Ald Forest, bordered to the west by the shimmering waters of Felurian Lake, sprawled across the northwestern reaches of Roshar City. It was one of the largest and oldest forests within the borders of Steinert, the Knight Country nestled between warring giants.
The canopy above filtered sunlight through layers of ancient leaves, painting the ground in shifting mosaics of green and gold. Moss clung to the roots of towering trees, and vines twisted across trunks like serpents frozen mid-slither.
Zack ran with a measured urgency, eyes locked on the tangle of roots and twisted earth that stretched like veins across the forest floor. Every step demanded precision. One wrong move and he'd trip—perhaps even snap an ankle.
Then, once again... he felt it.
That eerie, unmistakable sensation of being watched.
"Found you."
Without hesitation, Zack trusted his instincts. He picked up a stone and flung it straight into the nearby brush.
The undergrowth rustled violently, then stilled.
A calm voice, aged and youthful all at once, spoke from the shadows.
"Your intuition is sharp. One of your finer traits."
Zack narrowed his eyes. "You are…?"
From behind the foliage, a tall, slender man stepped forward, the very stone Zack had thrown resting in his palm.
Clad in the unassuming garb of a traveler, nothing about his attire seemed dangerous. But the moment Zack laid eyes on his face—or rather, the mask that obscured most of it—his breath caught in his throat.
A smooth, silver mask concealed everything but the man's nose and mouth. Polished, expressionless... inhuman. His hair, long and flowing, gleamed like silver silk, streaked with strands of deep crimson that evoked the image of blood running down a blade—elegant, yet sinister.
In his right hand, he held something that hummed faintly with lethal energy.
A mechanical weapon—sleek, black, and unmistakably Imperial.
Zack froze.
He'd heard of such things in whispers and history scrolls. Across the jagged mountain range that split the continent, the Empire of Zephyros, unlike the Kingdom of Alethia, had built a civilization upon machines, not dragons. What the man held was likely a short machine gun—a weapon compact like a pistol, but with the firepower of a storm.
Zack knew one wrong move could leave his body riddled with holes. The man could tear him apart in seconds.
Sensing Zack's hesitation, the stranger smiled faintly beneath his mask.
"You're a cautious one. I admire that."
"You're… a soldier of the Empire?"
"Do I look like one?"
Zack hesitated.
The weapon—clearly Imperial. But the man's accent was pure Alethian—refined, noble even. It wasn't the rough dialect of Steinert commoners, nor the clipped militarism of Zephyros. No… he was speaking in King's Alethian.
Zack's mind raced. If this man was an Imperial spy, what was he doing here—lurking in the outskirts of Roshar?
The two great powers, Alethia and Zephyros, had been locked in a tense Cold War for over fifty years. And Steinert, the Knight Country, was a vassal of Alethia. The presence of an enemy agent here could be interpreted as a prelude to war.
But Zack was just a student. He had no power to stop him.
"Tell me, boy," the man said, voice thoughtful. "How old are you?"
"…Sixteen. Why?"
"That's strange. You still have larva inside you."
Zack's eyes widened.
"H-How do you know that!?"
"The curse on your body—it reveals everything."
"Curse…?"
Zack flinched. He didn't expect such an unscientific word from a man of the Empire.
But before he could press further, a new voice cut through the forest.
"Step away from Lord Dazno."
It was delicate, melodic—and laced with steel.
Zack spun around.
A petite figure dashed out from the trees like a shadow turned flesh. In one motion, she drew a black object from her left bracer and lashed out.
CRACK!
The air screamed as something thin and fast flew past Zack's ear—close enough to brush skin.
"Argh!"
He barely dodged, stumbling back as a long, pitch-black serpent coiled in the air before snapping back. No—upon closer inspection, it was a whip, a weapon infamous among warriors of the Tanathos Tribe.
Only masters could wield it with such deadly grace.
Zack dropped to the ground, rolled, and scrambled for distance.
His assailant wore a half-mask, but her eyes were exposed—large, dark, burning with ferocity. Her long jet-black hair was tied behind her head in a warrior's bun, and though small in stature, her presence radiated danger.
Zack acted on instinct. Rising quickly, he scooped a handful of dirt and flung it at her.
"—Khh!"
She recoiled instinctively, shielding her eyes.
Zack turned and ran, crashing through the underbrush.
"Why the hell does this always happen to me?!"
He burst from the treeline into open space. Above, a brilliant blue sky opened wide, and before him—nothing but rocks… and a ravine.
The edge was ten paces away.
No bridge. No cover.
"Obediently accept your fate."
The girl emerged from the trees like a specter, whip in hand.
Zack turned, now standing with his back to the precipice.
"What did I even do to you?!"
"Meeting us… that was your greatest mistake."
Her voice was flat. Monotone. Emotionless.
"That's ridiculous!"
"War needs no reason."
"But there's an armistice—!"
"An illusion. A formality. The war between Empire and Kingdom never truly ended."
She stepped forward, each movement calculated, her whip trailing behind like a predator's tail. She lashed forward again, forcing Zack back.
He was nearly out of ground to stand on.
"Hmph. Let's see how long you'll squirm."
She sounded irritated now. Her composure was cracking.
That's when Zack saw it—an opportunity.
The whip snapped past him.
He seized it.
"Now!"
Grabbing the cord, he yanked with all his strength. She lost her footing, and he lunged forward, grabbed her collar, and—
"Ugh—!"
With a fluid throw, he hurled her over his shoulder. Her lithe body soared in a graceful arc before crashing down hard onto the rocky soil.
"Guh—!"
The impact knocked the wind from her lungs. Her hand spasmed, releasing the whip.
She groaned, tears welling in her eyes—not from pain, but frustration.
Zack stood over her, breath heaving, sweat running down his back.
She was still conscious, squirming slightly. Probably wouldn't be getting up anytime soon.
"...Sorry."
He reached toward her mask—curious. He wanted to see the face of the girl who had tried to kill him.
But as his fingers brushed the smooth edge of her mask…
—Crack!