The white mist clung to the battlefield, chilling William to his core. It felt as though he'd fallen into an icy abyss, the cold sinking not just into his skin but into his soul.
And then it hit him. 'Where was Little Bob?'
Before he could voice his confusion, a hunter grabbed his arm and threw an 'invisibility cloak' over him. The hunter's face was grim but resolute. "'Child! Go!'" he shouted, his voice breaking through the chaos.
Blood dripped from the corner of William's mouth as he staggered, struggling to process what was happening. He knew why the hunter was sacrificing himself; because William was young, full of potential, a seedling worth protecting. The hunters, seasoned and battle-worn, had made their decision. They would not let him die here.
William wanted to scream, wanted to tell them that he wasn't like them, that he was a 'player' and could be resurrected. But there was no time.
