I shifted against the restraints, breathing steady and slow through my nose. I let the fear pass through me like a wave, refusing to let it settle. I'd trained too hard to fall apart now—not after everything.
They don't know what I am.They don't know who I am.
I was a huntress in the forest long before I ever became Auralia, companion of Eiran. Before he looked at me with those storm-gray eyes, like I was someone worth crossing a continent for. I was the blade in the dark, the quiet footstep behind the quarry. My class? They'd call it a Stalker or a Shadow Ranger, depending on the region. I specialized in shortbow work, silent tracking, and ambush tactics. Where he was a wall of steel and fire, I was the whisper between the trees.
My father taught me the bow. My mother taught me how to see—how to read tracks in dew-covered leaves, how to hear the breath of something hiding just out of sight. My parents weren't warriors. Not in the traditional sense. But in Rockan, surviving the ravines long enough to raise a child made you tougher than any city-trained soldier.
And they certainly didn't teach me this trick.
I rolled my shoulders slightly. Just enough. Beneath the skin, there was a familiar shift—a practiced, effortless slide—as my right thumb slipped from its joint with a faint click. No pain. There never was. I was born this way. A strange quirk of the body. Every bone from shoulder to fingertip could pop loose at will, like I was made of soft wires and water instead of flesh and sinew.
It had frightened people in the village. Even my mother once warned me not to show anyone—said it wasn't natural.
But it's saved my life more than once.
I bent my thumb further, threading it through the leather binding like a needle through cloth. It didn't take long. Once one hand was free, the other followed easily.
They hadn't even noticed.
The cultist turned away, satisfied I was cowed. He didn't see the way my eyes narrowed or the subtle flex of my fingers as I retrieved the hidden blade from my boot.
They hadn't searched me properly.Big mistake.
Let them believe they've won.Because when I slip these bindings—and I will—I'll paint these walls with the truth:
I am no one's bait.I am the storm behind the bowstring.And I am coming for every single one of you.
The blade in my palm brought no thrill of violence—only comfort. Control. I crouched low in the cell's shadows and slipped through the rusted iron bars. They weren't even locked. They hadn't expected me to escape. Not someone like me. Soft-spoken. Wide-eyed. A girl.
Their mistake.
The corridor beyond was dimly lit by wall-mounted torches. The flickering fire cast long shadows, and I moved among them like a second flame—silent, elusive, always on the edge of sight.
Footsteps echoed ahead. I flattened against the wall, weight balanced on the balls of my feet. A cultist approached—tall, lightly armored, face half-covered by a mask of polished bone. A short sword hung at his side, but his stance was lazy. Untrained. Comfortable.
That would make him predictable.
I exhaled slowly. Waited.As he passed, I reached out, slid the tip of my blade under the strap holding his scabbard, and sliced clean through it. The weapon clattered to the ground.
He turned—too late.I was already gone.
No killing. Not yet. Not unless I had no choice.A good hunter only strikes to finish.
Behind a faded tapestry, I found a servant's passage and slipped into its narrow confines. It was dark—the kind of dark that devours light—but I was used to that. My fingers brushed the stone, navigating by touch and memory. I'd studied layouts like these in books. Noble houses, fortress keeps, ritual temples—they all followed similar rules. People needed to eat, rest, and move unseen. So servants always had a way.
The scent of sea air tickled my nose. We were close to the coast. That meant I was heading in the right direction. If I could just reach the upper levels—
A muffled sob froze me in place.
Not mine.Another girl—young, terrified.
I crept forward, finding a cell barely lit by a single candle. A child sat within, arms bound, face streaked with tears. She didn't notice me at first. Not until I knelt and whispered, "Shh. I'm not with them. I'm getting you out."
Her wide eyes were full of disbelief. I didn't blame her.
With quick, careful motions, I cut through her bindings. I paused as another pair of footsteps approached.
Damn.
I drew the girl into the shadows with me, pressing a finger gently to her lips.
Another cultist. Younger—maybe my age. He carried a staff and muttered to himself, clearly more nervous than the others. He passed within arm's reach and never saw my eyes watching from the dark.
I let him go.Still not killing. Still in control.
When he vanished around the corner, I turned back to the girl.
"Do you know the way out?"
She shook her head, lip trembling.
"I do," I said, taking her hand. "Stay low. Stay quiet. Follow me."
I wasn't just escaping anymore.I was rescuing.
And something about that felt... right.
A part of me still burned with thoughts of Eiran—where he might be, whether he was searching for me now. But I couldn't afford to drown in emotion. People were counting on me. Maybe more than I even realized.
I led the girl through winding passages, always watching, always listening, moving like wind through the trees.
They thought I was the weak one.
They would learn otherwise.
The corridor narrowed ahead, the air turning colder, the stone walls damp with sea-slick moisture. Far above, I heard gulls cry and waves crash against the cliffs. We were close. So close.
Just a few more steps, and we'd reach the lower storage hall—a place with unlocked doors and, if memory served, a hidden grate that opened onto the cliffside path. It would be tight. The climb would be brutal. But beyond it… freedom.
I glanced back at the girl—pale, trembling, but steady. Stronger than she knew.
Then the world trembled.
It began as a deep, distant sound—like something ancient stirring from sleep. A growl? No. A roar. Low, drawn-out, furious.
Every hair on my arms stood on end.
"What was that?" she whispered, voice shaking.
I didn't have time to answer. The roar gave way to a thunderous boom—a shattering crack that shook dust from the ceiling and sent echoes slamming down the corridor.
Then came the wind. Hot and wild, rushing through the tunnel like the world had torn open and let the storm in.
I threw myself over her, pressing her to the stone as the floor rippled beneath us.
Then—silence. Not stillness. Not safety.The kind of silence that comes before something worse.
I rose slowly, eyes fixed on the direction of the blast.
That roar… it hadn't been human.
Something had been unleashed.
Something powerful.
And in the pit of my stomach, fear bloomed like ice. Because whatever it was…
I had the terrible feeling that Eiran was involved.Or worse—he was the cause.