The dense forest stretched endlessly before them, its towering trees swaying gently as a cool breeze rustled their leaves.

Two figures dashed through the undergrowth, their breaths ragged and hurried.

A young man led the way, his sword strapped tightly to his back, while a young woman trailed behind, her golden hair catching faint glimmers of sunlight that broke through the canopy.

“Run faster, Saintess!” the young man urged, glancing over his shoulder with worry etched on his face.

Sweat clung to his brow, but his focus never wavered.

“I-I think… they’re not following us anymore…” the woman panted, clutching at her chest as she leaned against a tree for support.

Her voice trembled, a mixture of exhaustion and fear.

Her companion hesitated, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings.

The forest was eerily silent now, save for the rustling leaves and the distant call of a bird.

He gripped the hilt of his sword and moved a few paces back, his instincts heightened.

“Let me check,” he said softly, disappearing into the shadows.

Minutes passed, each one stretching endlessly.

The Saintess, still trying to catch her breath, clutched a small pendant hanging from her neck, her only source of comfort in these dark times.

Finally, the young man returned, his expression lighter.

“I don’t sense anyone nearby. Looks like we managed to lose them,” he said, his tense shoulders relaxing slightly.

He sank onto the mossy ground, patting the spot beside him.

“Come. Rest, Saintess. You look exhausted.”

She hesitated before lowering herself onto the ground.

The forest floor was damp and cool, offering a brief respite.

For a while, they sat in silence, the weight of their reality pressing down on them like a storm cloud.

“For how long… for how long do we have to keep hiding like this?” the Saintess finally whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her golden eyes, once bright with hope, now brimmed with despair.

She looked at him, searching for an answer that might ease her turmoil.

The young man lowered his gaze, his jaw tightening.

“I don’t know,” he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with helplessness.

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The Saintess clutched her knees to her chest, her face hidden behind her trembling hands.

“It’s been five months… five months since everything changed,” she murmured, her voice breaking.

Her words carried the weight of countless memories—of laughter, of peace, of a world now reduced to ashes.

Five months.

That was all it had taken for the Demon King to plunge the world into chaos.

The human kingdom had fallen first, its cities razed, its people slaughtered or enslaved.

The kingdoms of the orcs, dwarves, and elves soon followed, their proud nations brought to their knees.

The orcs, once fierce warriors, were now used as mere pawns, the first to charge into battles they could not win.

The dwarves, known for their craftsmanship, were forced to forge weapons for their oppressors, their proud hands bound by chains.

And the elves… the elves, with their unyielding pride, had chosen death over servitude.

Many had ended their own lives rather than bow to the Demon King’s rule.

But the cruelty did not end there. Humanity had been spared annihilation—not out of mercy, but out of malice.

Humans were nothing more than cattle now, kept alive only to fuel the Demon King’s dark rituals.

Entire villages were herded like livestock, their inhabitants sacrificed one by one to strengthen his unholy power.

The Saintess shuddered at the thought, her nails digging into her palms.

“The elves, the dwarves, the orcs… everyone’s gone,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “And now we’re just… we’re just running, hiding, while he grows stronger every day. How are we supposed to fight against *that*?”

The hero clenched his fists, his knuckles white. He had no answers, no words of comfort to offer her. All he had was the faint hope that somewhere, somehow, they would find a way to resist.

“I don’t know how we’ll win,” he admitted, his voice low but firm.

“But as long as we’re alive, Saintess, there’s still a chance. We have to believe in that, no matter how small it is.”

The Saintess turned her tear-streaked face toward him, her eyes filled with both doubt and the tiniest flicker of hope.

For a moment, neither spoke.

The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, as if mourning alongside them.

“We’ll find a way,” the hero said, his voice steadier now.

“We have to. For everyone who couldn’t escape. For everyone who believed in us.”

The Saintess nodded faintly, though her heart still ached.

The road ahead was dark, and the shadows of their past loomed large.

But for now, they had each other—and the faint glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, they could make things right.

“Anyway,” the Saintess began, breaking the silence as she turned her gaze to the hero.

“How’s your training going? Are you… still not able to communicate with the gods?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with concern.

The hero’s expression darkened, and he shook his head slowly, the frustration evident in his tightened jaw.

"No,” he admitted, his voice low. “I still can’t.”

The Saintess frowned, her golden eyes clouded with worry.

Every hero was chosen by the gods, blessed with their favor and the ability to communicate with them.

Through this connection, they received guidance and strength to fight against evil.

But ever since the battle with the Demon King five months ago, that sacred bond had been severed.

“I don’t know why,” the hero continued, his hands clenching into fists.

“Maybe it’s because I didn’t complete the trial. Maybe it’s because I used my powers recklessly when we escaped. Or maybe…” His voice faltered, his words catching in his throat.

"Maybe it’s because the Demon King won. Maybe… they’ve abandoned me.”

The Saintess lowered her gaze, her heart aching at the bitterness in his tone.

She wanted to say something, anything, to ease his burden, but the truth was, she didn’t have the answers either.

“I see,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, silence enveloped them again, broken only by the distant chirping of birds.

Then, a faint rumbling sound filled the air.

The Saintess froze, her cheeks flushing with embarrassment as she wrapped her arms around her stomach.

The hero turned to her, his lips twitching into the faintest smile.

“Umm… I think you’re hungry,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.

The Saintess looked away, her face growing redder.

“Um… yes,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Well, wait here. I’ll find something for us to eat,” the hero said, standing and brushing the dirt off his clothes.

“Let’s go together,” she offered, though her body betrayed her exhaustion.

“No.” The hero shook his head, his tone firm but gentle. “You’re already tired. Stay here and rest. I’ll be back soon.”

The Saintess hesitated, then nodded reluctantly.

“Okay. Be careful.”

The hero nodded and moved into the dense forest, his steps light and cautious.

The earthy scent of moss and damp soil filled the air as he scanned the surroundings.

His sharp eyes searched for any signs of fruit-bearing trees or edible plants.

After a while, he spotted a tree with clusters of bright, round fruits hanging from its branches.

He approached and inspected the fruit carefully, his fingers running over its smooth surface.

“Doesn’t seem poisonous,” he muttered, taking a cautious bite to test it.

Satisfied, he began climbing higher to pluck more, his movements agile and practiced.

As he reached a higher branch, his gaze wandered beyond the tree’s canopy.

That’s when he saw it—a small figure lying motionless on the forest floor.

His breath hitched as he squinted, realizing it was a little boy.

Without hesitation, he climbed down swiftly, the fruits forgotten.

He sprinted toward the figure, his heart pounding in his chest.

Kneeling beside the boy, he carefully turned him over.

The little boy was no older than thirteen, his face pale and gaunt, his body unnaturally cold to the touch.

“Hey, are you okay?” the hero asked urgently, shaking the boy gently.

The little boy stirred weakly, his lips trembling as he tried to speak.

“P-please…” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “Save Mama… Save Mama…”

The boy’s words were desperate, filled with a pain far too heavy for someone so young.

Before the hero could respond, the child’s eyes fluttered shut, his body slowly going limp in the hero’s arms.