The morning broke cold and gray. Mist clung stubbornly to the treetops, shrouding the valley path in a pale, ghostly haze. Darrel adjusted his cloak against the chill and followed the uneven road northward. The forest thinned slowly, giving way to fields of tall, wild grass swaying under the early light. He moved with purpose, each step carrying him farther from the life he once knew and deeper into uncertainty.
Beside him, Kieran walked with the ease of a seasoned traveler. He was quiet, scanning the surroundings with sharp, practiced eyes. Every few minutes he would pause, glance at the horizon, then continue. It was clear he wasn't just wandering—he was searching for something.
Darrel broke the silence first. "You keep looking around," he said. "Expecting trouble?"
Kieran grunted. "Out here, trouble usually expects you. And it rarely waits for an invitation."
Darrel's hand drifted instinctively toward the dagger on his belt. "I'm ready for it."
Kieran shot him a sidelong glance. "No one ever is. Not the first time."
They walked on, their conversation fading into the crunch of boots on the dirt road. The wild grass around them was unnervingly still, as though the wind itself had decided to hold its breath. The only sound was a distant crow's cry echoing through the morning air.
By midday, the mist had lifted entirely, revealing rolling hills and a narrow bridge ahead spanning a slow-moving stream. As they approached, Darrel noticed something odd—a figure standing on the bridge, cloaked and hooded, perfectly still, as though waiting for them.
Kieran's pace slowed. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword. "Stay sharp," he muttered.
Darrel felt a familiar prickle at the back of his neck. Something about the figure was wrong. They weren't a traveler resting. They were watching.
When they reached the foot of the bridge, the figure raised their head slowly. A woman's voice, clear and calm, carried over the water. "Turn back," she said. "The road ahead isn't meant for you."
Kieran stepped forward cautiously. "We don't want trouble. Just passing through."
The woman shook her head. "There is no passing through anymore. Not where this road leads."
Darrel narrowed his eyes. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
Her gaze settled on him, and for a heartbeat, he felt as though she could see through him—past his skin, into the swirling storm of anger and pain within. "It means your path is marked," she said softly. "Marked by forces you don't yet understand."
Darrel bristled. "You don't know me."
"I don't need to," she replied. "They do."
Kieran moved subtly, positioning himself between Darrel and the stranger. "Who are 'they'?"
The woman hesitated, as though weighing how much she should reveal. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, she pulled back her hood. Her hair was streaked with silver despite her youthful face, and her eyes were the sharp, unnatural blue of Watcher symbols—the same hue Darrel had seen in Marcus' hypnotic stare. But there was something different about her. Her gaze wasn't cold; it was warning.
"I was like him once," she said, nodding toward Darrel. "Angry. Determined to fight the Watchers. I thought my will alone could withstand what they are. I was wrong."
Kieran's hand tightened on his sword. "You're one of them."
"I was," she corrected. "Until I escaped."
Darrel stepped forward. "Then tell me what you know. If they marked me, I want to know why."
Her expression darkened. "Because you're dangerous to them. And dangerous to yourself. The moment you broke free from their influence, they began to watch you closely. People like you don't walk away unnoticed."
He felt a chill crawl down his spine. "So they're following me."
"They're more than following," she said. "They're waiting. Testing. They'll push you toward choices you can't take back. They don't need chains to control you. They'll use your own darkness."
Kieran gave a low whistle. "Comforting."
The woman ignored him. Her eyes never left Darrel's. "I can see it already—the anger festering inside you. The desire for vengeance. They'll feed on it, twist it, until you're no better than they are."
Darrel's jaw tightened. "I'm nothing like them."
She stepped closer, her presence almost unnervingly calm. "That's what I said too."
For a long moment, only the gentle trickle of the stream filled the silence. Darrel stared at her, his heart pounding. Her words cut too close to the truth. He did feel the darkness growing inside him—each step away from home seemed to feed it. But he couldn't afford to hesitate now. He had a mission, and nothing would stop him.
"Why warn me?" he asked finally. "If you escaped them, why stay here, waiting for strangers?"
Her gaze softened, just slightly. "Because I don't want to see another life swallowed by them. You remind me of who I was before they broke me."
Kieran muttered under his breath, "Great. A cryptic doomsayer."
She turned her sharp gaze on him. "Mock me if you wish. But you've already stepped onto their stage. Every choice from here on will echo louder than you can imagine."
She reached into her cloak and withdrew a small wooden token—a spiral carved into its surface, identical to the marks Darrel had seen on the trees. She pressed it into his hand. The wood was warm, almost alive. "They've already placed their mark along the road ahead. If you keep walking this path, you'll find them—or they'll find you. This token will burn when they're near."
Darrel studied the token, feeling its faint pulse beneath his fingers. "And if I go back?"
Her face was unreadable. "Then you'll still meet them. But on their terms, not yours."
Kieran sighed. "Well, that's reassuring."
Darrel tucked the token into his cloak. His decision was already made. "I'm not turning back," he said firmly.
The woman looked at him with something between pity and admiration. "Then remember my words. The road of vengeance is easy to start… but nearly impossible to leave."
With that, she stepped aside, allowing them to cross the bridge. As they passed, Darrel felt her eyes lingering on him, heavy with unspoken fears. When he glanced back moments later, the bridge was empty. She had vanished like mist in the wind.
They continued northward in uneasy silence. The landscape grew harsher, and shadows lengthened as the sun began its slow descent. Kieran finally spoke, his tone dry. "Well. She was cheerful."
Darrel didn't answer. His mind was turning too fast, the woman's warning echoing inside him. They'll use your darkness…
He clenched his fists. Whatever the Watchers planned, he would be ready. He had to be.
But for the first time, a sliver of doubt had wormed its way into his resolve.