### Paths of Collision
[Preface]
---
[A Reluctant Traveler]
The wind whooshed over the broken plains, a constant, uncaring power. Under the endless sky, a single person walked, their steps measured, their eyes focused on the distant horizon. Their cloak flapped behind them like the only wave on a calm sea, their face hidden by a dark hood. Their footsteps barely touched the dry ground, as if they moved without affecting the world around them.
Yet the silence didn’t last long.
Two figures suddenly blocked his path, ragged armor glinting under a harsh sun. Bandits, maybe mercenaries—he neither cared nor lingered to assess.
They eyed him with thinly veiled greed and suspicion, weapons already drawn. One of them, a lean man with a sneering grin, took a step forward.
“Now, what’s a wanderer like you doing all the way out here?” The sneer twisted into something vaguely welcoming. “A lone traveler in these parts usually means a heavy purse and no one to miss them.”
The figure tilted his head, his face obscured. No words. No reaction.
The sneer faltered, just slightly, before the bandit drew closer. “Did you hear me?” His voice got sharp. He sounded bossy and a bit impatient.
“Might be you don’t understand who’s in charge here. So I’ll make this easy. Drop the cloak, hand over the purse, and we let you keep your—”
The man sighed, barely audible. The bandits stilled, as if sensing something in the quiet exhale that hung in the air longer than it should have. It was as if they'd just heard a fart in a library.
He lifted a hand, almost lazily, and the first bandit barely had time to blink before he was thrown backward, sent sprawling as if struck by an invisible force. His companion staggered, eyes widening.
“What… What in the—?”
The man shifted his gaze slightly, his eyes barely visible beneath the hood. His lips parted, his voice quiet and slow, free of any menace but holding a clear sense of conclusion.
“Leave.”
The remaining bandit’s face twisted with disbelief and then, swiftly, with fear. He stepped back, tripping over his own legs, and nervously looked at his fallen friend, who was still and lifeless in the dirt.
The mysterious man said no more and continued to move forward without any sense of urgency in his movements. The fallen robber groaned and raised his hand to protest in vain, but the lone figure did not bother to glance at him again. It was as if the encounter was nothing more than an inconvenience.
He continued through the barren land, his thoughts as calm as his expression. He was neither smug about the ease with which he had neutralized the threat, nor was he hesitant about the effect it might have had. His mind was elsewhere, focused solely on the journey ahead, oblivious to the chaos he left behind.
Just another day, another interruption, dealt with as swiftly as it had come.
The wind picked up again, sweeping away his footsteps in the dust, as though he had never been there at all.
---
### The Siege
---
The ringing of metal on metal filled the valley, drowning out any thought but survival. On the front line, at the heart of the chaos, the Warrior Princess commanded her soldiers, her voice carrying over the clash of swords and the thick scent of blood.
“Hold the line! Reinforcements are coming!”
Her voice was fierce. It had an edge like sharp metal. She spoke like someone ready for a fight.
Her words sent a clear message:
Don't you dare doubt me.
Her armor told a story. Deep scratches marked its surface. Dents and scars covered the metal.
Each mark showed a battle fought. She had been fighting for a long time. But her eyes still burned bright. They showed no sign of giving up.
The soldiers around her tightened their stances, emboldened by her presence. She was not just their leader; she was their source of strength, and proof of their ability to withstand anything the enemy threw at them.
But her resolve was tested. Across the field, more enemy soldiers were advancing, their dark shapes merging into a seemingly endless mass.
An icy shiver coursed through her as the fresh surge of battle cries pierced the air. Her jaw clenched, her teeth grinding in defiance. With a resolute grip, she tightened her hold on the blade..
Beside her, a young lieutenant staggered back, blood pouring from a gash in his shoulder. He looked to her, desperate. “They’re… they’re breaking through the east flank. We can’t hold them, Princess.”
Her gaze snapped to him, fierce and unyielding. “Yes, we can. We will.” She swung her sword, deflecting an incoming blow with a practiced efficiency that hid her growing frustration. “Tell the men—”
Yet, her command was drowned out by a louder, more panicky cry that followed. Her head whipped around. The eastern flank—the same one the lieutenant had warned her about—was crumbling. The soldiers were retreating, confusion shining in their eyes, as the enemy rushed upon them with renewed force.
A curse slipped past her lips, bitter and unrestrained. This couldn’t be happening. Not here, not today.
The lieutenant was looking at her again, his face pale. “Princess, if we don’t pull back, they’ll overrun us.”
She glared at him, then at the sea of enemy soldiers spilling through her defenses like water through a shattered dam. Pride flared in her chest, sharp and stubborn. Pulling back would mean surrendering ground. Pulling back would mean… defeat.
But no one else could make this choice. Her soldiers trusted her to lead, trusted her to make the impossible calls. And as she looked at them—faces determined, faces afraid—she knew what had to be done.
“Retreat to the inner defenses!” she commanded, her voice carrying a reluctant finality. “Form ranks at the gates. We make our stand there.”
The soldiers obeyed, scrambling back, but their faces betrayed the same gnawing dread she felt. This wasn’t just a tactical retreat—it was a last stand, and they all knew it.
She stayed on the field longer than anyone, holding the line alone as her soldiers retreated. With every swing, every strike, she drove back another enemy, her strength fierce, defiant.
But even she couldn’t hold them forever.
And, somewhere in the back of her mind, a bitter voice whispered that perhaps no one was coming to save them.
---
A dense veil of smoke and muffled screams in the distanc blanketed the air. The mysterious man slowed his steps, watching with a vague disinterest as flames licked the edges of the fortress walls in the distance. Another battle—another pointless clash over land and titles. Not his concern.
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He intended to keep walking, to skirt around the valley entirely. But the path ahead was crawling with enemy soldiers, blocking his way with thick ranks and drawn swords, their faces smeared with the grime of war. They seemed endless, a swarm with a singular goal: battering the fortress to dust.
He sighed, a faint thread of annoyance flickering beneath his calm exterior. His own route lay straight through this chaos, and the most efficient option was a direct one.
As he moved forward, he barely registered the soldiers that turned to face him, eyes wide with confusion, some raising their weapons half-heartedly. One made the mistake of lunging, only to be sent hurtling backward with a flick of the man’s wrist, landing in a crumpled heap.
The others seemed to hesitate, as though the sheer nonchalance of his advance had short-circuited their instincts.
And then, like a surge in a storm, he was moving. The soldiers before him broke like water around a stone. His movements were efficient, stripped of any unnecessary flair or wasted energy. He moved through the ranks with a detached, almost dismissive precision, each motion more a removal of obstacles than any kind of active engagement.
One by one, soldiers crumpled, their expressions ranging from horror to disbelief as they realized they were facing something far beyond their understanding.
Farther up the hill, the Warrior Princess watched in shock as the line of enemy soldiers began to buckle from within, scattering as though an invisible force had ripped through their ranks. She narrowed her eyes, clutching her sword tightly, her breaths ragged. What was happening?
A single figure emerged from the thinning mass of enemies, his hood shadowing his face, his steps even and calm as he crossed the battlefield. The enemy soldiers reeled back from him as if he were death itself, stumbling and falling over one another in their desperation to escape.
The princess’s jaw tightened. She stepped forward, calling out, her voice sharp and laced with authority.
“You there! Stop!” She raised her sword, her stance unyielding. “Who are you, and what business do you have here?”
The figure paused, his gaze shifting to meet hers. For a moment, the only response was silence—thick and lingering. He tilted his head, an air of mild curiosity flickering in his expression.
She gritted her teeth, her pride bristling. “If you’re here to interfere, know that we don’t need rescuing.” Her words were edged with defiance, yet a hint of uncertainty crept into her eyes.
Despite herself, she couldn’t help but wonder if he truly intended to help—or if he was some new threat entirely.
The man regarded her for a moment longer, his gaze unreadable. “Rescue?” he repeated, his tone almost amused. “I’m merely passing through.”
Her brow furrowed, caught off guard by the blunt indifference of his response. “Passing through?” She gestured to the battlefield, her voice rising. “This is a war zone! You’re disrupting our fight.”
He shrugged, as if the entire matter was a trifling inconvenience. “You’re in my way.”
She glared at him, her face turning the shade of a ripe tomato. "You–!" she sputtered, but no words could capture the full extent of her indignation. “We are defending our land. If you have no loyalty to either side, then leave, stranger. This battle doesn’t concern you.”
He took a step closer, his expression shifting to something colder. “Then clear a path, and I will.”
The soldiers around them watched the exchange in stunned silence, the eerie calm of their interaction unsettling against the backdrop of violence. But before she could respond, another wave of enemy fighters rushed forward, seizing the distraction.
With a swift, almost casual motion, the man raised a hand. The ground trembled, and a force rippled through the air, sending the approaching soldiers sprawling backward, their weapons wrenched from their grasps.
The Warrior Princess’s eyes widened, caught between awe and resentment. “You—” She hesitated, her words failing her as she struggled to make sense of what she’d just seen.
He offered her one final, impassive glance, then turned and began to walk away, as if the skirmish had been nothing more than a minor detour.
She opened her mouth to call out, her pride warring with the strange relief that flooded through her. But he didn’t look back.
And despite everything—the pride, the frustration—she felt an unsettling pang of gratitude for the unknown figure who had shattered her enemies so effortlessly, leaving her to wonder whether he’d been a blessing… or a curse.
---
The last echoes of battle had faded into silence. The Warrior Princess watched as her remaining soldiers regrouped, expressions grim and weary, yet laced with a reluctant awe as they glanced toward the stranger who had walked straight through enemy lines.
She clenched her jaw, eyes narrowing as she made her way down the slope toward him. He moved with an unhurried calm, his steps so light they barely disturbed the blood-soaked ground beneath him. She caught the faintest glint of his eyes beneath the hood—a cold, detached gaze that seemed to see through her without really acknowledging her.
She quickened her pace, her sword still in hand, and planted herself directly in his path.
“Wait.” Her tone was edged with the authority that came naturally to her. “You owe me an explanation.”
He stopped, tilting his head as if weighing the inconvenience of this new obstacle. His face was still shadowed by his hood, but she caught a flash of amusement in his gaze. He looked her over, as though deciding what manner of creature she might be—a child, maybe, or a persistent fly that had wandered into his path.
“I owe you nothing,” he replied, voice low and unfazed.
Her jaw tightened, fingers clenching around the hilt of her blade. “After disrupting my soldiers’ line and…” she hesitated, her pride balking, “...and stepping in, uninvited. We had that under control.”
A slight, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips. “Did you?”
The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. Her face darkened, her pride bruised beneath the stranger’s dismissive gaze. She took a step closer, her tone sharpening.
“You know, if you were truly just ‘passing through,’ then why bother intervening at all? This fight didn’t involve you.”
He shrugged, as if the answer were so obvious it barely warranted words. “It was… inconvenient.” His gaze flickered toward the fallen soldiers behind her. “You were blocking the way.”
For a moment, silence stretched between them, her expression hardening while he seemed entirely undisturbed, detached. His eyes held no pity, no arrogance, no sense of shared purpose—just an indifferent curiosity, as though she were little more than another oddity on his path.
Finally, she shook her head, her voice cutting. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were here to mock us.”
He paused at that, studying her for a moment longer. A name, distant and buried beneath layers of disuse, tugged at his memory. He almost said it—almost gave her that morsel—but instead, he offered her only the faintest ghost of a smile.
“You’ll find I have no interest in such games.”
Her eyes narrowed, searching his expression for any hint of sincerity, of something she could understand. But his face remained unreadable, and she could feel her anger rising, sharp and bitter.
She took a breath, fighting for control. “At least have the decency to tell me your name, stranger,” she demanded, her tone laced with defiance.
For a moment, it looked as though he would ignore her. Then, his gaze softened, almost imperceptibly, and he murmured, “They used to call me Kasian.”
“Used to?” She frowned, his words catching her off guard. She’d expected something bold, arrogant even—a name that spoke of legend or legacy. But his tone was empty, as though the name held no weight to him at all.
He gave a faint, dismissive nod, the hint of a smirk flickering over his lips. “The past is of no consequence. Remember it, or don’t. I care little.”
She watched him, the quiet intensity in her gaze only barely concealing the resentment that simmered beneath her calm exterior. “Then, Kasian,” she said, testing the name like a blade’s edge, “you may care little, but don’t forget that I care a great deal about this land and my people. I won’t have an outsider undermine that.”
Kasian gave a faint hum, as if vaguely amused. He inclined his head, the gesture mocking in its subtlety. “Suit yourself. Perhaps you can continue this… stand-alone defense once I’m gone.”
And with that, he turned and resumed his stride, unhurried and unbothered. She watched him go, frustration clawing at her insides. Every fiber of her wanted to challenge him, to demand that he acknowledge her strength, her pride—but his back was already to her, indifferent and final.
As he disappeared into the haze, she found herself gripping her sword tightly, her pride tangled with an inexplicable curiosity that lingered far longer than she would have liked.
---
Kasian footsteps faded into the distance, his cloak blending into the smoke-choked horizon.
The Warrior Princess remained where he’d left her, rooted to the ground by a mix of frustration and something she refused to name.
Her soldiers had begun to gather around her, whispering with the hesitant awe reserved for something larger than life, something that defied the rules of their world.
“Princess… who was he?” a young soldier asked, his face smeared with blood and dirt, eyes wide with a mix of terror and reverence.
She hesitated, her gaze still locked on the figure vanishing over the ridge. What could she even say? Kasian, he’d called himself. Yet that name felt wrong, somehow—it seemed too small, too ordinary for a figure who had parted a battlefield as though swatting away flies.
Finally, she tore her eyes from the distant figure, forcing herself to meet her soldiers’ gazes. “He was… nothing we needed,” she replied sharply, though her voice held an edge even she couldn’t disguise.
The young soldier’s brow creased in confusion. “But he… he turned the tide, Princess. We’d have—”
Her glare cut him off mid-sentence, and he flinched, swallowing his words. “We’d have managed,” she said, her tone laced with pride—and maybe a hint of bitterness she hadn’t intended. “The strength of our kingdom does not depend on the whim of some passing stranger.”
The soldiers around her exchanged glances, skepticism flickering in their eyes, but none dared voice it. Instead, they straightened their stances, echoing her defiance, even if uncertainty lingered in their eyes.
But as she turned back to survey the field, her gaze drifted, unbidden, back to where he had disappeared. His intervention had felt almost… humiliating. She hadn’t asked for his help, nor did she need anyone, least of all a stranger with powers that brushed off entire battalions as though they were mere annoyances.
And yet, she couldn’t deny that his presence had been—no, she cut off the thought. She had to put Kasian behind her. Her people needed strength now, not lingering questions about an intruder who had no interest in them or their battles.
“Gather the wounded,” she commanded, her voice steely, pushing the incident to the back of her mind with an iron will. “We fortify the inner defenses. This kingdom is ours to protect, with or without the help of nameless wanderers.”
As her soldiers scattered, following her orders, she forced herself to turn away from the horizon. She was their princess—their leader—and she would not falter.
But even as she moved, giving orders with her usual fierce authority, she could feel a strange unease in the air, as if a shadow lingered, stretching long and silent over the battlefield.
Kasian was gone. But in his wake, he’d left a scar on her pride and a question that, despite herself, she couldn’t quite silence.