Both of Draven's eyes moved—slow, deliberate—scanning the treeline.
Left. Right.
Side to side.
Even now, with blood still wet on his lips, his gaze was sharp. Cold.
Didn't blink.
Focused.
The forest watched in silence.
The wind picked up—just a whisper. Leaves stirred. The broken branches above him creaked… like something waiting to fall.
And then—
Movement.
Between the trees.
Shadows shifted. The forest breathed—and began to spill.
One by one, figures emerged From between trunks and underbrush.
Black-armored Knights.
they stepped forward — silent, precise, encircling the crater surrounding him in a tightening ring.
Draven turned slowly
He could see it now — how they'd fanned out in every direction, curved in like a noose. No panic.
But they were everywhere.
> Damn, they are a lot. He thought. way much more than I thought I can't even count them they most be at least a hundred maybe even more and I can hear more still coming.
Each wore armor etched Their pauldrons gleamed dully under the forest light. No reflections. No color. Just a soft gleam
Draven didn't flinch.
His fingers flexed on the dagger. Blood still dripped from his elbow. His ribs still cracked with every breath. But his spine was straight. His eye was clear.
> I don't have time to waste, if I don't move now. I'll be surrounded in on time don't have. That time to fuck around with them.
He backed up.
And shifted the weight in his heels, dagger still in his grip, chest rising with slow, shallow breaths.
A pause.
Then
He moved Disappearing from the spot.
in a flash he was dashing quickly leaping from tree to tree vanishing into the forest's embrace.
> I need to get back, Quickly.
{Moments Before}
The forest was thick and dark, shadows weaving between trunks as the army moved swiftly but carefully. Branches snapped under boots, leaves stirred by whispered winds, and the scent of broken earth hung in the air.
Soldiers pressed forward, weapons ready, eyes sharp, breaths steady, tense and alert, their armor dark and silent in the dappled light.
At the front was one of the Captains of the Black Wind Vanguard, leading his squad with cold efficiency.
He halted suddenly, signaling the others to stop.
From behind him, the knights fanned out slightly, weapons lowered but ready.
Suddenly, A heavy, destructive sound disrupting the quiet of the woods.
A subtle sound cracked through the tension—a faint, sickening thud coming from just ahead.
The forest trembled in the aftermath of the distant crash.
Shattered branches still swayed overhead. Leaves stirred. The air hung heavy—thick with smoke, bark dust, and the scent of blood.
Did you hear that?" whispered one soldier, glancing sideways. "Something crashing through the trees…
Another reply. "could be a magic beast."
the captain gestured sharply.
"Move up. Stay sharp."
The squad advanced cautiously, weaving through shattered branches and snapped trunks.
Ahead, amid a crater carved into the forest floor, lay a figure.
A young white hair boy with dark skin all bloody mangled and broken.
A knight behind him murmured under his breath, disbelief leaking into the voice low:
"A child… out here?"
Another answered, flat and grim:
> "What the hell would a kid be doing out here?"
The captain said nothing.
Not yet.
He watched.
And then the boy moved.
A twitch. A spasm. Flesh pulling tight over shattered bone. Limbs jerking—reforming. Bones knitting.
One of the knights hissed:
> "That's not human."
Another—closer to the crater—spoke low:
> "He's regenerating. That fast… He's one of them."
The captain's voice was quiet and sharp. A breath above silence:
> "Vampire."
No surprise. No hesitation.
He raised his hand again—two fingers pointed outward. The squad shifted instantly, stepping into position, forming a loose ring around the crater. No clanking. No words. Every motion drilled and silent.
> "Surround and contain," the captain ordered, low and calm. "No sound. No mistakes."
Steel whispered as swords slid free.
As more knights emerged from the shadows, their dark forms slipping between trees like phantoms, the ring grew tighter.
Boots moved without sound. Blades gleamed faintly in the dying light.
The Black Wind Vanguard was in position.
The trap was complete.
The wind stilled.
No birds. No breath. No sound.
Then—
A creak of bone. A twitch of muscle.
Draven stood.
Slowly.
Effortlessly.
His body, still slick with blood, rose with unnatural grace—like a puppet lifted by invisible strings. His spine straightened. His eyes opened wide, sharp and cold.
Dozens of knights froze.
They watched.
The boy—no, the thing—looked around. Took in the ring of blades. The armor. The silence.
His gaze swept left. Then right.
Measured.
Unblinking.
Then—
He moved.
A blur.
One blink—and he was gone.
Dirt kicked skyward where he had stood. Leaves burst into the air. He shot into the trees like a bolt, vanishing into the forest's dark veins before a single sword could swing.
---
> "Move!" the captain barked.
Draven darted through the trees, silent quick and swiftly.
A helmeted figure dropped from above—fast, silent—landing directly in Draven's path.
This wasn't the same captain who'd first approached the crater.
This was another.
Another squad captain of the Black Wind Vanguard, and instantly, it showed.
Their armor was different—sleeker, more angular than the heavier soldiers. Forged for speed, not bulk. It hugged close to the frame beneath it, hinting at a lithe, compact build. Quieter. Sharper. Efficient.
A whisper of movement instead of a crash.
And though no part of the figure's face was visible, something about the posture—fluid, poised, deadly—suggested a different kind of danger.
Draven come to a halt, landing gently on a branch eyes locking with the captain's.
No hesitation.
No time to react—
The captain moved.
In a single, fluid motion, the sword came down—a precise arc meant to kill.