"Who are you?" the boy asked, drawing his sword fully free.
Ivor didn't answer. He shifted his weight and began circling to the boy's left, steps slow and measured. The bone sword felt rough in his grip, heavier than it should have, and he could see thin cracks running along its edge from the earlier strike.
"What's the point of hiding?" the boy continued, voice tight as he stepped closer. "We'll find you anyway."
Still no response.
Ivor's breathing settled, steady and controlled. His eyes dropped briefly to the weapon in the boy's hand.
Metal.
A real blade.
One solid collision and his bone sword would likely split apart.
The boy moved first.
He lunged without warning, sword thrusting straight toward Ivor's chest. The motion was sharp and practiced. Ivor saw it clearly, every shift of muscle, every change in balance laid bare by his heightened senses.
He jumped back just in time, the tip of the blade cutting through the air where his ribs had been a moment earlier.
Before the boy could recover, Ivor stepped in and mirrored the motion. He drove his bone sword forward, not toward the body, but toward the boy's wrist and forearm.
The boy hissed in pain and jerked his arm back, forced to retreat a step.
Ivor took the opportunity.
He stepped forward as if committing to another exchange, bone sword raised just enough to draw the boy's attention. The boy reacted immediately, tightening his grip and adjusting his stance, ready to meet the blow.
Ivor didn't swing.
Instead, he threw the sword.
The bone blade left his hand in a rough, spinning arc, flying straight toward the boy's head.
The boy's eyes widened in shock. Instinct took over. He brought his metal sword up to block, steel flashing as he knocked the bone weapon aside. The impact rang sharply through the trees.
That single moment was all Ivor needed.
He surged forward, throwing his full weight into the boy before the sword could be repositioned. They collided hard. The boy stumbled back, off balance, and Ivor drove into him again, tackling him to the ground.
They hit the forest floor in a tangle of limbs.
Ivor landed on top, knees digging into the boy's sides as pain flared through his injured leg. He ignored it and drew his fist back, driving it down into the boy's face. The blow snapped the boy's head sideways.
Ivor struck him again.
The boy grunted, dazed, but his training showed. He brought his arms up, catching Ivor's wrists and locking them in place. Their faces were inches apart now, breath ragged, muscles straining.
The pressure behind Ivor's eyes surged sharply.
His focus narrowed until there was nothing but the boy beneath him.
He leaned forward and drove his forehead down.
The impact landed square on the boy's nose. There was a wet crack, followed by a sharp, choking cry as pain exploded across the boy's face. His grip loosened instantly.
Ivor didn't hesitate.
He tore one hand free, reached to his belt, and drew the dagger. In one swift motion, he plunged it into the boy's thigh.
The scream that followed tore through the forest, raw and uncontrolled.
Ivor pressed his weight down, twisting the blade just enough to keep the boy from thrashing. He yanked the dagger free and brought it up under the boy's chin, the edge resting against his throat.
"Crystals," Ivor said quietly.
The boy sobbed, hands shaking as he fumbled at his belt pouch. He pulled the crystals free and dropped them onto the ground between them.
Ivor snatched them up quickly.
Before the boy could recover, Ivor drove the dagger into the other thigh as well. The boy screamed again, body arching before collapsing back into the dirt, breath coming in broken gasps.
Ivor pushed himself off him and staggered back, vision swimming. He bent long enough to grab the fallen metal sword, then turned and limped away into the trees. He walked behind the tree where he had left his bag, picked it up and continued.
Every step sent pain tearing through his leg and chest. His breathing grew uneven, his head light as the adrenaline drained away. He forced himself onward, deeper into the forest, until the sounds behind him faded into nothing but wind and leaves.
Finally, he stopped.
A massive tree rose ahead of him, its trunk wide and scarred. Ivor leaned against it for a moment, chest heaving, then began to climb. Each movement was slower now, his strength nearly gone, but he didn't stop until he reached a high branch.
He pulled the bag close to his chest and tied it tight.
Only then did he allow himself to lie back against the bark. He checked the crystals and counted them again, eight in total. A small smile tugged at his lips.
He had gone out looking for something to heal his injuries, and instead had returned with even more of them.
The forest stretched out beneath him, dark and unfamiliar. His eyes throbbed with pain, his thoughts drifting in and out as exhaustion claimed him.
Clutching the bag, Ivor closed his eyes.
This was his first night away from home and he had enjoyed the day so far.
*******
Ivor's eyes fluttered open.
For a moment, he registered only darkness. Then something felt wrong.
He was standing.
He blinked, confusion cutting through the haze. He remembered climbing the tree. Remembered curling up on the branch. Sleeping.
Slowly, he turned his head.
There was nothing. Just blackness stretching in every direction.
Before he could make sense of it, pain detonated behind his eyes.
Ivor dropped to his knees instantly, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat. It felt as if needles were being driven straight through his skull, the pressure spiking in violent waves.
"What… is… happening?" he stammered, clutching his head as the pain intensified.
His breathing quickened, shallow and uneven, his thoughts scrambling for something, anything, that might dull it.
"Why?" he muttered.
And as if in answer, images surged into his mind.
His fight replayed itself in broken fragments. The moment he had noticed the crystals and held himself back. The urge to take their metal weapons. The thought of stepping out and questioning them about healing plants. Then the strongest moments of all. The times his instinct had screamed at him to kill. And the times he had forced it down.
Ivor rubbed his eyes hard, as if he could scrub the pain away, but it only worsened. His body sagged forward until he was on all fours, trembling uncontrollably. His jaw clenched tight as he fought the urge to scream.
The pain didn't fade.
It didn't lessen.
There was nothing he could do to stop it.
So he stayed there, teeth gritted, body shaking, enduring it the only way he knew how, by refusing to give in.