The moon had disappeared behind a canopy of twisting branches, leaving only a faint glow filtering through the leaves. In that dim light, Ventania stumbled through the underbrush, every crackle of twig or rustle of leaf sending jolts of fear coursing through her trembling legs. The events of the previous night replayed ceaselessly in her mind—the hunters, their dark runes, the clang of chains… her parents’ anguished cries. It had all happened so fast.

  She was alone now.

  The protective spell that once hid Ventania from danger had dissolved with her mother’s capture, leaving her vulnerable beneath Brocéliande’s ancient gaze. Once a cradle of warmth and magic, the forest felt eerily silent. No gentle breezes whispered lullabies. Even the trees seemed to stand more like sentinels than old friends, their branches reaching skyward as if beckoning unseen storms to smother the night’s peace.

  Despite the lingering ache in her limbs, she pressed on. She didn’t know where she was going—only that staying near the blood-stained glade would suffocate her spirit. I must keep moving, she told herself, though the thought brought little comfort. Each step reminded her of her own fragility. She could still feel the faint tingle of power that had surged during the battle, but it flickered and vanished whenever she tried to call it forth.

  A root snared her hoof, and she tumbled onto the damp earth. Pain shot up her foreleg, and for a moment she lay there, breath ragged, the taste of wet leaves filling her mouth. The cold ground pressed against her body, and she gave in to her fatigue. Despair flared in her chest, sharper than any physical wound. Memories flooded her: Azarion’s roar echoing through the glade, Seralyne’s horn blazing white-hot against the swirling darkness, the hunters’ savage nets dragging them away.

  Tears mixed with the drizzle that had begun to seep through the canopy. She closed her eyes tightly, trying to hold on to any last remnant of warmth from her parents’ presence. But instead, she felt only the forest’s towering indifference. She was so small—so powerless—compared to the vastness of Brocéliande. What can I do? she thought, her mind spiraling through the futility of it all. She could neither heal her wounds nor conjure the fight to save her mother and father. I should be the one captured, not them. I can’t do this alone…

  A soft wind gust stirred the treetops, carrying the faintest echo of a distant howl. Ventania’s ears twitched. She couldn't be sure whether it was an authentic sound or a fragment of memory, but it roused her from the numb darkness creeping into her thoughts. She forced herself upright, biting back tears. The forest might not offer solace, but it demanded motion—merely surviving in Brocéliande meant never surrendering to fear.

  She limped on, stepping more carefully now, her large eyes darting at every flicker of movement. The moon, veiled once again by clouds, painted the world in shifting shades of grey. Each gust of wind carried the lingering scent of magic that seemed to evade her senses—a reminder that she might not be so vulnerable if she only knew how to harness her power.

  Snap.

  Somewhere in the darkness, a branch broke. Ventania’s heart thundered. Adrenaline surged as her instincts screamed a single, urgent command: Run.

  She spun on trembling hooves, searching for the source of the sound. The forest’s hush thickened. Even the chirping crickets seemed to have gone silent. Her pulse pounded in her ears, her senses stretching to catch any detail, any shift in the shadows.

  A flash of glowing eyes.

  Wolf.

  One of Brocéliande’s many predators stepped forward, muzzle raised to catch her scent. Its fur bristled with savage intent, and a low snarl vibrated in its throat. Ventania froze. The creature bared its fangs, each tooth glistening with hunger. It advanced, cautious yet certain of its advantage over the small unicorn foal. Here was an easy meal, alone and too young to fight back.

  Ventania’s breath hitched. She staggered backward, mind spiraling into sheer terror. In that instant, she realized how close she was to ending as a mere casualty of a forest that had once protected her. No… I can’t…

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  The wolf lunged.

  A scream tore from Ventania’s throat, merging rage, grief, and desperation in a single primal burst. Something within her roared in response—an elemental fury she had never consciously tapped before. In a flash, her horn blazed with a force that felt scorching and cold all at once. A vivid spark of magic erupted from the tip, crackling with raw, unrefined power.

  The energy surged outward in a bright arc, slamming into the wolf mid-leap. It yelped in shock, thrown off balance by the invisible wave. The beast crashed to the ground with a startled whine, scrambling to regain its footing. Ventania staggered, her vision swimming from the effort. She felt the energy’s aftershock tear through her body, leaving her muscles trembling uncontrollably.

  Panic flared in the wolf’s eyes. Realizing this prey was far from defenseless, it let out a second snarl, but this time laced with caution. It hesitated for a heartbeat, then slunk into the undergrowth, ears pinned back. The shifting shadows swallowed it up, leaving Ventania alone once more, panting in the sudden silence.

  She stood there, stunned, her horn still tingling from the release of magic. Her chest heaved, tears hot on her cheeks. Somehow, she had protected herself. The wolf had been forced away, if only for a moment. It wasn’t the polished, graceful magic her parents wielded, but it had been enough to survive.

  Slowly, Ventania became aware of a faint hum beneath her skin—like a current of lightning still seeking an outlet. It felt dangerous and uncertain: the kind of power that could shield her from death or plunge her into catastrophic mistakes. And yet, it was a lifeline in the numbing vastness of her despair.

  She closed her eyes, remembering Seralyne’s steady and calming voice: “Breathe, my child. Listen to the forest’s heartbeat and your own. Let the magic flow with purpose.”

  But the memory only sharpened the ache of her parents’ absence. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered into the dark, her voice trembling. “I should have been stronger…”

  Sorrow welled up anew, threatening to overpower her. Yet the memory of the wolf’s lunging form and the electric jolt in her horn offered a lifeline. She couldn’t stay on the forest floor, consumed by guilt and grief. If she had any chance of saving her mother and father, she needed to embrace the surge of power that had just saved her life.

  Gritting her teeth, Ventania forced herself to move again. Her limbs ached, and magic residue coursed sporadically through her, pulsing in time with her heartbeat. She had no mentor now, no comforting presence to guide her. But she would learn or perish.

  Each step she took felt more deliberate than the last. She navigated fallen logs and thorn-laced undergrowth, forging a careful path deeper into the forest. The old Brocéliande trees loomed, their twisted branches snagging at her coat as if testing her resolve. Yet the foal pressed on, driven by the twin fires of grief and rage that simmered deep in her heart.

  Eventually, she found a small clearing sheltered by moss-covered rocks. The ground there was soft and laced with patches of moonlight. Panting with exhaustion, she collapsed onto the grass. In the hush of the clearing, she felt the forest’s quiet scrutiny, as though the ancient wood sought to judge her worth. Was she just another lost creature about to succumb to despair, or something far more significant?

  Ventania remembered how her mother’s horn had glowed with unwavering strength. She recalled her father’s fierce roar, his golden magic blazing to protect those he loved. I can’t let it end like this. She exhaled, shaky but resolute. I will find a way.

  Focusing on her breathing, she let her thoughts turn inward, seeking the source of that unruly burst of magic. It was there, coiled tight like a serpent, waiting to strike again. Fear gnawed at her—what if it devoured her sanity as well? Yet determination, kindled by the memory of Azarion and Seralyne, flared brighter.

  Survive first. Save them next.

  She repeated the words in her mind until they became a mantra. Yes, she was small and alone, but even the tiniest spark could grow into a raging flame with proper care. If the wolf had taught her anything, it was that sheer will and unexpected magic could instantly change fate.

  As the moon crept out from behind the clouds, casting silver light through the clearing, Ventania lifted her gaze to the sky. She swore to harness this hidden might within her with a trembling breath. She’d learn to fend off the forest’s dangers. She’d venture beyond her old boundaries, forging new alliances and unraveling the secrets of her lineage. And one day, she would rescue her parents from the hunters’ merciless grip—or die trying.

  The night around her felt no less ominous, but the shadows now seemed to recede just a fraction as though acknowledging a new resolve. Though her tears had not fully dried, a more profound determination glimmered in her eyes.

  Tomorrow would come soon enough, and with it, new perils in the uncharted depths of Brocéliande. Yet for the first time since her world shattered, Ventania felt the faint stirrings of hope. The storm-born spark that dwelled within her might be terrifying and unpredictable, but it was hers to command—or so she prayed.

  For now, she would rest, letting her exhaustion ease into a fitful sleep. The wolf's howl echoed again in the distance, neither a promise of peace nor a threat she couldn’t overcome—merely a reminder that survival demanded vigilance. Ventania clung to her fleeting inner fire in the stillness, vowing that she would be ready next time.