The night had not yet fully faded when "Joe" stepped onto forbidden ground. This was the land of the "Arrow Folk"-warriors who did not believe in face-to-face combat but preferred silent, lethal strikes from the shadows.
Unlike the "Sword Folk," whom he was born among, the marks on their foreheads were not just symbols of skill but a testament to their precision-the ability to kill an enemy before they even knew they were in danger.
There was no warning. No sound. Just the whisper of the wind...
Then-THUD!
A single arrow.
Joe's horse collapsed beneath him.
It did not fall slowly. It crashed onto the ground with a brutal impact, its body twitching violently, a pool of blood expanding beneath it.
Joe did not move. He did not even breathe.
He knew that the slightest movement, the smallest misstep... might make his head the next target.
From the shadows, a tall, thin man emerged. He did not speak. He gave no commands. He simply bent down, picked up the parrot that had been perched beside Joe... and wrapped his fingers around its small head.
With a single motion-quick, effortless, and merciless-he ripped it off.
Joe's eyes widened in sheer horror. His entire body froze as the head rolled... stopping at his feet.
The parrot's beak was still open, as if it had not yet realized it was dead.
"No-don't! Take anything! My life! My weapons! Anything, just don't-"
He never finished his sentence.
THUD!
A fist slammed into his stomach.
The force was so intense that the air was driven out of his lungs in a violent gasp. His body jolted, bending forward, his insides twisting in unbearable pain. Blood trickled from his lips.
Before he could collapse, a strong hand seized his throat and lifted him like a ragdoll.
Then-BAM!
His skull smashed against the ground.
He tumbled, rolling through the dirt, his body scraping against the rough earth, leaving streaks of blood behind.
When he finally stopped, he lay face-down, panting, trembling. His forehead bled. His vision blurred.
Then... a figure loomed over him.
A tall man, his forehead glowing with a blue mark-not just ink, but fire, burning within his skin.
"Where were you going? Do you even know where you are?"
His voice was calm, almost amused.
Joe could not answer. His mouth was full of blood, his mind barely functioning. He tried to lift his hand... but his body refused to move.
The man did not wait for a response. He turned to one of the other warriors and gave a simple order:
"Take him."
And then... Joe fell into darkness.
Inside the Fortress...
The dream was strange.
Darkness surrounded him-not just absence of light, but something alive, something watching.
Then, a figure appeared.
Not a man. Not a beast. Just a shadow, shifting, writhing, with too many eyes staring into him.
Then, a voice echoed from within it:
"Free me... and you will see who you truly are."
Joe shivered. Who was this? Why did it sound like it was inside his head?
Before he could ask, everything vanished.
And then-
SPLASH!
Ice-cold water crashed over him.
His body convulsed. His breath hitched. His eyes shot open in shock.
He gasped, coughing, scrambling as he realized he was drenched from head to toe.
He was in a dimly lit stone chamber, damp and freezing. The air was thick with moisture.
Then... he remembered.
The blood.
The severed head.
His friend's last moments.
And for the first time since his capture... his tears fell.
Not from pain.
Not from fear.
But from helplessness.
Then, something inside him ignited.
"I have to become stronger... I have to survive."
The Leader's Judgment
Joe was dragged through long corridors lit only by flickering torches. At the end of the path, a massive door loomed before him, carved with strange symbols. The guards flanking it stood motionless, like stone statues.
One of them pushed the door open.
What Joe saw inside made him freeze.
Golden light flooded the room-not ordinary light, but something pure, something alive.
And at its center stood a man.
Not just any man.
His presence alone was overwhelming, his forehead glowing with a golden mark that shone like a miniature sun.
"What is your name?"
His voice was quiet, yet it carried a weight that pressed down on Joe's chest.
Joe hesitated, then answered: "Joe."
The leader raised an eyebrow. "And which tribe do you belong to?"
Silence.
Joe knew the truth would only make things worse.
The leader smirked-as if he already knew the answer.
Then, his expression grew unreadable as he stepped closer. His golden mark flared brighter.
"You are an anomaly... No mark, no identity, no fate."
His voice dropped lower.
"But I am merciful. So, I will give you two choices: Become a slave... or die."
A shiver ran down Joe's spine. His hands trembled. His breathing was uneven.
This was not a question.
It was a sentence.
And he knew, no matter which choice he made-
There was no escape.