The forest was not a place for the weak.
Sylas understood this truth with chilling clarity as he stood hidden behind the gnarled trunk of a dying tree. His body felt light, fragile—hollowed out by years of hunger and neglect. His limbs trembled faintly, not from fear, but from exhaustion.
If a monster finds me now, he thought calmly, I die.
There was no panic in the realization. Only acceptance—and calculation.
Just as he was considering his next move, a sound reached his ears.
Voices.
Human voices.
Sylas's pale blue eyes sharpened as he shifted silently toward the noise, careful not to snap a branch or disturb the undergrowth. When the forest thinned, he stopped and observed from the shadows.
A caravan was moving along a narrow road.
Knights in polished armor marched in disciplined formation, weapons at the ready. Their presence radiated strength and order. At the very center rolled a lavish carriage, reinforced and decorated with fine engravings.
Sylas's gaze lingered on it.
That carriage… he realized.
Not just wealth—but command. Influence. A person whose words could not be easily refused.
A high authority figure, Sylas concluded. If I can reach that carriage, survival becomes possible.
But walking openly toward armed knights as a filthy, unknown child would end badly.
So Sylas made a decision.
He pressed his arm against a jagged stone embedded in a nearby tree and dragged it across his skin. Pain flared as blood welled instantly. He bit down hard on his lip, forcing himself not to cry out.
He smeared dirt into the wound, tore his sleeve further, and let his shoulders slump. His breathing grew uneven, his steps deliberately unsteady.
He became pitiful.
Only then did he move.
Before Sylas could step fully onto the road, a monstrous roar split the air. A twisted beast burst from the forest ahead, charging the caravan with savage fury.
"Form up!" a voice commanded.
The knights reacted instantly, surging forward to intercept the monster, leaving the rear of the caravan briefly exposed.
Sylas seized the opportunity.
He staggered out from the trees and collapsed onto the road behind them.
"H-Help…!"
A knight spun around, sword half-raised.
"What is this?"
Another knight grabbed Sylas roughly by the collar, his expression filled with disdain.
"A beggar? Where did this trash crawl out from?"
"M-Monsters…" Sylas whispered hoarsely. "They chased me… I barely escaped…"
The lie slipped out smoothly.
Moments later, the monster was slain. As the knights regrouped, irritation spread through their ranks as they noticed the bloodied child in their midst.
"He'll slow us down," one knight muttered. "Leave him."
Before the situation could escalate, a calm voice cut through the tension.
"That's enough."
The Captain of the Knights stepped forward.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, and strikingly handsome, his dark armor marked with insignia of rank. Unlike the others, his gaze was sharp but not cruel—observant, calculating.
"A child bleeding in this forest is no coincidence," the captain said evenly. "Lower your weapons."
At that moment, the carriage door opened.
Silence fell.
The princess stepped down.
Her presence was overwhelming—not through force, but through grace and authority. Even the knights straightened instinctively. Her beauty was striking, but it was her eyes—calm, resolute—that commanded attention.
She noticed Sylas instantly.
"What happened to this child?" she asked.
"He claims monsters attacked him, Your Highness," the captain replied.
The princess approached Sylas, her gaze lingering on his torn sleeve and bloodied arm.
"These wounds are fresh," she said softly.
Sylas lowered his head, allowing his body to sway weakly.
"I was chased," he whispered. "Please… I don't want to die."
The princess's expression hardened—not in anger, but in resolve.
"We will not abandon a wounded child," she said. "He will come with us."
Several knights stiffened, clearly displeased.
"Your Highness—"
"We are knights," the captain said calmly, cutting them off. "Our duty is to protect the innocent."
Reluctantly, the knights bowed.
Sylas was not welcomed. He was watched.
He was not offered comfort—only survival.
As the caravan resumed its journey, Sylas walked alongside the armored formation. His arm throbbed with pain, but it was manageable. Controlled.
The captain occasionally glanced his way, thoughtful rather than suspicious.
The carriage was the key, Sylas reflected quietly. Authority outweighs strength.
The knights were powerful—undeniably so.
Yet they were bound.
Bound by honor.
Bound by righteousness.
Bound by rules they could not break.
Invisible chains.
The knights possessed power.
The princess wielded authority.
And Sylas—
He understood how to use both.