The Fallen Author's Heart in the Land of Love-Chapter 19: The Last Gamble

Aira's body screamed for rest—howled for it, every muscle a raw nerve shrieking beneath skin slick with sweat and grime—but still she ran.Branches clawed at her arms like grasping fingers, cold wind slicing across her face as she tore through the forest, blind with desperation. Her boots slipped in the frost-slick mud, knees buckling, vision tunneling. But she forced herself forward, lungs seizing in her chest with every brutal gasp. The only rhythm that matched her pounding heart was the thunder of paws behind her—The hunting dogs.

They were still coming.Still snarling.Still hungry.

Their growls rose like a chorus of death through the trees, guttural and savage, echoing off the gnarled trunks. Her mind fed her images she couldn't erase—snapping teeth, wild eyes, matted fur streaked with blood. Her blood. Soon.She had no idea how long she had been running. Time had dissolved into pain and panic. Her legs didn't belong to her anymore; they were splintered machines, barely holding together, spasming with every step.

She could feel her body failing.Her lungs were sandpaper.Every breath scraped her throat raw.And every breath tasted like blood.

She didn't look back. She couldn't.She already knew what she'd see.Shadows. Fangs. Doom.

The guards hadn't followed her. Why would they? They didn't need to. The dogs were enough. Tools of death with muscle and teeth and speed—and no mercy. The guards had unleashed them like they would loose fire upon a field of dry grass. They didn't care if she was torn apart. That was the point.

They wanted her gone.

Tear her to ribbons.Reduce her to pulp and bone dust.Let the trees drink what was left.

But Aira had a plan.

A desperate, insane, sliver-of-madness kind of plan—A last gamble.And if it failed, she'd die screaming in the dirt.

She was luring them. Leading them, like a rat dragging a snake through the walls of a burning house. She knew where the merchant's camp was. She had memorized the path, counted the steps, even through sleep-deprived nights and fevered prayers. They had mercenaries. Fighters. Steel. If she could make it there—if she could just survive until she broke through the tree line—they would handle the rest. They would cut down the hounds.

She would live.She had to.

Not for herself.

For her sister.

Her sister was dying.

Aira's eyes burned as the memory slammed into her chest like a hammer. She almost stumbled. Her sister—pale, shaking, her lips crusted with blood. The fever had hit fast. The vomiting, the coughing, the stench of rot clinging to her skin like wet smoke. Aira had seen it spread before, sweeping through villages like a storm of corpses.

Gray faces. Sunken eyes. Children convulsing in their mother's arms. The dead piled in carts, eyes wide open, mouths still frozen mid-scream.And now, it had come for her sister.

Aira's sister had hours, maybe. Days if the gods were feeling cruel. And Aira had taken this job—this doomed, cursed, back-alley task—because the merchant had promised gold. Enough for medicine. Enough to buy hope.

If she died here...If she let herself fall, even once...Then her sister would die too.

Alone.In agony.Clutching a ragged blanket and whispering Aira's name with lips too dry to bleed.

No.Aira's teeth clenched.No. No. No.

She wouldn't let that happen. She couldn't.She was all her sister had.

She pressed forward, every heartbeat an explosion in her skull. Her legs were jelly. Her vision was spotted with red, her throat clogged with bile and blood. The forest was thick around her, roots rising like skeletal hands trying to drag her down. Branches snapped around her like breaking bones.

And behind it all—The snarls.The hot breath.The slobbering, eager panting.

The dogs were close.So close.

She could hear their claws tearing through the underbrush, could almost feel the heat of their bodies behind her. One misstep. One stumble. That's all it would take. The image clawed its way into her mind—A jaw clamping onto her calf, pulling her down.Teeth sinking into her throat.Warm blood spraying the leaves.Her voice swallowed in a flood of agony.

No one would hear her scream.No one would even know she died.She would just be gone.

But then—Light.

A flicker.A glow.Lanterns bobbing in the dark like fireflies born of salvation.The camp.She saw the camp.

Wagons. Smoke. Firelight.Voices.People.

Relief slammed into her like a thunderclap. Her knees buckled and caught. She almost dropped—but she forced herself up again, crawling forward like a wounded animal trying to outrun the butcher.

And then—She screamed.

A raw, rattling, hideous scream that scraped from her throat like a death wail.

"HELP!"

It was pitiful. Choked. Barely human.But she screamed again.

This time, they heard her.

The camp moved.

Figures burst from tents. Shapes backlit by fire. Steel gleamed like silver lightning. Mercenaries, already drawing blades. Already in motion.Aira collapsed to her knees in the mud—but the nightmare didn't stop.

The dogs emerged from the trees behind her, eyes wild, fur matted, foaming jaws wide.One of them leapt.Aira saw it in midair—A blur of muscle and rage—

Then—CRACK!

A sword met flesh.The dog snapped mid-leap, its ribcage splitting open like wet bark. Blood painted the ground. The beast landed in a twitching, spasming heap—still trying to bite as its life fled in gurgles.

The others hesitated.Smelled it.Death.Steel.Men who killed for coin and enjoyed it.

But hesitation is death.

The mercenaries moved.

Steel on flesh. Screams—both human and beast. Blood sprayed in arcs, steam rising off the corpses in the cold night. The hounds fought, snarled, tried to bite through mail and leather—but they were no match for honed killers. One by one, they were butchered.

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Limbs hacked. Necks severed. Guts spilled like snakes onto the dirt.

When it was over, the forest went quiet.

Aira lay in the mud, trembling. Gasping. Her body was a broken drum, thudding and shaking. Her ears rang. Her chest burned.

But she was alive.

She had made it.

They had saved her.

But the battle wasn't over.Not for her.

She staggered to her feet, her legs folding beneath her.She screamed for help again—this time a different kind of scream.

"My sister! Where is she!?"

The camp spun around her, men shouting, fires flaring, blood soaking the ground. But none of it mattered.

She had to find her.Before the disease did.

Before death came, again.This time with no second chances.