Greta urged her horse forward, galloping hard as she left the Von Meier mansion behind. She didn't really know where she was headed, only that she had to get away. South. That's all she had to go on. Just sheer stubbornness and a sudden surge of guts that had exploded out of nowhere. Greta made a snap decision, the kind she never imagined herself brave, or reckless, enough to make.
But deep down, she felt this had to be better than living the life she'd been trapped in. A fate she hadn't chosen but had been forced to accept. And now? She was done with it.
Even if the new path she carved ended up worse than her past life, it didn't matter. At least she'd go down knowing she tried. Greta wasn't going to die swinging from a rope, quiet, pitied, and forgotten. She pulled West to a halt for a moment, her thoughts cloudy. She was at a crossroads, literally and figuratively, and had no clue which way to turn.
"God, I'm such an idiot," she muttered under her breath. "I've never gone farther than the border of the estate… let alone south."
West gave a soft whinny beneath her, as if sensing her doubt. Around them, the forest echoed with nightbirds and the whispering wind threading through thick branches. The sky was fading fast, the last streaks of orange sinking behind the trees, casting long, eerie shadows across the forest floor.
She knew the Von Meier estate was surrounded by woods, but beyond the trees, was the city. Maybe she needed to head there first, grab a compass, some supplies, before making the long trek south. And anyway, judging by how quiet everything still was, she figured her father hadn't even noticed she was gone. That gave her a strange kind of confidence. No sounds of hooves chasing her, no shouting in the distance. Just the wind, the birds, and her own heartbeat.
So Greta nudged West forward again, pushing toward the city before Dietrich Maximilian even had the chance to show up at Von Meier.
Once in the city, Greta tugged her hood lower, shielding her face from curious eyes. It was a small city, but bustling enough to make her feel completely out of place, lost in a swirl of shouting vendors and creaking wagon wheels.
She kept a tight grip on West's reins, walking briskly but with obvious hesitation. Everything around her felt unfamiliar. It was the first time she'd ever wandered through a city alone, no guards, no maids, no one. Just her. Every alley looked the same. Every corner felt like it led nowhere. Exhaustion began creeping into her legs and shoulders, but there was no time to rest. She needed what she came for: a compass and a map.
She scanned the rows of market stalls, eyes sharp for any symbol of travel gear. Then, in the corner of the marketplace, she spotted it, an old shop with a weather-worn wooden sign that read, *"Navigation Tools and Regional Maps."*
"There we go…" she murmured with a grin.
Greta tied West to a post outside the shop and stepped inside. A bell above the door jingled softly as it opened, and the scent of aged wood and ink hit her immediately.
Behind the counter stood an old man in round spectacles. He eyed Greta, then smiled kindly. "Can I help you with something, young lady?"
"I need a compass. And a map headed South," she said calmly, but clearly.
The old man nodded, then handed her a bronze compass and an old map that reeked of dust and age. As he brushed the thick layer of grime from it, they both coughed.
"My apologies, Miss," he said. "It's just, I've never had a customer ask for a map heading south before. Not in all fifty years has this shop been open."
He paused, his voice turning more serious. "This only goes as far as the Eisthal border. Beyond that? No one dared chart the territory. The Southern region… it's like it cut itself off. If you do make it there, that means Duke William von Ignaz allowed it. He's the only one who decides who comes and who goes."
Greta stared at the map, stunned. It sounded more like a warning than a description, like the South was home to something untouchable, untamed. Just how powerful was this Duke Matthias von Ignaz, if he could control who was even allowed in his territory?
She didn't ask further. Stirring up questions would only bring trouble. She simply nodded and paid the steep price for the items. Costly, yeah, but worth every coin if it meant reaching her goal.
But what she didn't notice was the pair of eyes watching her every move.
From behind a stack of burlap sacks in a narrow alleyway, three men were keeping an eye on her. They looked rough, filthy clothes, dust-covered boots, and smirks that made her stomach turn. Their gazes were sharp and greedy.
"Check her out," one of them rasped, his voice like gravel. "Some lost noble chick buying a compass. But she thinks she can survive out there alone."
"She's tryin' to blend in," the second one said, cracking his knuckles.
The third didn't say a word. He just slowly unsheathed a dagger and gave a silent nod toward the exit trail out of the city.
"Wait until she's alone," the first one whispered. "Then we strip her down to nothing. Horse, bag, and all."
Their laughter was low and sinister, like shadows waiting for nightfall before they pounced.
Greta clutched the compass tightly in one hand, the map in the other. Nothing seemed off around her, just the usual city chatter, kids laughing, merchants shouting over one another.
Her first real journey felt endless. From what she'd gathered, there was an inn nestled near the forest's edge, right by the border, a place to rest before continuing her long road south.
The night wind slapped her face as she rode West hard into the trees, her hair spilling from beneath her hood, whipping wildly in the gusts. The cobbled path grew steeper, but West didn't slow. The black stallion dashed through the narrow forest trails, lit only by slivers of moonlight breaking through the canopy.
Greta gripped the saddle like her life depended on it. Her chest heaved with every breath. Though the air was sharp with cold, heat surged through her limbs, pure adrenaline and rising panic. She couldn't believe how damn scared she was to be riding through the woods alone, in the dead of night.
Then—snap!
A branch cracked to her left. Greta's head jerked around, too late.
Screeech!
Barbed wire snapped up from the underbrush, yanking across the path. West shrieked, rearing violently and almost losing his footing. Greta was thrown forward but held on, fingers clenched white around the saddle.
Three men emerged from the shadows. Calm steps. Weapons drawn.
"Off the horse, milady," one growled, voice rough like gravel dragged over steel. "We just want the goods. And the horse. Make it easy for everyone."
Greta swallowed hard. Her breath caught in her throat. Cold sweat rolled down her spine despite the chill in the air. Her hands trembled on the reins.
Don't panic… don't panic… she told herself over and over.
West shifted nervously beneath her, pawing the dirt. He was ready to bolt. But where? They were flanking her on all sides. One wrong move, and she'd fall, or worse.
One of them stepped closer, swinging an axe at his side.
"What you got hidin' under that long cloak, huh?" he sneered.
"Nothing!" Greta snapped, her voice tight with fear.
She tried backing West away slowly, but the sharp crack of a twig behind her made her freeze. Another man stepped out of the shadows, big as a bear, blocking their escape. Four. She was surrounded.
Her heart thudded in her ears, drowning out everything. Her mouth went dry. Run? Fight? Give up? She didn't know. All she knew was that getting caught wasn't an option.
In a single, desperate move, Greta slid her hand inside her cloak and pulled out a small dagger, not to attack, but as a last resort. She met West's eyes.
"Go," she whispered. "Run!"
And West understood.
With a fierce cry, the stallion reared back, hooves slashing the air, startling two of the men. Greta ducked low and clung to the reins. In one powerful burst, West charged forward, bursting through the narrow gap between two of the thugs, knocking one of them down hard.
Arrows whistled past. One barely missed her cheek.
She screamed, not from pain, but from sheer terror. Tears blurred her vision, though she didn't remember crying. She couldn't stop. She wouldn't stop.
West thundered through the trees, his hooves beating hard the earth. Greta leaned forward, gripping the reins tight, heart hammering against her ribs like it wanted out. The wind cut her skin, burned her eyes. But still, she didn't stop.
Behind them, shouts and throbbing hooves closed in.
"Faster! Don't let her get away!" someone bellowed.
Branches snapped. Arrows sliced through the air. The night turned into a living nightmare. Greta glanced back. They were closing the gap—faces twisted with greed, eyes gleaming like wild animals.
Then—
Whiiisssh—
"WEST!" Greta cried.
The arrow hit West's hind leg. The horse let out a tortured scream, stumbling hard. Greta was thrown off, her body slamming into the dirt. Her back struck an exposed root with a sickening thud.
She couldn't breathe. Everything spun. Her legs wouldn't respond. Blood soaked her torn skirt. Her calf was ripped open.
The three men caught up, panting, grinning wide.
The eldest of them laughed as he spotted her collapsed on the ground, his eyes drifting to her bag. But when her hood slipped back, revealing her face, they all froze.
"Well, well," one said, stepping closer. "Pretty face for a noble girl who thought she could outsmart us."
He reached to snatch her bag, but Greta slapped his hand away with what little strength she had left.
"Her stuff's valuable," said another. "But she's more trouble than she's worth. Let's finish this quick and take the horse."
Greta thrashed as they grabbed her arms. She screamed, fought, kicked, scratched, but it was hopeless.
"No! Let me go!" she shrieked, terror surging through every inch of her body. She knew what was coming. She knew. And she couldn't stop it.
But suddenly—
BWAAM!
One of them was blasted backward, crashing into a tree as blue lightning cracked the air. The other two turned, startled, as wind howled like a storm crashing through the forest. Roots shot up from the earth, wrapping around their legs and slamming them to the ground with brutal force.
Purple lights flared in the fog.
"W-what the hell is that?!" one shouted before he was flung away like a rag doll.
Greta lay there, gasping. Her eyes fluttered open, blurry. A figure stood ahead, tall and motionless in the swirling mist. A long black cloak trimmed with golden thread shimmered around him. His hair whipped in the wind, and his eyes glowed, dim, like coals.
He said nothing. But magic crackled around him like a living storm.
The men were down. Unmoving.
Greta reached out, wanting to ask, to thank him, but her voice wouldn't come. Pain flooded her shoulder, too much to bear. The world dimmed.
Before everything faded, something pierced her senses, a scent she knew too well. A cold wind that carried more than just chill.
It was the same scent as the day she was dragged to the square, tied to the gallows, her body shaking with fear. The same wind that came from the South. From Eisthal.
"Y—you...."
"You act recklessly," the man said softly as he bent to lift her limp body, "but you've caught my attention, Greta Albrecht von Meier."