“Run, Tanja, run!”

  The moonlight slips between the branches as a man and a woman, both covered in dirt and sweat, run through the forest. The woman’s white hair is knotted and keeps getting stuck as the two of them proceed zigzagging between the trees . In her arms, a baby cries softly, moving as if to run with them.

  Bright purple lightning keeps striking, covering the air in smoke and dust from the fallen trees. They are getting closer. With a new burst of light and a loud boom, the branches over the two figures tremble, and the smell of burning grows stronger.

  A loud scream comes from behind them, a voice they both recognize fading in the darkness. The smell of burning flesh reaches their noses, almost making them stop. Even the last of their companions is now dead.

  They keep moving, even though their aching muscles ask them to stop. Suddenly, the ground rises toward her, as her foot catches on a root. The man reaches for her, holding her steady. Their fingers lock. For a moment, neither of them dares to breathe.

  Another purple bolt strikes at their feet, making them move again. The sound of steps behind them grows closer.

  “Just another few minutes” the man pants. “This way”

  They turn left and after some steps, they turn right by a big musky rock.

  Seeing a blade of bright moonlight between the trees, Tanja runs faster, her heart filled with hope.

  She stops at the foot of a huge gnarled tree with a large crack running the length of its trunk.

  “It's here” she whispers, almost astonished at arriving there.

  “We can make it” he replies, hugging her tightly.

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  He begins murmuring some words to the tree. A subtle light starts to form along the borders of the crack, a white glow reflecting on Tanja's necklace.

  Suddenly, a bolt of purple lightning falls near them and the small clearing fills with shadows. A dark figure steps into the clearing, raising a hand in a gesture of silence. Tall. Unhurried.

  “Enough” says the figure, walking towards the couple. His companions fall silent.

  The moonlight reveals the man's pale skin, almost glistening in the dark. When his eyes meet Tanja's, purple sparks fly from the tips of his long fingers, creating frightening patterns of light across his facial features.

  “Fridtjof..”

  There is no response from the man. No sign that he recognizes her face or her voice. Only calculation. The sparks fall onto the ground covered with pine needles, creating small fires all around him.

  With cautious gestures, still muttering softly, the man pulls his partner back towards the trunk. As if waking up from a dream, she moves her eyes away from Fritjof and pushes the newborn to the edge of the groove. Green sparks spring from the man's fingertips, which he now holds behind his back, hidden. A stronger breeze starts to blow from the trunk.

  “Go!”, the man says.

  She doesn't move.

  He looks in front of him, watching Fritjof getting closer.

  “If he gets the child, it's over. We lose.”

  The green light on his fingers intensifies so much that both Fritjof and the shadows at the edge of the clearing can see it.

  “There's no time,” he said quickly, “I’ll hold them”

  “No, I..”

  “Do as I say! Go!”

  She reaches out her hand and touches her beloved's back. She presses her forehead to his shoulder.

  He waves his hands in the air, creating a column of fire that separates them from the rest of the clearing, and pulls the woman closer to him in a hug. The child, lying in the trunk, cries softly. Between the small, chubby hands, the necklace that the woman was wearing around her neck just moments before sparkles. The man tries to reach out to the child, but the wood shifts. The split narrows, and the child's cries grow distant, as if swallowed by the tree itself. A soft sparkle of white light is all that lingers in the air. For a moment, something darker moves beneath it. Then even that is gone.

  He turns to face the shadows that are now making their way through the dying flames and, taking the woman by the hand, throws himself at his enemies in a cloud of green light.

  The clearing turns white. The green light flares once more, violent and powerful. When it fades, they are on the ground, hands still touching.

  **

  Fridtjof steps between the corpses and checks their pulses. They are gone for good.

  His companions, intoxicated by the hunt that just ended, scream their victory.

  He slowly steps over the bodies lying on the ground, his eyes fixed on the tree. He places his hand on the trunk, murmuring words too soft to be heard.

  The wood shifts, revealing an opening.

  Empty.

  For the first time in the whole night, his expression falters. He clenches his fist against his side and exhales slowly.

  “Find the child.” His voice is clear and emotionless.

  The men and women around him fall silent again.

  Far away, in another place, a child begins to cry.