Life in the forest was marked by a brutal simplicity, but also rooted in a mysterious harmony. The trees seemed to breathe, swaying gently with the wind that carried whispers of ancient secrets. The song of rare birds echoed among the colossal trunks, while the thick, humid air brought the scent of the earth and freshly fallen leaves. That wild world, with its untamable vastness, was both shelter and threat to those who dared to live under its shadows. Hunters, herbalists, and healers formed a delicate community, working in unison with the relentless nature, surviving with respect for its mysteries and fears. There, the forest was not just a backdrop; it was a home, a living entity that welcomed only those who understood its pulse.
"Perhaps that's what it meant to live with the forest," Kaled reflected, as his eyes followed the movement of the leaves in the breeze, as if they were trying to tell him something.
The late afternoon light painted the clearing in shades of gold and crimson, the shadows of the trees dancing around the tents, which rose between the massive trunks like ancestral sentinels. The yellowed tents, stained by time and use, swayed gently, their fabrics weathered by the winds. The crackling of a nearby fire added a steady rhythm to that scene.
— Well... I didn't expect to find you here. — murmured Kaled, his deep voice reverberating through the clearing, as if it were part of the very nature around him.
The sound of iron cups clashing echoed through the space, a metallic sound that seemed suspended in the air, carried by the strong scent of red wine and wet earth. A few drops of wine slowly dripped down the edge of the cup, falling onto the dirt floor like fresh blood in an ancient ritual. The dense smell of alcohol mixed with the burned herbs added a ritualistic feel to that unlikely encounter.
Kaled watched the horizon with narrowed eyes, absorbing the somber tranquility of the environment, while the flames of the fire cast long shadows that danced among the trees. The sky, tinged with deep orange, announced the inevitable embrace of night. The warm afternoon wind now carried the promise of coolness.
Xhalor, a merchant from Qohor, was lazily leaning against the trunk of one of the trees. His movements were strangely light, as if he were part of the forest itself. His slim figure, wrapped in a tattered cloak, seemed to blend into the lengthening shadows. Although his slender silhouette contrasted with the imposing trees, there was something about him — a cunning presence, the gleam of a predator hidden beneath the skin of a merchant. A malicious smile played on Xhalor's thin lips as he brought the wine cup to his mouth, his dark, inscrutable eyes absorbing every detail around him.
— Ohoho... Am I not the one who should ask that? — said Xhalor, his voice hoarse and drawling, dripping with irony. — It's not very common to see you in a place like this... Old hunter friend. — He let the silence fall between them, his words laced with an almost palpable malice, while his eyes gleamed with cunning.
Xhalor wasn't just a merchant; he was a master of words, a man who had traded his family's forge for the bustling markets of Essos, where a good deal was as lethal as a well-sharpened blade. His piercing eyes, sharpened by years of bargaining in the far reaches of Qohor and beyond, always calculating, always planning the next move. Now, they scanned the camp around him, absorbing every detail like a predator studying its territory.
— Always working, as usual. — he said, adjusting slightly against the trunk, the cold wood pressing against his back. His voice sounded carefree, but there was something sharp in his gaze, something that allowed no rest, even in a place so far from the busy markets of Qohor.
Kaled watched the merchant with a mixture of curiosity and caution. He knew Xhalor's tricks well, the easy smile that masked true intentions. It was hard to imagine Xhalor, a man used to the crowded, noisy streets of Qohor, feeling so at ease in this remote part of the world. But there he was, with his simple cloak and rings gleaming on his slender hands, manipulating the environment around him with the same skill he used to manipulate conversations and deals.
— Did you come looking for fresh meat? — Kaled asked with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, his voice laden with provocation.
Xhalor's smile widened, his eyes twinkling. He didn't respond immediately, taking another sip of the wine, letting the red liquid roll slowly down his throat, savoring the moment.
— Ah, Kaled... You know I never come for something so simple. — his voice, now soft and almost sweet, contrasted with the sharp gleam in his eyes. — The best hunts don't always involve obvious prey.
Kaled let out a low chuckle, shaking his head as he savored another sip of wine. The twilight advanced ever more.
— Sometimes, I like being in a place like this. — Xhalor commented, his eyes gleaming with a hidden curiosity, as if the vastness of the forest awakened something dormant within him. — But what about your companion?
Kaled let out a laugh, which soon turned into a long, thoughtful sigh. He raised his gaze, reflecting before answering:
— The little one... He's in the cabin, with his new friend. Probably up to some other mischief.
Kaled smiled, recalling the boy's boldness in adopting a wolf pup as his companion. The irony wasn't lost on him—a boy raising a beast. If he knew that somewhere far away, other young ones were taming the same beasts, he might laugh even harder.
His mind wandered to Rella, who had shown some hesitation when she first saw the pup. She had playfully tugged the boy's ear, but the fear in her eyes was real. Kaled wondered if she was more worried or impressed by Eigan's abilities.
— A friend? — Xhalor raised an eyebrow, his curious gaze mixed with confusion. It was a habit of his, a silent way of questioning.
Kaled shrugged, remembering he hadn't mentioned the boy's unusual companion. — Yes, a damn wolf pup! — he replied, holding back a laugh as he saw the astonishment on the merchant's face.
A distant howl broke the silence, a wild echo among the trees, reminding them of the untamed presence of the forest around them. Kaled looked at Xhalor, and for a moment, both laughed, as if sharing a secret joke with nature itself. It was an unexpected camaraderie, celebrated by the forest and the shadows surrounding them.
A few minutes later, the conversation shifted back to Eigan, the mysterious beast tamer. The fire crackled softly, its flames seeming to dance to the sound of the night wind, while the shadows cast on the faces of the men and women gathered around seemed to tell ancient stories. The stars emerged in the sky, shining like jewels against the darkness.
— The little one... — Kaled began, a mischievous smile forming on his lips. — He's more peculiar than any bastard I've ever seen in this life. Sometimes it seems like he communicates with animals, especially his little friend. As if there was a connection... something magical, perhaps.
Xhalor leaned forward, clearly intrigued. Even coming from Qohor, where sorcery was common, something about Eigan captivated him differently. The boy possessed a unique presence, almost magnetic.
— I'd like to meet him. — Xhalor said, his eyes fixed on the flames. — Something tells me he's going to surprise us even more. What do you know about him? What are his plans?
Kaled took a long sip of wine, feeling its warmth spread through his body. He looked around, observing the lively camp—laughter, conversations, and the rhythmic sound of drums filling the air.
— He talks about traveling to distant lands. — he began, his voice lowering, as if sharing a secret. — Exploring places I'm not even sure really exist. He wants to understand the world, and what's beyond. He's always searching for something greater... something I can't even imagine. A free spirit. While others fear the unknown, he embraces it.
The flames cast dancing shadows around, and the fire crackled softly. Xhalor seemed increasingly intrigued, his eyes shining with admiration.
— If he's all that, maybe I should meet him soon. — Xhalor said, a new anticipation in his voice. — That boy has something special. Something I can't quite figure out.
Before Kaled could respond, Rella emerged from the shadows with a mischievous smile, her wavy hair catching the light of the fire. There was something different about her, as if she was an extension of the wild forest itself.
— Kaled! — Rella grabbed Kaled's hand with unexpected strength, her fingers warm against his skin, pulling him with an energy that seemed to come from the very roots of the forest.
She dragged him toward the dancing circle forming to the sound of drums, and despite his initial hesitation, the joy in Rella's eyes made him give in. He let himself be swept away, allowing the ancient music to free him from his worries.
Around them, Rella's people sang and danced, their voices blending with the drums as the stars seemed to shine brighter, following the rhythm of the night.
— You're letting go! — Rella laughed, her eyes glowing under the firelight. — The music calls to you!
Kaled, feeling the vibrant energy in the air, smiled: — And you are the reason for this music being so joyful!
The dancing circle grew larger, and the camp pulsed with life. Xhalor, watching from afar, held his cup firmly. A long-forgotten smile appeared on his face.
— What a night… — he murmured, raising his cup in a silent toast, wrapped in the sounds and memories of a distant youth.
In the center of the clearing, the firelight danced over Rella, making her seem almost ethereal. Her laughter echoed like music, warming the hearts of everyone around her. Kaled watched her, feeling a strange lightness take over his chest, something he hadn't experienced in a long time. His thoughts turned to Eigan, the prodigy boy who tamed beasts as if it were something he had full control over. Eigan would be leaving soon, but this time, when imagining the separation, Kaled felt no sadness.
Instead, a subtle smile appeared on his lips, as if Eigan's free spirit was infecting his own soul. The night was calm, and the music, intertwined with the laughter, created an almost magical atmosphere. The smoke from the fire rose, mixing with the stars, while the shadows of the trees swayed gently to the rhythm of the breeze. Everything there felt like it belonged to a shared dream, a moment of peace that only the best nights could offer.
But the tranquility would soon be shattered.
A distant sound, almost imperceptible at first, disturbed the air. Xhalor, always alert like a merchant, was the first to notice. His eyes narrowed as he stared at the dark veil of the forest. Another sound echoed, clearer now. He tensed, his body rigid like a bow ready to fire. Kaled, who was dancing with Rella, suddenly stopped. His gaze followed Xhalor's, fixing on the shadows from which the noises came. As an experienced hunter, Kaled recognized the sounds of nature... But these were different. Heavy, deliberate footsteps. A chill ran down his spine before his mind could fully comprehend the danger.
And then, they appeared.
From the deep shadows of the forest, one by one, the men emerged. Warriors: Tall, muscular, their bronze and scarred skin. The long braids, adorned with bells, swayed softly as they advanced, predators ready to strike. Every movement was calculated, every look filled with a primal ferocity. Kaled's heart pounded in his chest as he recognized them. Dothraki. The name burned in his mind like a curse.
Xhalor, pale as the moon, barely moved. The metallic sound of his cup falling to the ground was muffled by the earth soaked with spilled wine, like a premonition of the blood that would soon be shed. The air in the clearing seemed to compress, suffocating. The smiles disappeared, the laughter replaced by a deadly silence.
Kaled stood still, his gaze fixed on the dothraki. Thirteen... It seemed. Now surrounding the camp like beasts closing in on defenseless prey. The firelight reflected off the curved blades of the arakhs hanging from their waists. He looked at Rella beside him, frozen with fear, then at his own dagger on his belt. The weapon seemed insignificant compared to the threat approaching. His thoughts cursed him for not having forced Xhalor to make a longsword for him. A dothraki stood out from the group. Bigger than the others, a grotesque scar crossed his chest, displaying it like a trophy of past battles. His gaze fixed on Kaled, as if he had already chosen him as his prey. Kaled recognized the predatory look, the one that only preceded a deadly attack.
Without thinking, instinct took over. He turned to Rella and the others, his voice filled with desperation:
— RUN!
The command was like a spark in a powder keg. The scarred dothraki raised his arakh to the sky and let out a roar that tore through the night air. With that, the other warriors charged like a wave of destruction. Their blades gleamed in the firelight as they cut through the air, their screams joining the darkness like a symphony of war. Kaled, paralyzed for a deadly moment, saw the first dothraki deliver a precise blow to an unarmed man. The body fell heavily to the ground, the sound muffled by the wild laughter of the invaders.
The flames of the fire now mixed with the screams of agony and chaos. A dothraki grabbed a log from the fire and, with a devilish smile, hurled it at one of the tents. The flames soon spread, turning the camp into a hell. Desperate screams echoed everywhere as the fire consumed everything in its path. Families tried to run, but were quickly cut down by the warriors who emerged from the shadows like ravenous demons.
Kaled's heart raced. His hand tightened around the dagger. He knew he would have to fight, not only for his life but for Rella's. The smell of blood and smoke filled the air. Everything seemed to unfold in slow motion, but Kaled knew that in a matter of seconds, total chaos would take over. If it hadn't already.
Xhalor, frozen in terror, watched helplessly as the carnage unfolded. His eyes were wide, the sight of the dothraki brutality more than he could bear. The sight of a woman being dragged away, her agonizing screams cutting through the night, made Xhalor's blood run cold. He glanced at a nearby bush and threw himself into it, remaining silent.
The battle felt like a scene ripped straight from a nightmare. Kaled, with wide eyes and a racing heart, felt adrenaline course through his veins like fire. He had no choice; survival demanded action. With a loud cry, he launched himself forward, his dagger gleaming in the flickering firelight around him.
He approached a distracted dothraki, the enemy absorbed in the carnage around him. Kaled's dagger gleamed for a second before plunging into the warrior's neck, a precise strike. But the Dothraki was resilient. Even wounded, he managed to throw a punch at Kaled, making him stagger for a moment until he dropped to his knees. The dothraki fell, a trickle of blood running from his lips, his eyes wide in disbelief. The body sprawled on the ground was a cruel reminder that Kaled had killed a man.
Panting, he stood up, his heart pounding in his chest. The reality of what he had done hit him like a punch to the gut, but there was no time to process it. The chaos around him was a brutal symphony of screams, steel, and blood. The battlefield was littered with bodies, some still twitching, others already motionless, and the smell of death and smoke hung in the heavy night air.
Kaled, with a disturbed expression, — from the mix of fallen friends and the enemies around him, with their evil smiles on their faces. — looked around, his desperate gaze searching for one person.
— Rella...
Her name burned in his thoughts as his eyes swept across the field. Then, he saw her, a figure amidst the chaos, running toward him with tears and panic in her eyes.
— KALED!! — Rella screamed, her voice full of fear. — We need to get out of here!
Kaled nodded, his hand instinctively grabbing hers, and the two began to run in search of an escape route. But before they could take more than a few steps, a treacherous blow came from the side. A curved blade slashed through the air and struck Kaled's arm. Pain exploded in his body like fire, and he screamed, collapsing to the ground with a dull thud. His arm, severed, fell to the ground like a branch. The world spun, the pain was unbearable, but his mind was focused on one thing: protecting Rella.
— Kaled! — Rella screamed again, but before she could help him, a relentless hand brutally grabbed her by the hair, pulling her back.
Kaled watched helplessly as the dothraki, with a monstrous scar on his chest, dragged Rella away. The predatory smile on the warrior's face was of indescribable cruelty, and the curved blade he held gleamed maliciously in the firelight. Kaled tried to stand, blood pouring from his wounded arm, but his body was weakened by the loss of blood and the shock.
— Let her go! — Kaled shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation.
She fought against the invisible chains that bound her, her fingers clawing at the Dothraki's bronzed face, scratching his skin. The man, with eyes reflecting the savagery of his culture, did not hesitate to strike back. A brutal slap to her face sent her head spinning, her body colliding with the ground, emitting a resounding thud. He leaned over her, the shadow of his imposing figure casting a sinister threat, while the group of dothraki, insensitive to the suffering of others, began to amuse themselves with the remaining women. Cruel laughter echoed through the forest, a cacophony of sadistic pleasure that mixed with the lament of those who had lost hope.
Kaled, a powerless witness to the scene, erupted in an agonizing scream that sought to channel all his hatred and despair. His voice cut through the air like a blade, but the dothraki only laughed in unison, their laughter transforming into a symphony of mockery that reverberated through the place, intensifying the pain of the moment.
Rella, who was being stripped of her clothing, her lips trembling and eyes wide with horror, cast a pained look at Kaled, the silent message of her plea hanging in the air. "N-no... Don't look at this..." her voice faltered, as if her anguish itself had choked the words. The scene before them was a distortion of what should be: the sky became a black canvas, covered by clouds of smoke and lament, as if the world itself was in mourning for the carnage unfolding there. Kaled found himself trapped in a never-ending nightmare, powerless before the horror.
Hidden in the shadows of the underbrush, Xhalor felt his heart pounding frantically, each beat resonating with the anxiety that consumed him. The acrid scent of wet earth mixed with the foul stench of blood, a suffocating combination that seemed to tighten around his neck like an invisible noose. "Cowardice?" he questioned himself, a thought that cut like a blade. What could he do to alter the cruel fate unfolding before his eyes? A warrior? No! He was merely a cowardly merchant, too fragile to intervene in the horror that was unfolding.
Xhalor's eyes locked on Kaled's pale face, who lay prostrate on the ground, his strength ebbing with each breath. The connection between them was palpable, and even in the gloom, Kaled seemed to sense his presence, his intense, desolate gaze revealing a clear message: "Stay there..." The weight of that silent plea made Xhalor shudder, and a wave of shame and helplessness washed over him like a mantle of biting cold. He felt like a cornered rabbit, trapped in its burrow, as pain spread through his chest at the sight of his friend in agony. Kaled lay there, losing his life, while his beloved Rella was being violated by those monsters. The screams of the women echoed through the forest, intertwined with cruel laughter that seemed to resonate with the malice of the world itself.
Kaled was there, losing his life, while his beloved Rella was being violated by those monsters. The women's screams echoed through the forest, intertwined with cruel laughter that obviously resonated with the malice of the world itself.
Desperate, Xhalor bit his lips, his prayers to any god, begging for some power, any strength that could stop the cruelty. But his pleas were lost in the void, the only response being the deafening echo of pain and suffering that filled the air.
He wanted to act, to do anything that could ease the torment consuming Kaled. In his friend's eyes, Xhalor saw the silent plea, an almost desperate request. He felt paralyzed, the desire to help stuck in his throat like a choked scream. But Kaled, even amid the searing pain, was not willing to surrender. He bit his lip with determination, seeking a strength he knew was slipping away. With a final breath of courage, he rose, hot blood streaming from his mutilated arm, and launched himself at the dothraki leader, determined to push him away from Rella.
The dothraki around him stood up in unison, ready for the fight, but the leader, a man marked by deep scars that seemed to tell stories of past battles, merely smiled. With a disdainful gesture, he raised a hand to stop his men, the blade of his arakh gleaming in the moonlight, pointing menacingly at Kaled.
The dothraki's lips moved, his voice carrying the ferocity of a storm.
— Zerek, of the khalasar of the great Khal... Khal Drogo! I will tear you apart, man!
Kaled didn't understand the savage's words and, honestly, he cared little for them. His gaze was fixed on Rella, passed out in shock, a devastating sight that tore at his heart. She was so innocent, so pure, and should never have witnessed the brutality of this world.
Still in the cover of the woods, Xhalor, a merchant who knew many languages and stories, trembled at hearing the name of Khal Drogo, the greatest Dothraki warrior, whose fame spread like wildfire across the continent. The reality of what was happening weighed down on him with crushing force. The darkness of the world, the dothraki's bloodlust, and the fragility of his own courage formed an uncontrollable storm in his mind.
Kaled felt the pain throbbing in his body, but there was no room for despair. With a scream of saliva and blood, he lunged forward, his fist clenched like a hammer. Fury burned in his veins as he charged toward Zerek, determined to stop the monster from touching his beloved.
With only one arm, Kaled landed a punch against the dothraki leader, a blow that might have been powerful but now was merely a shadow of his former strength, like the crackle of a fire about to go out. The air around them was heavy with the humidity of the forest, and the smell of wet earth and blood mingled with the palpable tension. Zerek, momentarily surprised, quickly regained his composure, letting out a guttural, cruel laugh that echoed among the tall trees, as if he were merely toying with an animal, while the darkness deepened around him.
He let the arakh slip from his hand and, with agile movement, hurled himself at Kaled. His fists delivered a series of brutal punches that reverberated in the very nature around them, as if the air itself was at war. Each impact sounded like hammer blows against an iron plate, echoing the pain and the determination burning in Kaled's heart. The punches were more than mere strikes; they were vivid memories of his fight, each one screaming that he was still alive, still resisting.
Even as his body convulsed, his muscles crying out for relief, Kaled kept rising, defying an unrelenting fate that sought to bring him down. Blood ran down his face, mixing with the damp earth beneath his feet, forming a red river that told the story of his battle. The flame of bravery burned fiercely within him, an indomitable light. He was not fighting just for himself; each blow was a silent prayer for Rella's safety, the woman he loved with every fiber of his being.
Zerek, amused by the hunter's resistance, intensified the brutality of his blows. His cruel smile resembled a mask of disdain, while Kaled struggled to stay on his feet, a true fighter, even as his strength ebbed away. The ground seemed to spin beneath his feet, his vision beginning to blur. With each fall, the determination to rise became more intense, like a phoenix rising from the ashes, despite the inevitable darkness closing in.
With one final effort, Kaled rose again, his eyes fixed on Rella, still unconscious on the soft grass, stained with blood, her long hair like the twilight of spring. Her image was an anchor in his mind, a force that drove him forward, filling him with an energy he didn't know he had. He moved forward once more, but Zerek was waiting. With a swift movement, he grabbed his arakh back into his hand, the blade gleaming under the moonlight like a serpent ready to strike, a reflection of the approaching death.
In a spectacle of violence, Zerek spun, his arms whirling like an unstoppable hurricane. With deadly speed, he slashed across Kaled's chest, the blade cutting through his skin like butter, a cruel symbol of his defeat. Kaled let out a cry of pain, his eyes widening in a mix of shock and despair. The sound echoed through the forest, like the lament of a bodyless soul.
He fell to the ground, life pouring out of him in a crimson river, nearly dead, but the determination still shone in his gaze, a final glimmer of resistance against the darkness surrounding him. Deep in his mind, Kaled knew he had to protect Rella, that he had to fight to the end. Her image, the innocence on her face, was the only thing keeping him conscious, even as the darkness began to swallow his vision, like a threatening shadow about to consume him.
Kaled crawled, the pain throbbing in every nerve, like a burning flame scorching his insides with each movement. The forest air was dense and heavy, saturated with the metallic smell of blood, mingling with the scent of wet leaves carried by the wind. Every scratch on his body seemed amplified, as if the very earth was pulling him down, begging him to give up. But his determination was an unshakable wall, stronger than any wound or pain. The blood, hot and thick, stained the earth beneath him, leaving a dark, viscous trail as his mutilated body dragged on.
The hand that still had strength clawed at the damp earth, each handful of soil torn away like a silent scream of resistance. The trees around seemed to observe his struggle quietly, their tall and shadowy trunks bending like impassive judges. With every meter he advanced, Rella's presence grew stronger, and he saw her lying unconscious, like a fallen petal from a flower ripped from its stem, her skin in painful contrast with the green of the forest.
The dothraki formed a circle around the scene, their silhouettes standing out against the pale glow of the moon filtering through the tree canopies. Their laughter was cruel, echoing through the forest like hyenas watching a poor animal in its final moments. To them, Kaled was a pathetic spectacle, a wounded animal crawling in its last attempt at survival. However, some watched in silence, unable to deny the spark of courage that shone in his eyes, a bravery that rose even in the face of certain death, like a flower defying the desert.
Zerek stood at the front of his men, his dark eyes filled with disdain. The smile widening on his lips was that of a predator relishing its prey. He stepped forward, and with the tip of his leather boot, began to kick Kaled. Each blow was brutal, the muffled sound of impact resonating in the night's silence like the cracking of dry branches being crushed under relentless weight. Kaled's body twisted with each kick, as blood gushed from his mouth, dark splatters staining the ground. The cold air of the forest ripped into his lungs, turning each breath into an act of pure agony.
Yet he did not stop. With an effort that seemed beyond human, Kaled continued to drag himself forward. The love for Rella, pouring into his thoughts like the last glimpse of light, was what kept him moving. He knew he could not save her, but his body refused to yield. He moved as if every fiber of his being were burning, fighting against the inevitable.
Finally, Kaled reached Rella, the weight of pain and exhaustion gravitating in his limbs. He positioned himself between her and the dothraki, like a weakened shield, sitting beside her in a gesture of desperation. With titanic effort, he raised his arm, weak but determined, forming a fragile barrier between the love of his life and the brutality surrounding them.
A torn scream erupted from his throat, hoarse and fragmented, but overflowing with the strength of all his accumulated pain over the years.
— Don't touch her! — his voice, as fragile as a whispering wind, seemed to amplify in the darkness of the forest, reverberating in the hearts of the dothraki like a grim echo, interrupting the cruel laughter that filled the air. For a moment, a profound silence fell over the scene, as if the very forest were holding its breath, hesitating in the face of Kaled's act of bravery.
Zerek, impassive and with a glint of cruelty in his eyes, took a step forward. His gleaming blade cut through the moonlight, ready to deliver the final blow. But then, something in the air changed, a dark premonition that froze the blood of everyone present.
Xhalor, hidden in the shadows of the trees, watched with a racing heart and a mix of fear and determination pulsing through his veins. He knew that if he did not act, Kaled and Rella would be doomed. His feet stumbled over dry branches as he rose from the underbrush, but the words he wanted to shout caught in his throat, choked by the paralyzing tension that now enveloped the environment like a heavy fog, making every movement more difficult.
The darkness of the forest seemed to stir, and a pair of red eyes, glowing like embers, emerged from the dense shadows. The leaves rustled with the sound of footsteps, a soft crackling of twigs breaking under feet approaching with palpable intent. Every dothraki turned in the same direction, Zerek's face twisting into an expression of surprise and curiosity.
A dagger sliced through the air with a deadly whistle, flying towards Zerek with the precision of an arrow. He dodged at the last second, but not quickly enough to avoid the cut that opened a fine red line on his neck. Blood flowed slowly, warm and viscous, as if life itself were being torn away. Zerek brought his hand to the wound, feeling the warmth slip between his fingers, and looked at his hand in disbelief before turning in the direction from which the blade had come, fury forming in his gaze.
From the shadows emerged a figure enveloped in an aura of power that made the leaves dance around him. The figure's eyes shone brightly under the red light of the moon, like fallen stars in an endless sky. The figure advanced with steady steps, each movement carrying the weight of supernatural determination. It was as if the forest itself had given life to a dangerously vengeful creature, a shadow that moved with unwavering purpose.
— Little... — Kaled's voice broke the silence, a disbelieving whisper that echoed in the space around them. His eyes, clouded by pain, tried to focus on the approaching figure, but before he could confirm what he saw, his consciousness began to crumble. He closed his eyes beside Rella, his body finally yielding to exhaustion.
Xhalor remained still, time freezing around him. Hearing the word "little" from Kaled's own lips, the name "Eigan" resonated in his mind like a bell tolling through the mist. Kaled's words, the stories he told about the mysterious boy who seemed to be more than he appeared, flooded his thoughts. Shock and fear mixed in his chest as he realized that the boy, the enigmatic Eigan, had emerged from the shadows.