*WARNING: THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS BRIEF LANGUAGE*
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
The shabby boy swung at the tree with his ax.
WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!
He continued to whack at the tree until he heard the sound of a branch snapping behind him. He swung his ax around and stopped mere inches away from the neck of a young blonde girl. The girl began to sweat profusely as the boy slowly lowered the ax. The girl was wearing a bright red sweater and a dark blue blouse, she brought with her a picnic basket filled with the brim with home cooked food that gave off a mouthwatering aroma.
The girl laid a blanket on the ground as she began to place all of the food onto plates. The shabby boy wiped the sweat off his forehead as he gulped down a bottle of water. "You know, you are quite skinny to be swinging around such a large sword." The girl remarked as she continued to place the food down.
"I'm not skinny. I just don't gain fat as fast as the rest of you guys." The boy rebutted. The boy and the girl had been friends ever since the boy was saved from the burning village 10 years ago. The girl, who was named Lisa, was quite popular with boys and girls alike. But even when she had so many friends, she found herself always drifting towards the mysterious boy. It's like he had some sort of magnetic pull that connected them two together.
"So, how long are you going to be out here?" Lisa asked.
"I got 2 more hours." The boy answered as he picked up a slice of cake.
"The Chief sure has it out for you." Lisa remarked.
The Chief has always had it out for the boy, ever since he came arrived here 10 years ago.
***
10 Years Ago...
The storm hit the village as if it was a wild beast.
The winds tore through the narrow streets, rattling shutters and bending the old lamps until they nearly snapped. The rain was relentless, falling in waves that turned the dirt roads into rivers of mud.
The villagers gathered beneath awnings and porches, whispering among themselves. Then, through the roar of thunder, came the sound — the deep groan of the iron gates creaking open.
Everyone's heads instantly turned simultaneously.
Two of the guards struggled against the wind as the great iron gates slowly split apart, revealing the village's hunters returning from the wilds. Lanterns swayed in their hands, their cloaks soaked, their boots heavy with mud. They were supposed to bring back meat and pelts, but this time, they brought something else.
The large hunter stepped forward, his brown coat dripping with rain, his jaw set in grim silence. In his arms, he carried a boy — limp, soaked, and half-covered in soot. The boy's skin was pale beneath the streaks of ash, and his hair clung to his forehead like wet straw.
The crowd gasped in unison.
"What in God's name…"
The man lowered the boy gently to the ground. Steam rose off the boy's clothes as the rain hissed against them.
"I found him," The man said, his voice rough. "Just outside of Brenwick. The whole place was gone. Burned to the ground. No one else made it."
The murmurs grew louder. Brenwick was two days east — a small trade village. Now, it was gone.
"What do you mean no one else?" one of the villagers asked.
The man shook his head. "Not a soul left. The only thing left were their burnt corpses, and the boy."
A streak of lightning tore the sky open, casting the boy's face in stark white light. His eyes fluttered open for a moment — dull, gray, lifeless, empty — and as quickly as they open, they shut once again.
That was when the chief appeared.
He was an old man, draped in a thick fur cloak, his hair gray and his expression sharp as steel. The villagers moved aside as he approached, the rain parting around him as if he commanded the storm itself.
He looked down at the boy for only a second before scowling.
"Cassidy, get rid of the boy."
The man frowned. "What are you talking about?"
The chief stepped closer, pointing a trembling finger at the boy. "You don't feel it? That air…that cold? He gives off the scent of death. He'll be nothing but trouble."
"It's just the storm," Cassidy said. "You're imagining things."
The chief shook his head, his eyes wild now. "No. No, I've seen this before. I've seen what comes of it. The fire spared no one but him! Don't you see? The devil's touched him! Cursed him!"
The crowd murmured again — fear slowly creeping into their voices. Mothers pulled their children close. Men muttered prayers under their breath.
Cassidy stepped between the boy and the chief. "Enough," he said firmly. "He's just a kid. He needs help, not your damn superstition."
The chief's hand shook. "You'll bring ruin on us all," he hissed. "That boy's nothing but bad omens. He'll kill us all if you keep him here."
"Then let me carry that burden," Cassidy snapped. His voice cut through the storm like thunder. "If there's a curse, it's mine to bear. I'll take care of him. I'll keep him under my watch."
The chief stared intensely at Cassidy for a long moment, rain dripping from his beard. The tension between them was thick — the whole village watching, waiting.
Finally, the old man sighed. "So be it," he said, stepping back. "But hear me, Cassidy — whatever that boy brings upon us, it will be your fault, and your fault alone."
Cassidy knelt beside the boy again and lifted him into his arms.
"I'll take that risk," he said quietly.
As he walked through the crowd, the people parted like shadows. The rain fell harder, the thunder louder, yet somehow the world felt silent — as if even the storm itself was watching.
And as Cassidy disappeared into the dark streets with the boy in his arms, the chief whispered to no one in particular,
"May the gods have mercy on us all."
***
The boy sat up as picked up the ax.
"You're going back to work already?" Lisa groaned.
"The Chief said I had to chop this tree down by the end of the week. It's already Friday. I have 2 days left to chop it down." The boy said as he began to swing at the tree again.
"So you're working as a lumberjack, and working as a bounty hunter? I would never be able to handle that much at once." Lisa said as she packed up the empty plates back into the picnic basket. One by one, Lisa packed each plate into the basket, and nicely folded up the blanket and packed inside the basket.
"Just promise me one thing," She said as she inched closer to the boy. "That you'll stop killing people."
The boy froze in his place, mid swing.
"I can't do that." The boy simply responded.
The forest became dead silent, as if the forest itself was listening into their conversation. The boy began to strike the tree again. Each strike echoed through the forest, dull and heavy. The boy's breath came out in short, cold bursts. His hands were blistered, his knuckles torn.
"Why are you being so stubborn?" Lisa asked, her voice small against the sound of steel on wood.
He didn't answer. He lifted the axe again and swung.
"Hey," she said louder, stepping closer, "I'm talking to you."
The axe stopped mid-swing. The boy turned, his face showed no emotion.
"You can't tell me what to do. Just focus on yourself." he muttered.
"I wouldn't have to if you'd just listen to me once in your life," she snapped. "You can't keep doing this, you'll get yourself killed!"
He sighed, resting the axe head against the dirt. "Lisa, we've been through this."
"No, you've avoided this." Her voice cracked. "You think killing people is a job? It's not. It's suicide."
"I need the money."
"For what?!"
He turned away, staring at the tree. The tree was massive. It looked as if it reached all the way to heaven itself. He had been able to get through half of the tree in 5 days. At this rate it would take another 5 days to cut down the whole tree. Days he didn't have.
"For the capital."
Lisa scoffed. "The capital? You really think that place will change anything? You'll just die in an alleyway, no one would even bother to bury you."
"Then I'll die trying."
The words hung in the cold air like smoke. Lisa's lip trembled. "You don't get it…" she whispered. "I just want you to have a normal life. A normal job. I can help you—there's a baker in town looking for an apprentice. I could talk to him, I could—"
"Lisa," he interrupted softly, "I can't bake bread."
"You can learn!" she said, her voice rising as tears began to build. "Please, I'm begging you. Just… stop doing this. Please."
He stepped toward her, but she stepped away. "You don't have to worry about me," he said. "I've been careful. I always am."
"That's not the point!" she cried. "I don't want you to die out there! I love you! I don't want to find your body hanging from some tree or torn apart in the mud. I want you to live—to live a boring, ordinary life! I want you to live a life with me!"
Her voice broke. Tears streaked her dirt-covered face.
They stood in silence for a moment. Even the forest around stood still.
He reached for her shoulder, but she shook him off, stumbling backward.
"Lisa…"
"Don't," she whispered. "Just don't."
She picked up her basket and ran, her sobs echoing through the forest until they were swallowed by the mist.
The boy stood there, silent. The wind tugged at his cloak as he lifted the axe again. He looked up at the half-felled tree.
One swing.
Then another.
And another.
Each strike echoed through the forest. It reminded the boy that he was all alone.
***
The chief sat at the head of the long wooden table, the candlelight flickering across the carved patterns on the surface. His fingers drummed lightly against the wood, a low rhythm echoing through the dim room. Across from him, three figures knelt, shadows stretching unnaturally in the corners of the chamber.
"I need that boy gone," the chief said coldly, his voice low and measured. "The boy… he cannot remain in this village. He's nothing but bad news. You know what must be done."
The three men exchanged glances. One, the tallest, cracked a smile. "Consider it done," he said. "This will be easier than a morning stroll."
"A walk in the park, you mean," the second added, his voice dripping with amusement.
The third simply nodded, silent, but the gleam of his blade under the candlelight said enough.
The chief leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he watched the men leave. Once the heavy doors thudded closed behind them, he was alone. Silence filled the chamber, thick and heavy, until a whisper of movement stirred the shadows.
From the corner of the room, a figure emerged. The candlelight illuminated the edges of a black robe, a deep purple hood hiding her face.
"I know you're there," the chief said, staring deeply at the ground below him.
The woman's voice was soft but sharp, cutting through the silence. "I was sent from the capital," she said. "I am here to watch you keep up your side of the bargain."
The chief slowly turned to face her, eyes scanning the covered face. "The boy… if I follow through, will he follow through with his end of the bargain?"
"The king has been clear," she said, stepping closer, the shadows clinging to her like glue. "If you kill him, the royal knights will protect the entire village. But know this—the boy is no ordinary child. He carries a curse, or at least… an aura of death. Nothing good comes from him."
The chief rubbed his forehead, the weight of his decision pressing down. "I've already set it in motion. They will find him before dawn. But…" His voice faltered. "Even I feel it. Something about him… unsettles me."
The woman tilted her head slightly, her purple eyes glinting from beneath the hood. "Fear and unease are part of the necessity," she said. "His death… it is a sacrifice. The boy must die for the safety of many. The king demands it, and you must obey. This village cannot be spared otherwise."
The chief looked down at the table, connecting his hands tightly together. Candles flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. The room went silent again, the tension pressing in from every corner.
Finally, he whispered, almost to himself, "A necessary sacrifice…"
The woman's voice came again, cold but almost comforting in its finality. "Yes. And you will see it done."
The chief nodded slowly, the words echoing in the hollow chamber. Outside, the wind howled through the village, carrying with it the faint scent of blood.