The forest road stretched endlessly beneath a bruised twilight sky, the world fading into shades of gray and indigo. Darrel's boots crunched over fallen leaves, each step a reminder of everything he had left behind—family, friends, and the shattered remnants of his past life. The village lights were long gone, swallowed by the distance and the gathering mist. He didn't look back. There was nothing for him there anymore.
Cold wind slid between the trees, tugging at his cloak like unseen fingers. It carried whispers—echoes of laughter, scorn, and betrayal. "Weak." "Fool." "Hypnotized like a child." The voices were not real, yet they clung to him, echoing the wounds carved deep into his mind.
He pulled the cap of his coat tighter around his head. "They'll see," he muttered under his breath. "All of them will see."
His journey had no map. He followed a path that hunters and traders once used before the Watchers made the roads unsafe. Abandoned wagons rotted on the sides, their wooden wheels cracked like broken bones. Every rustle in the undergrowth kept his hand near the dagger at his belt—not out of fear, but readiness. Danger no longer frightened him. It motivated him.
By midnight, the moon rose like a silver coin, casting a pale glow through the skeletal trees. Darrel paused beside a crooked milestone, worn smooth by time. He knelt and lit a small fire with practiced movements, coaxing sparks into flame. The warmth touched his face but did little to reach the chill that had settled in his heart.
He stared into the fire and saw not wood but memories. Marcus' face, smiling as always—before that smile became a mask of deceit. The swirling blue light in his friend's hypnotic eyes. The moment Darrel's will shattered like glass.
His fists clenched. "Never again," he whispered.
The fire cracked, sending embers spiraling upward like tiny stars. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf howled—a lonely sound that mirrored the emptiness inside him.
As the night deepened, a soft sound broke the quiet. Hoofbeats. Slow, deliberate, approaching from the northern trail. Darrel swiftly doused the fire and pressed himself against the trunk of a tree, dagger drawn. The mist thickened, hiding him in its cold embrace.
A figure on horseback emerged through the fog—a man in a travel-stained cloak, leading a weary chestnut horse. He wasn't dressed like a soldier, but there was something sharp about his posture. His eyes scanned the shadows, alert but not fearful.
Darrel considered slipping away, but something about the man's confident, solitary presence intrigued him. He stepped from the shadows, blade held low but ready.
The rider halted, hand moving toward the hilt of his sword. "Easy," he said in a calm, gravelly voice. "I'm not looking for a fight."
"Then keep your distance," Darrel replied.
The man's gaze flicked over Darrel—his travel-worn clothes, the haunted look in his eyes. "You're not from here."
"Not anymore."
A faint smile tugged at the stranger's lips. "Exile, then. We share a road."
Darrel didn't answer. He wasn't ready to trust anyone. But the man didn't press. Instead, he dismounted and sat a few feet away, pulling out a small piece of dried meat and chewing it thoughtfully.
"Name's Kieran," he said finally. "Used to be a caravan guard. Now…" He shrugged. "I suppose I'm just another wanderer."
Darrel hesitated, then slowly lowered his dagger. "Darrel."
They sat in silence for a while, the only sound the whispering wind and distant nocturnal calls. Eventually, Kieran spoke again. "The road ahead isn't kind. Bandits, beasts, and worse things walk after dark. If you're heading north, it's better not to walk it alone."
"I prefer it that way," Darrel muttered.
Kieran raised an eyebrow. "Revenge, then."
Darrel froze. "What makes you say that?"
"I've seen that look before. In soldiers who lost everything. In men who walked away from graves with fire in their eyes. It's a dangerous road you're on, boy."
"I'm not your concern," Darrel said sharply.
"No," Kieran agreed. "But you'll either find allies or enemies out here. Best to know which is which."
Darrel didn't answer. He wasn't sure himself which one he needed more.
By dawn, the mist thinned, revealing a rugged path that wound through a valley of jagged rocks and tangled roots. The landscape felt harsher the further they went, as if the world itself mirrored Darrel's growing isolation. Against his initial instinct, he found himself traveling beside Kieran. Not as companions—just two exiles heading in the same direction.
Kieran spoke sparingly, but when he did, his words carried weight. He told Darrel of towns he'd seen swallowed by the Watchers' influence, of families disappearing overnight. "They're spreading," he warned. "And not just here. Whatever you're running from might already be ahead of you."
Darrel absorbed the information quietly. He wasn't running—he was hunting. And the Watchers, Marcus, everyone who played a part in his humiliation—they would all face him one day.
As they walked, Darrel noticed strange marks on trees—spirals carved deep into the bark. He paused at one, tracing the grooves with a fingertip. Cold seeped into his skin.
Kieran noticed. "Watcher symbols," he said grimly. "They've been here recently."
Darrel's pulse quickened, but not with fear. With focus. "Good," he said. "Then I'm going the right way."
Kieran gave him a sideways glance. "You've got darkness in your eyes, Darrel. Be careful it doesn't consume you before your enemies do."
As night approached again, they reached the edge of a ridge overlooking a vast expanse of dark forest and faint, distant lights—a settlement, perhaps. Darrel stood on the ridge, the wind whipping his cloak, staring out at the unknown world ahead.
The road behind him had been filled with pain, scorn, and betrayal. But the road ahead was something else entirely. Exile had stripped away everything he once was. What remained was a boy forged by loss and driven by vengeance.
He tightened his grip on his cloak and whispered to the horizon, "This is where it begins."
Kieran watched him silently, recognizing the weight of that declaration. "Then let's make sure it doesn't end too soon."
Darrel didn't smile. But for the first time, he didn't feel entirely alone.