Fleeing through the treacherous wildlands, Selene didn't know where she was going—only that she had to keep moving. Had to get away.
The cruel, mocking laughter behind her echoed like a death knell. If they caught her again, there would be no mercy. Especially not from their leader—Marcus Averilous.
She had escaped his clutches only by exploiting a moment of carelessness. Pretending to submit, feigning hopelessness, she'd made Marcus believe she had broken. But submission would not have spared her. He would have used her, then tossed her to his men like carrion.
At best, she would've been passed around until there was nothing left of her but blood and whimpers. At worst, Marcus would've kept her as his personal pet—until he grew bored. Most didn't survive that long.
Marcus reveled in suffering. The more blood, the better. He watched the most horrific acts unfold with the delight of a child unwrapping gifts. Only when his victims begged for death would he sometimes grant it—but not quickly. He let them rot, die from infection, or simply scream until their voices gave out.
Selene had watched him order a girl's skin peeled away in strips, just because he'd grown tired of her. Her screams hadn't bothered Marcus—they excited him. He made all the slaves watch. He always made them watch.
Selene had once been called a beauty in her town—long legs, soft curves, light brown hair that reached her back, and rare emerald eyes no one else in the village shared. Her skin was pale, typical of those living near the mountainous northern border of the Algarian Empire. She had always stood out, and now that uniqueness had become her curse.
She tried to hide. Caked herself in mud, hacked her hair unevenly, stopped bathing until her stench drove people away. But it hadn't been enough.
Marcus had lined the captives up one day. His gaze swept past most—until it landed on her. Those eyes, he said. He ordered her stripped, scrubbed, and dragged to him like some prize. Selene still has fire in her eyes. She hadn't given up like the other women. She would fight and die. Marcus had shown her there were far worse fates than death. She almost gave up when she thought about her home.
Her village—her home—had offered her up without much fight. Her father, the village chief, and her mother had fought the townsfolk, but even they had been beaten and held down as she was taken. The last thing Selene remembered of them was the sound of their cries being drowned by laughter.
Marcus called it labor, but they were more than workers. They were slaves. Toys. He didn't care if they were young or old. He spared the children only because he wanted to cripple the town's future before he wiped it out entirely. Their home was unclaimed by any kingdom, and the nearby lords wouldn't lift a finger if their gold wasn't affected to help a small village on the boarder.
Selene refused to die like that.
The night Marcus summoned her, she played her role perfectly—meek, broken little fraile flower petal. She even allowed his touch much to her disgust that she made sure to hold in. She bled for the chance to get close. But she had prepared her mind and conviction that if she couldn't escape, then she would cut her own throat. Days before, in a moment of sheer terror, she'd stolen a knife from a drunken bandit's belt and tied it to her thigh. If they'd found it, she'd have been executed on the spot.
When Marcus turned to pour his wine, she struck. The moment he faced her with two dented bronze goblets filled with wine.
The blade carved a line from his chin, through his lips and nose, and into his eye. As he screamed in rage and agony dropping the goblets to hold his now ruined left eye, Selene didn't hesitate as she slashed open the back of the tent and fled into the forest in seconds.
While she was some distance away she could still hear the man screaming and bloody murder. Shouting for the camp to find the wench and keep her alive so that he could…and his voice trailed off due to her distance and loud panicked breaths.
That had been two days ago.
She'd had a full day's head start. But now, their laughter was close—too close. She had run through the night, her strength nearly gone, her body trembling. She was no longer running—only stumbling forward, dragging her feet like a ghost through the woods.
Then she saw it—a stream wide enough to be mistaken for a river. It lacked the whitewater of rapids, but it was deep. Dangerous. Could she swim across in her state? Unlikely. But drowning was better than going back.
She burst from the treeline—
THWIP!
A scream ripped from her throat. Pain exploded in her right thigh. She staggered forward a few more steps and collapsed. Turning over, she saw the arrow buried in her leg. The pain was blinding.
They were almost upon her now. She could hear their jeers, their boots pounding the earth.
Selene looked back.
Too close.
Darkness took her. She passed out, hoping never to wake.
---
Back in the Forest
Damien started his morning like he had for the past few weeks. He had long since figured out how to keep clean using his magic—channeling water to lift dirt from his skin and fire magic to dry off. What began as vanity had become a routine, evolving his understanding of the elemental forces at his command.
Air, Water, Earth. All had climbed to Tier 4 through constant practice. Air allowed him to leap and glide over trees. Water let him sense moisture, create mist, and even adjust the temperature. Earth let him mold minerals and metals—he'd crafted his own iron dagger using nothing but willpower and mana.
Fire magic had opened up new doors entirely.
Fire Element:
Tier 1: Fire Touch—create flames by touch, and shoot firebolts in a straight line.
Tier 2: Fireball—greater range, explosive impact.
Tier 3: Experimental—fire can now be combined with other elements. Dangerous. Use caution.
Damien's Arcane magic had also grown—Mana Bolt was now Tier 4, and Mana Shield was Tier 2. Shields took longer to level, probably due to their passive, defensive nature. They likely needed real impact to evolve.
Just as he was mulling over the science behind magic—
A scream. A woman's.
Damien's head snapped toward the sound. He moved through the underbrush and saw her stumble from the woods—mud-streaked, dressed in tatters. An arrow pierced her thigh. She collapsed, then passed out.
Moments later, twelve men emerged from the trees. Bandits—sweaty, armored in mismatched leather, armed to the teeth. They surrounded her.
Damien stayed hidden, unsure at first. Was she a criminal? Was this an arrest? But then he heard them speak.
> "...boss is gonna give us plenty of coin for bringin' this one back."
"She carved up his face, she did. Took out his eye!"
"We should have a bit of fun before the boss chops her up..."
"Heh, I want her awake for it."
Their laughter chilled Damien's blood. One drew a dagger—and stabbed her hand.
Her scream snapped Damien out of his shock as he gasped. Rage overtook him.Being from Earth and a soldier his first instinct is to
One bandit saw him and called out.
"Well, look what we have here—a straggler! A dark-skinned one too. Bit far from the sands, ain't ya?"
Damien said nothing and the blood thirsty bandits didn't need an invitation.
They raised their crossbows and fired.
Twang, Twang!
Damien's Mana Shield flared to life—a shimmering purple dome. The bolts made a muted ,'thump', then bouncing harmlessly to the ground at Damien's feet. His eyes narrowed.
Stone spears erupted from the ground. Air magic boosted their speed. The spikes impaled four men—two were instantly obliterated, two behind them shredded by sheer force. Blood sprayed the forest.
The remaining eight hesitated. Too late.
Damien summoned a half-circle of stone, trapping them. Then, with calm fury, he unleashed Mana Bolts—two heads exploded against the stone wall. Brain matter painted the air.
The rest cowered, some soiling themselves as they lost control of their blatter. Three of the braver bandits drew swords and charged. Damien shot 3 mana bolts but he missed his first volley, but clipped one's arm—severing it. The man dropped, howling in agony.
The other two reached him. Their blades clashed against his shield. Mana drained fast, cracks forming like spiderwebs. One broke through—his sword slicing Damien's shoulder.
Apperantly physical damage wears the mana shield down faster than blocking spells.
Damien stumbled, then rose, fist glowing with power. One punch obliterated a man's skull.
Two archers remained. They fired. Arrows grazed Damien's skin—some drew blood, but they couldn't pierce his rage.
He advanced slowly. Each step deliberate.
> "We weren't gonna hurt her much! Honest—!"
Damien crushed the speaker beneath his boot. Guts spilled. Eyes popped free.
Jonas, the last, grabbed Selene by the hair.
> "If I'm dying, I'm takin' this bitch with me!"
He raised a dagger.
The earth trembled. Clouds churned above. Water surged and boiled. Auras of every element flared around Damien.
Spikes impaled Jonas and the other survivor—clean through the skull.
Silence.
Damien staggered forward. Selene was pale. Dying. He knelt, pulled the arrow free, then pressed his hands to her wounds. Flesh knitted. Bone reset.
She stabilized—but barely.
Drained, Damien gently lifted her unconscious body and walked away from the carnage. He created a dome of stone with a hole for air, just big enough for both of them.
He placed food and water within reach.
Then collapsed beside her.
Darkness claimed him.
---
Let me know if you'd like help with a chapter title, teaser, or if you want to workshop the dialogue further for tone or realism.