How long had it been since I started running?
I tried to remember, but my thoughts were messy. The days mixed together. When you spend every day looking over your shoulder, time stops feeling real. Morning and night lose their meaning. You just walk, sleep when you can, and walk again.
I breathed out slowly. White smoke came out of my mouth and vanished in the cold air. Winter was already here. The wind cut into my face, and my hands were numb inside my worn gloves. I stood at the entrance of a small town. The wooden sign was old and cracked. Some letters had fallen off, so I couldn't even read the town's name.
People passed by me. Merchants pulling carts. A mother holding her child's hand. Two guards talking and laughing near the gate. To them, this was just another normal day.
To me, it was another place I couldn't stay in for long.
I pulled my hood lower and walked into the town.
The streets were narrow and dirty. The houses were built close to each other, and smoke rose from their chimneys. The smell of bread and soup drifted in the air. My stomach tightened. I hadn't eaten anything since yesterday morning. I wanted to stop and buy something warm, but I didn't dare to.
I didn't have much money left. More importantly, I didn't want to be seen.
Just a few days ago, I was still a low-ranking guard in a border city. My job was simple. Stand at the gate. Check papers. Pretend to look serious. I didn't have power, talent, or dreams. I just wanted to live quietly and get paid at the end of the month.
Then the attack happened.
It was late at night. The sky was dark, and the city was quiet. I was half-asleep at my post when the alarm rang. At first, I thought it was a drill. Then I heard screaming. Real screaming. The kind that makes your blood turn cold.
Flames rose in the distance. The night lit up in red and orange. Shadows moved along the walls. People ran past me, pushing and shouting. Someone knocked me to the ground. I didn't even get angry. I was too shocked to react.
I got up and ran.
Not toward the fight. Not toward the people who needed help.
I ran away from the noise.
I told myself I was going to call for backup. I told myself I was going to warn the inner guards. But the truth was simple. I was afraid. I didn't want to die for a city that would forget my name the next day.
On the way out of the city, I saw a man leaning against a broken wall.
He was covered in blood. His black armor was cracked, and one of his arms hung at a strange angle. I could tell he wouldn't last long. His eyes were half-open, but they were still sharp. Too sharp for a dying man.
"Water…" he whispered.
I froze.
My first thought was to ignore him and keep running. Anyone wearing black armor in that chaos was likely part of the enemy. Helping him could get me killed. If he survived, he might come after me later. If other guards saw me, they would think I was a traitor.
I stood there, caught between fear and guilt.
In the end, I took out my water pouch and tossed it to him.
I don't know why I did it. Maybe I was tired of being scared. Maybe I just didn't want to watch someone die while begging for water.
He caught it with shaking fingers and drank. Then he looked at me.
For a moment, I felt like he was trying to remember my face.
"Thank you," he said.
I didn't reply. I turned and ran.
I didn't look back.
The next morning, the city was in ruins. Parts of the wall had collapsed. Burned houses were still smoking. Bodies lay covered with cloth. The attack was over, but the fear remained.
I thought that would be the end of it.
I was wrong.
Two days later, rumors spread.
People said that one of the Dark Lord's commanders had escaped that night. People said he was helped by a man in a dark hood. People said that man moved calmly through the burning streets, as if he had planned everything.
I laughed when I heard it.
Then I saw the wanted posters.
The drawing was rough. The face didn't look like me. But the cloak, the height, the place, the timing… it was too close. The words written under the drawing made my heart sink.
"Suspected: The Right Hand of the Dark Lord."
My legs felt weak.
I left the city that same day.
Since then, I had been moving from place to place. I didn't stay anywhere for more than a day or two. I avoided guards. I avoided crowds. I avoided talking to people. Every time I heard someone mention the Dark Lord, my chest tightened.
I stopped walking and looked around the street.
A small shop was open nearby. The owner was putting bread on a wooden shelf. The smell made my mouth water. I hadn't eaten properly in days. My fingers brushed against the few coins in my pocket.
I took a step forward.
Then I heard voices.
Two guards stood near the shop, talking.
"Did you hear? They say the Right Hand was seen near the border city."
"Yeah. The description sounds scary. Calm, tall, wearing a hood. The kind of person who plans everything."
I lowered my head and walked past them.
My heart was beating fast, but my face stayed still. I focused on my steps. One step. Then another. I didn't turn my head. I didn't run.
Running would make me look guilty.
I walked until I reached the far end of the street. Only then did I let out the breath I was holding.
This was my life now.
I didn't kill anyone. I didn't plan anything. I didn't serve any Dark Lord.
I just gave water to a dying man.
That single choice followed me like a shadow.
I leaned against a cold stone wall and closed my eyes for a moment. My head hurt. My body was tired. I wondered how long I could keep running like this. A week? A month? A year?
I opened my eyes and looked at the sky between the narrow buildings.
If the world had already decided what I was, then what was the point of explaining?
I straightened my back and started walking again.
For now, all I could do was survive.