The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, the gentle patter against the earth a distant sound as the world around me blurred into a dull haze. I lay there, half-submerged in the mud, the cold water seeping through my torn clothes, my skin freezing against the wet earth. The pain in my gut was a searing fire, burning through my body with every shallow breath. I could feel the warm, slick blood pooling beneath me, a steady reminder of just how close to death I was. My vision swam, the edges darkening as my strength drained away, drop by drop.

I was dying.

My thoughts scattered like the rain. Memories of Sophia's golden hair, Ged's stern but kind eyes, Ros’s laughter in the kitchen. All of it slipping away as the numbness crept in.

And then, through the dimness, I saw him—a figure emerging from the mist like a shadow made flesh. His boots squelched through the thick mud, his cloak billowing slightly in the faint wind. He moved with purpose, yet there was no rush to his steps, no hesitation. His face remained hidden beneath the hood, but there was something in the way he walked, something certain.

My pulse fluttered weakly. I wanted to speak, to ask him who he was, but all that came out was a soft, strangled groan. My body felt like lead, my mind barely able to hold onto consciousness. Was this death? Some grim reaper, come to collect my soul?

The figure knelt beside me, his boots sinking into the mud beside my head, and his voice broke through the fog like a calm anchor in the storm.

"Easy now, lad," he said, his tone steady, almost too casual for the severity of the moment. "Just stay with me."

He reached down, his hands steady as he inspected the wound, and I felt the world shift—suddenly clearer and far more painful. The blade was still embedded in my stomach, the cold iron a cruel spike of agony that flared every time I so much as blinked.

My breath hitched as he pressed around the wound, his fingers deft but firm. A ragged, strangled groan escaped my lips. My vision danced with spots, and my muscles seized up as the pain clawed its way through me.

"You're gonna feel this," the stranger muttered softly. He gripped the hilt of the knife firmly.

For a brief second, I tensed, my body instinctively fighting the inevitable. Then, with a sharp yank, he pulled the blade free.

The world exploded into fire. I gasped, my back arching as a scream tore through my chest but barely made it out of my throat. White-hot agony seared through my gut, making everything else—the cold, the rain, the mud—disappear. I felt the warm rush of blood spill freely from the wound now, the gurgling sound of it mixing with the patter of rain.

"Stay with me," the man repeated, his voice somehow cutting through the fog of pain. He was already moving, pulling out a pack from somewhere beneath his cloak. With a practiced efficiency, he packed the wound with herbs, his fingers pressing the mixture deep into the gash to slow the bleeding. The smell of something sharp—bitter—filled my nose as he worked, the mixture stinging as it made contact with my torn flesh.

My vision wavered, the pain pulling me under, but the man kept speaking, his words grounding me. "I’ve seen wounds worse than this, lad. You’ll live—if you fight it." He wrapped a bandage around my stomach, his hands surprisingly gentle, given the roughness of his voice and the brutal way he'd pulled the knife free.

I wanted to speak, to ask who he was, why he was helping me, but the words refused to form. All I could manage was a weak groan as the world tilted, the rain now a distant sound above the pounding in my head.

"Not your time to die yet," the man said, almost to himself. He lifted me effortlessly, my body slumping against his chest as the pain sent me spiraling again, every shift in movement pulling at the raw edges of the wound. I felt him lay me in the back of a wagon, the hard wooden surface creaking beneath my weight as he worked quickly to secure me. The cold seeped into my bones, but his voice was there, a constant murmur as he worked.

"Rest," he said, though his hands never stopped moving, adjusting the bandages, packing more of the herbs into the wound. "You’ll make it. Just don’t give up now."

The pain dulled, whether from the herbs or exhaustion, I wasn’t sure. My vision began to blur again, the steady rhythm of his voice the only tether I had to reality.

I slipped in and out of consciousness, the rain and the stranger's voice fading in and out, the agony gradually replaced by a deep, dragging weariness. Somewhere, in the back of my mind, I knew I was being saved. But in that moment, all I could do was float in the space between life and death, waiting to see which side would claim me first.

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I slipped in and out of consciousness after that. The world became a haze of sensations—sometimes sharp, sometimes distant. I remember the smell of a campfire, the crackle of burning wood. At times, I could hear the man’s voice, speaking softly, though I couldn’t always make out the words. I felt his hands again, this time carefully changing the bandage on my stomach, the cool night air brushing against my fevered skin.

Once, I caught a glimpse of him as he knelt by the fire, sharpening a blade with deliberate, rhythmic strokes. His eyes were fixed on the flames, and I overheard him muttering something under his breath, words I couldn’t make out—yet I sensed a quiet determination in his movements, a man on a mission.

Another time, I woke to the sound of him talking to someone—though there was no one else around. His voice was low, as if in conversation with the stars or the night itself. “This power… I know it’s out there,” he said, his tone laced with both curiosity and caution. “But what I’ll do when I find it… that’s another question.”

When I finally came to reality, the world had steadied. I lay beside the campfire, my head resting on a makeshift pillow of rolled cloth. The stars twinkled above, their light filtered through the leaves of tall trees. I could hear the soft rustle of the wind, the crackling of the fire, and the steady breath of a man sitting nearby, staring into the flames.

“How long was I out?” I croaked, my voice rough.

The man glanced over, his eyes catching the light of the fire. “Long enough,” he replied. He set his blade aside and shifted closer. “You’ve been dancing between life and death for a few days now, but you’re through the worst of it, Kendril’s the name and you Lad”

I sat up slowly, every inch of my body protesting as the pain in my stomach flared. My vision blurred, and the bandages wrapped tightly around my midsection burned with every movement. My head swam, the dizziness mingling with the dull ache of the wound still throbbing beneath the layers of cloth.

“Ragan”, I replied, my voice barely more than a rasp. “Why did you help me?”

Kendril, seated across from me by the fire, didn’t answer right away. His face remained in shadow, the hood of his cloak casting a deep line over his eyes as he tended to the flames. He shifted slightly, his gaze locked on the glowing embers as if they alone held the answers.

He had saved my life, dragged me from the brink of death, yet he remained distant, almost detached. It gnawed at me—why? Why risk himself for someone he didn’t know?

“I saw what those men were doing to you,” Kendril finally said, his tone calm, matter-of-fact. “Two men in chains, dragged around like animals... I don’t usually get involved, much anymore, but something about that scene... It wasn’t right.”

He poked the fire with a stick, the flames flaring up for a moment. His gaze never met mine, and the distance in his voice hinted that he was choosing his words carefully, keeping his own thoughts guarded.

“I don’t know the details, who those men were, or what you’d done to end up in chains. But I’ve seen enough of this world to know that those bastards had cruelty in their eyes. That wasn’t just about some law or debt. They enjoyed hurting people.” Kendril glanced at me then, his eyes narrowing as if trying to gauge my reaction. “I figured you’d seen enough of that.”

My throat tightened at his words, memories of the enforcer’s’ sneers, their hands wrapped around Reece, their mocking laughter as they kicked Ged to the ground. I clenched my fists, feeling the ache of the old wound mingle with the fresh one. The memories were too raw, too close.

Kendril hadn’t seen the betrayal, hadn’t witnessed the moment Reece drove the knife into my gut. He didn’t know the depths of my guilt, the pain that wasn’t just physical. To him, I was just another victim of a cruel world. Nothing more.

“You weren’t going to make it if I didn’t step in,” Kendril continued, his voice softening slightly. “But don’t mistake my help for something it’s not. I’m not here to save anyone. I’m not some wandering hero looking for people to rescue.”

He stood up then, moving closer to the fire, the light revealing more of his face—hard lines, a rough beard, and eyes that had seen too much. He wasn’t young, but he wasn’t old either. His movements were calculated, careful, like a man who had learned long ago to trust no one.

“I’ve got my own path to follow,” Kendril added, his voice low as if the admission cost him something. “Saw an opportunity to help, and I did. But I’m not sticking around for the fallout. You can stay with me till the next village. After that, we part ways.”

I stared at the fire, the warmth of the flames doing little to ease the chill in my bones. I had no idea where I was or what to do next.Reece’s betrayal still pressed down on me like a stone. What future did I even have?

“Why?” I asked again, the question hanging in the air between us.

Kendril glanced back, his expression unreadable. “Because sometimes, when you see something wrong, you fix it. Doesn’t mean it’ll change the world. Doesn’t mean it’ll even make a difference. But it’s better than doing nothing.”

His words hit harder than I expected, stirring something deep inside me. I wasn’t sure whether to trust him, but I wasn’t in a position to refuse his help either. He was right. I would’ve died if he hadn’t intervened. I had nowhere else to go.

“Alright,” I muttered, the exhaustion seeping back into my bones. “To the next village.”

Kendril nodded, his attention already shifting back to the fire. “Rest up,” he said quietly, “you’ll need your strength.”

And with that, the conversation ended, leaving me to my thoughts, my pain, and of everything I’d lost.