Three days later - Botankeu Forest, on the border between Gold Land and Ankh Kingdom
Dawn of the Crimson Moon season
Amid towering mahogany trees whose canopies blocked the morning sun, amid bird songs that should have brought peace but instead seemed to mock their desperation, two sets of heavy breathing shattered the forest's ancient silence. The individuals running seemed caught in a race against death itself—and death was winning.
Princess Reloua Sichom's lungs burned like forge fires as branches tore at her traveling cloak. Three weeks of careful planning, months of diplomatic preparation, all destroyed in a handful of bloody minutes. Behind her, she could still hear the screams of her escort—loyal guards who had sworn their lives to protect her, now silenced forever by mercenary blades.
"Princess, the mercenaries are gaining ground!" Dakare's urgent voice cut through the forest sounds like a blade through silk. Her most trusted guardian, a man who had protected her since childhood, now ran beside her with blood seeping through his leather armor. "I can hear their horses—they'll catch us within the hour!"
Reloua's heart hammered against her ribs. This was not how diplomatic missions were supposed to unfold. She had been traveling to Ankh Kingdom to negotiate a political union that could have brought peace between their kingdoms for generations. Instead, she had ridden into an orchestrated slaughter.
"Dakare, we need higher ground or—" Her words were cut off by the distant sound of hoofbeats, growing closer like approaching thunder.
Dakare suddenly grabbed her arm, his weathered face grave with decision. "Princess, listen to me carefully. The mercenaries are too close, and I'm slowing you down." He gestured to the arrow shaft protruding from his shoulder. "You must go ahead and find somewhere to hide. I will stay here and buy you time."
"What do you mean? I can't leave you behind!" The princess's voice cracked with desperation and exhaustion.
"Princess!" Dakare's shout carried the authority of a man who had spent years commanding respect. "Think about what happens if you die here in this cursed forest. How will your father the king react? How many innocent people will die because of your stubbornness? Gold Land and Ankh will go to war within the month!"
The words hit her like cold water. Reloua fell silent, her mind racing through the political implications. Her death would not merely be a personal tragedy—it would ignite a continental war. King Sichom would never believe Ankh hadn't orchestrated her murder. Blood would flow in rivers.
A fraction of a second later, she made the hardest decision of her young life.
"You are right. I will head forward and pray to the ancestors that I find shelter in this wilderness." Her voice carried reluctant acceptance mixed with desperate hope. "I will be waiting for you, Dakare. Don't you dare die on me—that's a royal command."
Dakare's weathered face softened with something approaching pride. "I won't die, Princess. That's a promise from an old soldier to his sovereign." He gripped his spear tighter, testing its balance. "Now go! Follow the stream eastward—it leads toward Ankh territory. And Princess..." He paused, meeting her eyes one final time. "Trust no one until you're certain of their heart."
Reloua nodded once, then turned and fled deeper into the forest, leaving Dakare alone among the ancient trees with nothing but his spear and an oath written in blood.
Thus he prepared himself for what might be his final battle, listening as the sound of pursuit grew ever louder.
Soon enough, the thunder of hoofbeats resolved into the forms of three heavily armed mercenaries.
Dakare tensed, raising his weapon as silhouettes appeared through the green gloom. When he caught sight of them clearly, shock and rage twisted his features into a mask of fury.
"I swear there were six of you when this slaughter began. Why are there only three before me now?" His voice carried the dangerous edge of a man with nothing left to lose. "Where are the other two cowards? And where is that bastard traitor?"
The lead mercenary—a burly, scarred man dressed in black kente that marked him as a professional killer—laughed with genuine amusement. "It seems you've figured it out, loyal dog. Your precious princess isn't as safe as you think."
Dakare's blood turned to ice in his veins. Different scenarios flashed through his mind, each worse than the last.
"That's right," another mercenary added with cruel satisfaction. "Your little friend told us you'd try to play hero—stay behind to face us all while the princess runs like a frightened rabbit. So we decided to split our forces. Three for you, three for her."
The scarred mercenary's grin widened, showing teeth filed to points. "By now, she's probably already bleeding out in some ravine. Or better yet—we might take our time with a royal princess before finishing the job."
A terrible urgency overwhelmed Dakare. His original plan had been to stall for time, giving Reloua as long as possible to escape or find help. But now... now she was still being hunted with no protection at all.
The only chance—the only hope—was to end this fight quickly and somehow catch up to her.
"You made one mistake," Dakare said quietly, his grip shifting on the spear.
"What's that?" the mercenary asked, still grinning.
"You told me she's still alive."
Dakare exploded into motion, his spear whistling through the air like a striking serpent. The first mercenary barely got his sword up in time—and the impact drove him stumbling backward, blood already flowering across his chest.
This was no longer a defensive battle. This was a race against time, paid for in blood.
---
Meanwhile, deeper in the forest...
"Are you certain he chose to stay behind and face our brothers?" A man with ritual scars covering his face asked suspiciously as they moved through the underbrush.
Blood, the group's tracker, nodded grimly. "I spent enough time observing Dakare to know his mind. He's the type who'd die before letting harm come to that princess. Classic loyal dog syndrome." He spat into the undergrowth. "Do you doubt my intelligence?"
Their leader—the mercenary called Karat, a thin man whose eyes held the cold calculation of a serpent—gestured for silence. "Brothers, don't waste energy on doubt. Even if Dakare stayed with the girl instead of playing hero, our three companions can handle him." His voice carried the confidence of a man who had orchestrated dozens of successful assassinations. "The princess is what matters now—and she's close."
Sinka, the group's scent-tracker, inhaled deeply through his nose. "The trail is fresh. She passed through here less than an hour ago, heading toward the old oak groves." He grinned, revealing teeth stained black from chewing tobacco leaves. "Fear has a smell, you know. She's terrified—and terror makes people stupid."
"Good," Karat said softly. "Stupid prey is easy prey. Let's finish this contract and collect our payment."
---
Even deeper in the forest...
Princess Reloua stumbled through the undergrowth, her elegant traveling dress now torn by thorns and stained with mud. Every shadow seemed to hide an enemy; every sound made her heart leap into her throat.
This cursed forest feels endless, she thought desperately. There must be someone—hunters, travelers, anyone who could help.
But the deeper she went, the more obvious it became that this section of Botankeu was completely deserted. No smoke from campfires, no worn paths, no signs of human habitation. Just endless green silence broken by her own ragged breathing.
Exhaustion was beginning to take its toll. Her legs felt like lead, and spots danced at the edges of her vision. She needed rest, but more importantly, she needed a place to hide.
After what felt like hours of desperate searching, she spotted it—a massive oak tree whose trunk had been hollowed by age and lightning strikes. The opening was small, nearly concealed by hanging moss, but it looked deep enough to hide in.
Perfect, she thought, stumbling toward it. They'll never find me in there.
She pushed aside the moss curtain and squeezed through the narrow opening, grateful for the sudden darkness that would conceal her from pursuing eyes.
The moment she was inside, cool steel pressed against her throat.
"Who are you?" The voice was male, young, and deadly calm. "Why are you here? Are you one of the people who's been following me through this forest?"
Reloua's heart stopped. The blade at her neck was steady as stone, held by someone who clearly knew how to use it. Worse, she could sense something in this stranger's presence—a kind of controlled violence that made the mercenaries seem like children playing with wooden swords.
"I... I'm not following you," she managed to whisper, her voice barely a breath. "You're mistaken, ser. Please..."
There was a moment of tense silence. Then, surprisingly, the blade moved away from her neck.
"Your accent..." The stranger's voice carried a note of recognition. "You're not from Ankh Kingdom. Different kingdom entirely." A pause. "That means you can't be one of them."
Hope flickered in Reloua's chest like a candle flame in wind.
"Please, ser, I need your help," she whispered urgently. "There are mercenaries hunting me through this forest. They've already killed my guards, and they mean to—"
"I don't care." The voice cut her off with brutal efficiency. "I was generous enough not to kill you when you invaded my hiding spot. Don't push your luck. I don't know you, I have no interest in getting involved in whatever trouble you've brought on yourself. I'm not some hero from a children's tale. Get out."
"I can offer you gold!" Reloua said desperately. "Status! Land! Anything you want if you help me survive this day. Please, I swear on my ancestors that you'll be richly rewarded!"
"What part of 'I don't care' was unclear?" The stranger's voice carried a dangerous edge. "It seems you need a more pointed lesson in listening."
She heard him moving in the darkness, and terror spiked through her—she had escaped mercenaries only to die at the hands of some forest hermit.
"I would rather die by your blade than fall into their hands," she said with sudden dignity. "If you're going to kill me, at least make it quick. But know that my death will start a war that will burn both our kingdoms to ash."
The movement stopped.
Before the stranger could respond, both of them heard it—voices approaching through the forest, growing closer with each passing second.
"Shhh!" The stranger's hand covered her mouth instantly. "People are approaching. If you make a sound, I'll kill you myself."
Outside the hollow oak, three figures moved through the dappled sunlight with predatory grace.
"She's nearby!" Sinka called out, his scarred nose twitching as he tested the air. "The scent is strong here—fear and sweat and royal perfume. Let's spread out and search every hiding place."
The three mercenaries began a methodical search, checking behind fallen logs, under thick bushes, anywhere a frightened princess might think to hide.
Blood kicked at a pile of leaves with his boot. "Clever little rabbit. She covered her tracks well, but not well enough to fool our nose."
Karat nodded approvingly. "Royal training serves her well, but training can't overcome raw terror. She's made a mistake somewhere—they always do."
Inside the oak hollow, Reloua pressed herself against the back wall, hardly daring to breathe. The stranger beside her was absolutely motionless, but she could sense his attention focused outward like a blade's edge.
After what felt like an eternity, Sinka stopped directly in front of their hiding spot.
"Here," he said with quiet satisfaction. "This tree. She's been here recently—the scent is concentrated."
Karat approached, studying the moss-covered opening with calculating eyes. "Interesting. It's perfect for hiding, but also perfect for trapping prey." He raised his voice slightly. "Young princess, we know you're in there. Come out and we can discuss this like civilized people."
Silence.
"I'm getting tired of games," Karat continued conversationally. "If we have to come in and drag you out, things will become... unpleasant. For everyone involved."
Still silence.
"Fine." Karat gestured to his companions. "Blood, get ready to smoke her out. Sinka, watch the opening in case she tries to run."
But as the mercenaries prepared their assault, they failed to notice something important.
There were now two sets of footprints near the oak tree's base.
And one of those sets belonged to someone much more dangerous than a fleeing princess.