Long before the soldier's scream tore through the trees—before even Ralme set foot in the forest—someone else had already claimed it as his domain.
The air was thick with rot and steam, clinging to him like a second skin.Each step sank into the blackened mud, swallowing sound, leaving no trace.
No torch.No voice.Only the slow breath of a man who had learned to live with silence.
He wasn't lost.He wasn't hunting.Not yet.
But something in the stillness told him that whatever he was walking toward…had been waiting for him.
From birth, he had been taken from the woman who gave him the gift of life.Traffickers, they were.
The woman begged the criminals to name him Fedran,as her mother had once wished to name her first son—but she never had one.
The infant cried out,yearning to cling to his mother's breast—but in vain.
Fate had already decided that sometimes,in this world,the gift of life can be returned from whence it came.
And so, with a quick and merciful horizontal stab,one of the traffickers pierced the woman's skull from ear to ear,instantly taking from her the gift that had once been given to her from another womb.
Raised by God-forsaken smugglers, hitmen, thieves, and drunkards,Fedran was told they took him in after his mother died giving birth.
He simply lived with it.
Fedran had already claimed the forest.Two days was all he needed to unravel every nerve-shattering detail of its layout.
A second skin—his only home, for now.
Suddenly, voices from nearby.
He slipped into hiding.
From behind the withered husk of a dead tree, he watched them.
Two soldiers—Mayfrost, by their armor.
Their voices were low, harsh, spitting words the wind couldn't carry.Between them stood a woman, her hands bound, shoulders trembling.She didn't speak. Just stared at the ground like it had betrayed her.
He narrowed his eyes.
She wasn't here by choice.
The mud sucked at his boots as he began to move.Slow. Deliberate. Each step a whisper.His breath shallow, controlled,as if the forest itself might hear it.
Steam curled around his frame,swallowing his outline,making him less than a shadow.
He didn't draw his dagger. Not yet.
First, he wanted to see their hands.Wanted to know who would reach for a weapon—and who would beg.
"I don't think we've met before, guys. You look scary,"Fedran whispered.
The two soldiers turned around, startled. Their eyes widened.
"Who the hell are y—"
The soldier reached for his sword but was quickly interrupted.
"Oh, no no no… that's not very nice,"Fedran said menacingly,pressing the edge of his dagger against the soldier's lips.He glanced at the other one.
"You. Take one more fucking step toward her,and you and your buddy will be swimming in each other's blood.Did I make myself clear, sir?"
"Okay…" the soldier replied.
"So. It just so happens I don't really like wasting time on irrelevant questions.So you'd better tell me what the fuck two Mayfrostians are doing with a female hostage in a place like this."
"We were tasked with the abduction of Lady Arya Verdar from within the Weavers.Escort her to the southeast and await further instructions within a week after arrival,"the soldier replied firmly.
"Well I'll be damned.Never in my life have I asked something and actually gotten a straight answer without the usual bullshit.So… this is the 'lady whatever' you mentioned?"
"Yes," the soldier replied again.
"Well, I suppose you haven't been here long—meaning the week hasn't passed yet.Which means no new instructions.Which also means…"
"…I'm here to relieve you of your burdens."
Without warning, Fedran headbutted the first soldier with sudden, brutal force.As the man crumpled, he turned to the second, striking his leg with a sharp kick that sent him collapsing into the mud.
The soldier scrambled, trying to unsheathe his sword and rise—but in vain.Fedran drove his dagger into the man's palm, pinning it to the ground.
"A warning," he muttered."Try anything else… and you lose more than your grip."
He then proceeded to bind their hands and seal their mouths.
"Walk now. Go wherever you think you'll die faster.When we meet in hell, I want you to tell me every single detailof how you suffered while slowly dying under the scorching sun."
He shouted as he forced them to walk away.
Arya was in shock—but not because of the violence.
She had seen Fedran's eyes.
He had been emotionless the entire time he spoke.But when he attacked them… he seemed to enjoy it.
The grin, the wide eyes, the heavy breathing.The sight was deeply unsettling.
"What do you want to achieve by capturing me?Why does everyone think they have authority over me?Why do I have to be chased my whole life, simply because I'm a sorce—"
Fedran cut her off, slicing through the rope that bound her hands.
"Shut up and just go.I wasn't even talking to you," he said.
He looked… bothered.As if something was missing from the whole experience.
"You know, I didn't kill them because I don't like behaving like an animal in front of women—sometimes."