shroud. It was ominous despite the bright sun shining on them. Birds scattered from the treetops as the King galloped through the underbrush, his arrows aiming for the animals.Deer. Boar. Even a stag. One by one, they fell beneath his steady hand. He rode like a man possessed, the reins cutting into his palms, his eyes sharp and unblinking. With every shot, every creature that crumpled beneath the weight of his arrow, it was as if he was striking down his frustrations—his mother, Theresa, his own helplessness. He wanted victory, something to prove, something to silence the growing storm inside his chest.

The forest air was thick with the scent of blood and sweat, and the King's breath came out in harsh exhales. The sound of other riders faded into the distance until only the rhythmic pounding of his own horse remained.

And then, through the gaps between the trees, he caught a flash of movement—quick, dark, and almost silent.

A blur.

It streaked across the clearing ahead of him, too fast to be a man, too low to be a horse. He barely caught a glimpse of its black fur glinting under a shaft of light. A wolf.

His eyes narrowed.

Just as he reined his horse to turn, another rider emerged through the brush—Theresa. Her hair was undone from the wind, her eyes wild with focus. She didn't even look at him as she chased the same blur.

The realisation hit him all at once.

That was the wolf Sahira wanted. The one Theresa let free in the forest.

And she was after it.

No. He wasn't going to let her win this.

His horse wheeled sharply, hooves kicking up mud and leaves as he veered off the path, his eyes locked on the dark streak weaving through the forest ahead.

"Faster!" he hissed, spurring his horse. The trees blurred around him as he broke through branches, chasing the faint sound of paws hitting the earth.

But deep in the forest, Riven was already running for his life.

He didn't know where he was. He didn't even remember how he got there. The last thing he recalled was Theresa's soft whisper against his ear, words that hadn't made sense until now.

"You'd better run with all your might if you want to live."

He had been dragged there, in chains, they bit into his skin, he was in constant pain.

He tried to cry out when they threw him onto the ground, but only muffled sounds escaped.

And then the horns had sounded.

The hunt had begun.

It dawned on him too late—what she meant, what she had done.

He was the prey.

His entire world was filled with terror. Every sound—the distant rumble of hooves, the crackle of branches breaking—was a reminder that they were coming for him.

He was small. Helpless. His heart pounded so fast he thought it might burst. The drug in his veins burned, his body still ached from the transformation. He could not shift back, could not speak, could not even beg. All he could do was run.

And so he did.

The forest became a blur of green and brown as he darted between trees, his paws slipping on wet leaves, his lungs burning. He could smell them—horses, humans, blood. His instincts screamed for him to hide, to disappear, but the thunder of pursuit followed him no matter where he turned.

Arrows whistled past his head. One grazed his shoulder, slicing through fur and flesh. He yelped, the sound choked by the muzzle. The pain shot through him, but he couldn't stop.

Another arrow narrowly missed his hind leg, embedding itself into the trunk beside him. He stumbled but kept moving, adrenaline the only thing keeping him upright.

He remembered Theresa's cold eyes, her voice dripping with false pity.

"You better run with all your might…"

She hadn't been warning him. She'd been taunting him.

He could hear her behind him now—the distinct rhythm of her horse's hooves. She was more relentless than the others. While the rest of the hunters veered off, distracted by other prey, she stayed on him. Every time he zigzagged, she followed. Every time he tried to hide, her arrows came closer.

He was bleeding. His fur was matted with mud and blood. But he couldn't stop.

He would not stop.

He had to live. He had to wait for the drug to wear off. If he could just hold out long enough, if he could just stay alive until he shifted back—then maybe he could escape. Maybe he could be free.

But every second felt like eternity. The pounding of hooves grew louder. The shouts of hunters echoed. The forest was closing in on him.

Riven's breath came out in ragged gasps. His vision blurred. He stumbled again, his legs trembling under the strain.

Somewhere far behind, he thought he heard the King's voice shouting something—but he couldn't make it out.

Riven's lungs burned as he ran, each breath tearing through his chest like glass. His legs felt heavy, the damp leaves beneath him slipping and crunching as he stumbled forward. He could hear the thunder of hooves behind him, not one, but two riders now.

Theresa's voice had been clear when she'd whispered into his ear, her tone laced with amusement and venom both: "Run with all your might if you want to live."

He thought she wanted to kill him, but no, she had many opportunities too. She wanted him to suffer before he died.

Arrows hissed through the air like serpents. He barely had time to think before another whizzed past, the feathered shaft slicing through the mist. Riven's heart pounded, he could hear it echoing in his ears, faster, faster, louder than the hooves, louder than the hounds that barked somewhere in the distance.

When he glanced back for just a second, he froze. It wasn't Theresa this time, it was him.

The King.