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Chapter 3: The Unholy Cry
With his back turned, Daegal tensed as a sound tore through the forest—a spectral cry that split the night like a sharpened blade. It wasn’t just noise; it was power, pulsing with each anguished note, reaching out to ensnare him. The cry reverberated from deep within the earth, vibrating up through his bones, and with each pulse, he felt his muscles lock, his body succumbing to an invisible, unbreakable grip.
He struggled to move, to turn, but his limbs defied him, frozen by the sheer force of her voice, as though the air had thickened into chains, binding him to the spot. Shadows crept closer, folding around him as even the river’s murmur stilled, swallowed by the unholy sound. All the world seemed to hold its breath, waiting for what lay just behind him.
“Argh...!” Daegal choked out, straining against the immobilizing power, fighting desperately to free himself from her haunting cry.
Rue’s cry held Daegal paralyzed as she took a slow step closer, her expression twisting between anger and a strange, dark satisfaction. She lifted a hand to her collar and, with a fierce tug, tore the fabric of her gown, letting the delicate material fall away, revealing the marred landscape of her skin—scars etched deep into her flesh, each one a story of betrayal, a testament to her pain.
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