The embers of a dying fire cast flickering shadows across the cold stone walls of a forgotten ruin. Renna Veyne sat alone in the darkness, her fingers tracing the intricate lines of the rune etched into her forearm. Once, it had burned with power—an unbreakable sigil binding her to the will of the Emperor. Now, it was fading, its glow barely a whisper of what it had once been.
Her breath came slow and measured, but inside, her heart pounded. She had felt the shift in the air the moment the Emperor died three nights ago. The magic binding her—binding all Runebound warriors—had weakened. Many of them had likely perished, their bodies unable to sustain themselves without the enchantment. Others had collapsed in confusion, still shackled to their dying sigils. But Renna had survived, and she had run.
Now she was hunted.
A rustle in the underbrush snapped her from her thoughts. She rose silently, pressing her back against the ruined stone. The forest beyond was a black sea, shrouded in mist and the scent of damp earth. Someone was out there. Watching.
A voice, low and sharp, cut through the night. "We know you're here, Veyne."
Renna recognized the tone—a soldier's discipline laced with the clipped accent of Varrosian high command. The Legion had found her faster than she'd hoped.
She stayed still, her mind racing. She had no illusions about her strength. Before, with the Emperor's magic flowing through her rune, she could have torn through an entire squadron. Now? She was half the warrior she had once been, and they knew it.
A second voice joined the first. "Surrender now. The Council offers you clemency if you return to the capital."
A lie. The Iron Council had no interest in mercy. They wanted the last intact rune. They wanted her bound to them the way she had once been bound to the Emperor.
Renna slid her dagger from her belt, its edge worn from years of use. If she was going to die, she would do it on her terms.
The underbrush shifted again—closer this time. She tensed. Three, maybe four of them. Trained. Armed. And she was just one.
Her fingers brushed the rune again. Faint, flickering—almost useless. But maybe… maybe there was enough magic left for one last trick.
She exhaled slowly. Then, with a sudden burst of movement, she lunged into the darkness.
***
Renna's dagger flashed in the moonlight as she struck, aiming for the nearest soldier's throat. But he was fast—faster than she expected. He twisted aside, her blade slicing harmlessly across his shoulder.
She had miscalculated.
Pain exploded in her ribs as a second soldier slammed the hilt of his sword into her side, knocking the breath from her lungs. She staggered, her vision blurring for a heartbeat. They were trying to take her alive. That meant they needed her rune intact.
Renna gritted her teeth. That was a mistake on their part.
Before they could strike again, she rolled backward into the shadows, using the terrain to her advantage. The ruins were a labyrinth of broken stone and overgrown roots. If she could disappear—
"Fan out!" barked the first soldier, his voice sharp with command. "She's injured. She won't get far."
Renna crouched behind a crumbling pillar, forcing herself to breathe through the pain. Her ribs throbbed, but nothing felt broken. Yet.
The rune on her forearm flickered, sending a dull warmth through her skin. She looked down at it. The sigil was dying, but there was still something left. A remnant of power. Not enough for the feats she once performed—tearing through steel, moving with inhuman speed—but maybe just enough for a final escape.
She placed her fingers against the rune and focused.
The magic responded sluggishly, like a flame struggling against the wind. A faint shimmer spread through her limbs—weak, unstable, but enough.
She moved.
Dashing low, she weaved through the ruins just as a soldier turned the corner. His eyes widened as she appeared from the shadows, too late to react. She slammed her knee into his gut, knocking him back, then drove her dagger into his thigh. He screamed as she twisted the blade, ensuring he wouldn't be chasing her.
"Over here!" another voice called.
Damn.
Footsteps pounded toward her. She sprinted for the treeline, her breath burning in her chest. She had seconds, maybe less. If she didn't break their line now, she would be surrounded.
A figure lunged at her from the side, swinging a sword. Renna barely managed to twist away, but the blade clipped her shoulder, cutting through leather and grazing skin. She bit back a cry, using the momentum to keep moving.
Then she saw it—an opening in the trees. A narrow gap between two boulders leading into the deeper forest. Safety.
She pushed herself harder, ignoring the pain. She was almost there—
Something wrapped around her ankle.
Cold iron snapped shut, yanking her off her feet. She hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from her lungs. A chain. One of them had thrown a binding chain—standard issue for capturing fugitives.
Renna twisted, reaching for her dagger, but a boot pressed down on her wrist, forcing her hand open. A soldier loomed over her, his features masked by his helmet.
"It's over," he said, tightening the chain. "You're coming back to Varros."
Renna growled, struggling against the iron, but it was reinforced with runework. Even a fully powered Runebound warrior would struggle to break it. And she was far from full strength.
Panic clawed at her. No. She wouldn't go back. She couldn't.
The soldier reached for a second binding, but before he could secure it, a sharp whistle cut through the air.
An arrow buried itself into his shoulder.
He grunted in pain, stumbling backward. More arrows followed, striking the other soldiers with deadly precision.
Renna barely had time to register what was happening before a hooded figure emerged from the treeline. They moved swiftly, drawing another arrow from a quiver and loosing it in a fluid motion, dropping another soldier.
The remaining men shouted in alarm, but the ambush was too fast, too precise. Within moments, the soldiers were either dead or retreating into the night.
Renna struggled against the chain, her breath ragged. The hooded figure strode toward her, lowering their bow. Moonlight glinted off sharp green eyes beneath the shadow of their hood.
"You're not very good at running, are you?" the stranger said. Their voice was smooth, almost amused.
Renna scowled. "And who the hell are you?"
The stranger knelt, producing a small rune-inscribed blade. "Someone who doesn't like the Iron Council very much."
They pressed the blade against the chain. The runes along the metal flickered—then shattered.
Renna felt the iron's grip loosen. She yanked her foot free and scrambled up, rubbing her bruised ankle.
The stranger stepped back, tucking the blade away. "If you want to live, we need to move. More will come."
Renna hesitated. She didn't trust this person. But trust wasn't something she could afford right now.
She glanced at the dead soldiers, then at the stranger.
"Fine," she said, brushing dirt from her tunic. "But if you try to chain me next, I'll put a dagger in your throat."
The stranger smirked. "Noted."
Without another word, they vanished into the trees.
Renna took one last glance at the ruins, then followed.
She didn't know who this stranger was or what they wanted. But for now, they were her best chance at survival.
And she would do whatever it took to stay free.