The forest was silent, but not in the way of a tranquil night. It was the silence that preceded violence—the kind that made the air thick, almost viscous, as if the darkness itself were holding its breath. Darius Zane moved through the mist with the precision of a predator, long strides eating the distance between him and the clearing ahead. The moon, pale and watchful, cast slivers of light that danced across the twisted trunks, highlighting the aftermath of something brutal.
A body lay half-buried in the underbrush, limbs bent unnaturally, eyes staring wide and unseeing at the sky. Blood had frozen in jagged streaks across the pale skin, glinting faintly in the moonlight. Darius crouched low, his gloved hand brushing the leaves as he circled the corpse. He smelled it before he saw it—the unmistakable tang of wolf and blood intermingled. A rogue.
The High Council had sent him. Always sent him. For over two centuries, he had walked into the shadows of the world and come out with justice in his hands and death in his wake. They called him the Sin-Eater, the executioner who cleansed corruption, fear, and weakness with a sword or with his own hands when necessary.
He examined the body, eyes narrowing at the bite marks and the jagged gash across its chest. This was no ordinary attack. The precision, the brutality… someone was sending a message. And whoever it was, they were reckless enough to leave a trail.
Darius rose, a shadow among shadows, and scanned the treeline. Nothing stirred, though his senses screamed that he was being watched. A faint breeze carried a whisper of movement, and instinctively, his hand went to the hilt of his blade. The air hummed with tension, anticipation, and danger—the kind that made weaker men tremble. But Darius never trembled. Weakness was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"Who dares…" he muttered under his breath, though he knew the words were for himself as much as for anyone else. "Who dares challenge order in my domain?"
No answer came, only the forest breathing around him, the faint rustle of dead leaves under a wind that seemed almost alive.
He moved forward, each step calculated, each breath controlled. The moonlight caught a flash of silver near the edge of the clearing, a faint glint that could have been a weapon—or a trap. Darius didn't falter. He never did. He was the hunter, and tonight, the forest itself would testify to his presence.
The clearing widened, and there, in the center, lay another body. This one was smaller, younger, clearly female. The bite marks were shallow, almost playful in their cruelty, as though the attacker wanted her alive long enough to leave a message. Darius knelt beside her, examining the subtle symbols carved into the dirt around her—an intricate pattern he had seen before, centuries ago, in a time when packs rose and fell and the world was less civilized.
"Rogue ritual," he murmured. "Amateurs."
He traced a finger over the strange marks, feeling the cold bite of their meaning. There was intent here, intelligence behind the chaos. Someone was trying to provoke him, to test him.
And that was always a mistake.
A sudden snap of a branch behind him drew his attention. In one fluid motion, Darius spun, blade drawn, eyes narrowing. Nothing. Just the trees. Yet he could feel it—the presence lingering at the edge of his senses. Someone—or something—was watching.
He allowed himself a faint smirk. "Coward," he whispered. "Reveal yourself."
Silence answered him. But he could smell the fear, the adrenaline, the heat of life hidden somewhere close. He moved toward it, silent as death itself. Every step, measured. Every muscle coiled and ready.
And then he saw her.
A shadow among shadows, she froze for a heartbeat before melting back into the darkness. Darius' eyes caught hers—a flash of green, sharp and defiant, even through the night. Young. Fierce. Dangerous in a way that piqued his interest. He could feel it in his bones; this girl was not what she seemed. She was hiding, yes—but she was clever, trained, and far from defenseless.
Darius didn't move closer immediately. He didn't have to. He could wait. Predators thrived on patience.
"You're far from home," he said, voice low and even, carrying without a trace of warmth. "This forest isn't safe for those like you."
The girl shifted, calculating, watching. "And who are you to decide what's safe?" she shot back, her voice steady despite the underlying tremor of fear. "Are you… the council's dog?"
He allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch—barely perceptible. "I am not a dog." His eyes met hers, cold, gray, unflinching. "I am the consequence of betrayal, the reckoning of those who break the law. I am Darius Zane."
Her gaze faltered for a moment. She had heard the name whispered in fear among her pack, tales of the Sin-Eater who left no survivors, who punished with precision and without mercy. Yet she did not run. Her shoulders squared, chin lifted. "Then perhaps I should be afraid," she said. "But I am not."
Something in her defiance drew his attention, like a spark in darkness. He made a note: dangerous. Intelligent. Reckless enough to face him. Perfect for survival… or for death.
A rustle closer to the treeline snapped his attention away. Rogue wolves emerged, fangs bared, eyes glinting in the moonlight. They lunged at the girl.
Darius didn't hesitate. He moved faster than the eye could track, blade a silver streak through the night. In moments, the first wolf fell, its howl cut short. The others faltered, confused by the sudden force of death that descended among them. The girl, seizing the moment, darted to the side, rolling into the underbrush, keeping herself low.
When the last wolf fell, Darius turned toward her. She was gone. No trace except for the faint rustle of leaves and the broken pattern of footprints leading away.
He breathed evenly, collecting himself. "Interesting," he murmured. "Very interesting."
Darius knew instinctively that their paths would cross again. Whoever she was, she had survived the night. And survivors intrigued him—they always did.
He pulled his cloak tighter against the chill, letting the forest swallow him once more. The High Council had sent him to investigate murders, but tonight, he had discovered something far more compelling. A thread of fate had woven itself around this girl, and he would follow it wherever it led—even if it led him to darkness he thought long buried.
As he disappeared into the trees, the girl paused on a ridge above the clearing, hidden beneath the shadows. She could feel it—the presence of someone who was not human in the sense she understood, someone ancient, lethal, and… unsettling.
For the first time in her young life, she felt fear. And yet, it was laced with curiosity, a dangerous mix she couldn't name.
Somewhere deep in the night, Darius watched her silently, unseen. The hunt had begun—but not in the way either of them expected.
And in the distance, the moon shone down, cold and unforgiving, as if bearing witness to the sins yet to come.