The wind had teeth.
It scraped across the glade like a warning, lifting strands of her hair and tugging at her cloak. Still kneeling by the stream, the half-elf Druid—still nameless to herself—clutched the vine-wrapped sword and the torn cloth to her chest. Her heartbeat echoed in her ears.
She had found a clue.
A thread.
Someone had been here. Someone who knew her.
The sword, though rust-kissed and weather-worn, was carved with the same swirling symbol she had found on the back of her wooden totem. The runes etched into its blade thrummed faintly beneath her fingers.
Nature recognized it.
She recognized it.
But from where?
A flicker in the trees.
She rose slowly, gaze narrowing.
The forest was alive again—no longer still and watching, but reactive, as if each branch strained to hear her next breath.
Then she heard it—movement.
Not a beast.
Too careful.
Too human.
She ducked behind the thick roots of a fallen willow, clutching the sword. Her fingers found balance even as her mind spun. She'd survived something. She'd fled something. That much she knew in her bones.
And now someone was here.
Watching.
A faint whistle cut the air.
She turned—just as the dagger struck.
She barely dodged in time, the blade grazing her shoulder and burying itself into the tree behind her with a thunk. She spun and raised her hand instinctively.
"Daranthi valen—!"
The roots around her surged up from the earth in a shield just as a second blade flew.
It deflected.
She could hear footsteps now—circling, fast, agile.
A voice rang out.
Female.
Cool. Wary. Surprised.
"Not bad, leafblood. Didn't expect you to still breathe, let alone cast."
The Druid narrowed her eyes, her hand still raised. "Who are you?"
The figure stepped from the trees.
She was human—young, maybe a few years older. Tanned skin, short black hair tied in a knot, dark leather armor streaked with sap and blood. Two more daggers were sheathed at her hips, and a curved sword across her back.
But her eyes weren't cruel.
They were scanning.
Testing.
"…You really don't remember, do you?" the woman said.
The Druid's breath hitched. "Should I?"
A pause.
Then the woman stepped closer, slowly, hands raised.
"I'm Kaelen. Scout. Shadow-kin. You and I… were in the same party."
The words hit like a stone.
She staggered slightly. "Party? What party?"
Kaelen tilted her head. "You don't even remember the fire, do you?"
"What fire?"
Kaelen glanced to the sky.
"Gods. This is worse than I thought."
They sat by the water.
Kaelen refused to fully relax, her hand never straying far from her belt. But she explained in pieces:
"There were six of us. You, me, a knight, a bard, a mage… and the war priest. We were hired to clear a ruin in the forest. Ancient, warded. Something went wrong. You ran ahead. Then the fire broke out."
"I woke up alone," the Druid said. "At a camp. No names. No memory."
"None of us made it out together. I've been tracking survivors for days."
"And the others?"
Kaelen's eyes lowered.
"I found what was left of the bard yesterday."
Silence.
Heavy. Wet.
"Was it my fault?" the Druid asked.
Kaelen stared at her.
"You're a Druid. You walk with the wilds, not fire. If anything, you saved me."
A flicker in the Druid's chest—relief? Shame? She couldn't tell.
Kaelen reached into her satchel.
Pulled out a ribbon.
Green. Frayed.
The match to the one tied around the Druid's waist.
"I was saving this for you."
The Druid's fingers shook as she tied it next to the other.
"Do you remember my name?" she asked.
Kaelen hesitated. Then shook her head.
"You never gave it."
A sound.
A howl.
Not wolf.
Something wrong.
The trees groaned.
Kaelen drew both daggers. "They found us."
"Who?"
Kaelen looked grim.
"Whatever came out of that ruin with us. It's hunting the marked."
The Druid gripped her totem.
And from within, something wild stirred.
Something old.
She didn't have her name.
But she had her instincts.
And right now, they screamed one thing:
Fight.