Rohan walked alone.

  A tattered cloak shielded him from the chill, but the wind still pricked at his skin. His boots, worn thin from the miles behind him. He made his way over top of a battlefield long abandoned. The corpses were stripped of their clothes and weapons. The earth, blackened by fire and blood, stretched toward the horizon, where smoke curled from a distant village. Bandits or soldiers, it made no difference.

  A sound drifted in the wind, distant but approaching. A patrol? Raiders? He didn’t know, but he knew enough to move. He slipped from the road, sinking into the tall, dead grass, pressing himself into the earth as shadows began to approach. He adjusted the dagger at his hip. It was his father’s dagger. A simple thing, unadorned, its hilt wrapped in old leather.

  A cart rattled down the dirt road, dragged by a weary horse. As he watched, something had shifted beneath the tarp, then a silent whimper. A child.

  His fingers tightened around his dagger. His heart pounded in his ears. He could walk away. He should walk away.

  But he didn’t.

  He couldn’t.

  Because he knew what it was like to be the one trapped.

  And he was done running.

  He followed them from a distance, keeping to the shadows. The men rode without caution, laughing, their voices loud against the night. It wasn’t long before they reached their camp, a pitiful collection of tents around a smoldering fire.

  in the tall grass, he gripped the dagger, watching the four men around the fire. They were laughing, drinking, tearing into stolen food. They weren’t expecting trouble.

  He should wait. That was the plan. Let them drink themselves into a stupor, then strike. One by one. Quick. Efficient.

  Then he heard the girl scream.

  One of the men had grabbed her by the hair, dragging her toward the fire, and began stripping her. She kicked, flailed, but she was too small and weak to do anything.

  As the others laughed he couldn't wait any longer and stepped out into the light.

  “Let her go.”

  The laughter stopped. The men turned.

  A moment of silence, then smirks and sneers.

  “You lost, boy?”

  One of them cracked his knuckles, taking a slow step forward.

  “Or just stupid?”

  Rohan moved first, lunging with the dagger but he was too eager.

  A mistake.

  The man sidestepped effortlessly, catching Rohan's wrist. A second later, a fist slammed into his stomach. The world tilted and he hit the ground gasping.

  “That's it?”

  The man wiped his knuckles against his tunic.

  “Thought you’d at least put up a fight.”

  The girl was still trapped in their grip. Her wide, terrified eyes met his.

  Rohan gritted his teeth and drove his dagger into the man’s leg. Causing the grip on his wrist to loosen.

  Another attacker. He barely raised his arms before a boot crashed into his ribs. A sharp, wet crack. Agony tore through him. He rolled with the impact, coughing blood into the dirt.

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  A shadow loomed over him. The third man, bringing a sword down. Too fast. Too strong.

  Rohan twisted, but he could feel the blade grazing his shoulder. Before the man could react he drove his dagger upward. It pierced his neck, killing him, it was a lucky strike.

  The remaining two bandits hesitated now, circling. Not drunk enough to be careless anymore.

  Think.

  He yanked the fallen man’s sword from the dirt. Too big. Too heavy. But better than a dagger against two armed men.

  They struck at once. He blocked one blow, but the impact sent him staggering. Another slash came, and he was too slow to react. The blade cut his side.

  The man who had grabbed the girl was still grinning.

  “Not so brave now, are you?”

  Rohan forced himself forward, swinging wildly. He wasn’t skilled. He wasn’t fast. But he was desperate.

  And sometimes, desperation was enough.

  His blade caught the man’s arm, not deep, but enough to make him react. Giving Rohan time to shove forward, slamming his forehead into the man’s nose. A sickening crunch.

  The last bandit took off running into the woods.

  The boy stood there, breathing ragged, body screaming, barely able to hold the stolen sword.

  The girl was staring at him, frozen in place.

  He cut her bindings with shaking hands.

  “Go.”

  She didn’t move.

  She should have run. Instead, she stepped closer, her small hands gripping the torn edge of his cloak.

  “You’re hurt.”

  She whispered.

  He looked down. Blood soaked his side, and trailed down his arm. His vision blurred at the edges. He hadn’t even realized how much he was bleeding.

  The cold night pressed in around them. The fire had died to embers, flickering weakly against the dark.

  He swayed. She grabbed his arm.

  “You’ll freeze if you don’t rest.”

  He wanted to tell her to leave, to save herself, but his body was giving up on him. The adrenaline was fading, and the pain came rushing in. Every wound burned. Every breath hurt.

  The girl guided him toward one of the tents, away from the dead. Somewhere warm and safe at least for now. As they walked inside he passed out hitting the ground hard.

  The scent of something warm and earthy pulled him from the void.

  Rohan’s eyes slowly opened. The dim glow of dawn peeked through the tent’s thin fabric. His body protested every small movement as he tried to sit up, but a soft hand pushed against his shoulder.

  “Don’t,” the girl said. “You’ll reopen your wounds.”

  He blinked, still disoriented, before noticing the small wooden bowl she held. Steam rose from it, carrying the scent of herbs and boiled meat. Soup.

  She scooped a spoonful and lifted it toward him.

  “Eat.”

  He hesitated. Why was she still here? She should have run, should have taken whatever she could and left him behind. That’s what he would’ve done.

  Instead, she stayed.

  His stomach twisted not from pain, but from something deeper. Something unfamiliar.

  He opened his mouth, and she carefully placed the spoon between his lips. Warmth spread through him.

  It wasn’t much. It was thin, barely more than hot water with scraps of dried meat. But it was the first thing in a long time that reminded him of home.

  The girl glanced away, fidgeting.

  “I… I didn’t know if you’d wake up.”

  Rohan swallowed, his throat dry.

  “You should’ve left.”

  She didn’t respond at first. Then, almost too quiet to hear.

  “I didn’t want to be alone.”

  Neither did he.

  But he didn’t say that.

  He just took another spoonful.

  “What's your name?”

  “Talia, and you?”

  “Rohan.”

  Later that night, as the fire burned low, Rohan laid on his side, shifting slightly as the pain in his ribs flared. He gritted his teeth and adjusted the dagger in his hand.

  Talia had hesitated when he asked for it, but in the end, she placed it in his palm without a word.

  Now, the silence grew between them, heavy but not unbearable. Until they heard it.

  A branch snapped in the distance.

  Rohan's grip tightened on the dagger. Another crunch. Then another.

  Not the wind. Not an animal. Something, or someone, was moving through the trees.

  Talia stiffened. Her wide eyes darted toward him in the dim light. He pressed a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.

  Then they heard voices.

  Faint, but growing closer.

  His wounds ached, his body screamed at him to stay still, but there was no time. If they waited, they would be found.

  He forced himself up, wincing as the pain surged through his side. Talia reached out instinctively, steadying him. He ignored the pain and whispered.

  “We have to go.”

  Her eyes darted toward the horse, still tied to a tree nearby. Rohan knew what she was thinking. If they rode, they could be gone in moments. But the night was too still, the underbrush too thick. A galloping horse would give them away in an instant.

  He shook his head.

  “We leave it.”

  Talia hesitated, but another set of voices, closer this time, made the decision for her. She swallowed hard and gave a quick nod.

  They moved fast, staying low, slipping into the darkness between the trees. Each step was careful, measured, avoiding dry leaves and twigs that could betray them. Rohan’s breaths came sharp and shallow. His side throbbed, but he kept moving.

  Behind them, the voices reached the camp.

  A man cursed. Then, silence.

  Rohan didn’t stop to hear what came next.

  He grabbed Talia’s wrist and pulled her deeper into the woods.

  Into the unknown.