"I didn't murder anyone." My complaint fell on deaf ears as someone tied my hands together with a rope behind my back. The fabric bit painfully into my skin, but I didn't complain - I felt much worse before.

"That's none of my concern." Stated the guy in front of me before nodding to someone behind me. Next I was pushed and started trudging onwards again. "You are accused of murdering several people and I'm not taking any chances." I glared at the guy who pushed me as he handed the rope to talking-guy. "However, for all that it's worth, I think the whole story is a load of horseshit. No torment I ever heard of lets itself be captured." He continued as a hint of sympathy slipped into his tone.

I didn't miss my chance. "That's exactly what it is. Larton guard had a spat with their local mercs and decided to... deal with the inconvenience." Venom dripped from my voice as I spoke. The talking-guy's raised eyebrow didn't escape my attention. "My friends had their throats slit. Inside the town. At night." Someone behind me swore quietly as I spoke. "I wasn't sleeping when they came for me and managed to get away."

"Uhuh, you normally wear your armor and weapons at night then?" The sarcasm in talking-guy's voice was thick, and I couldn't help but scowl at the accusation. This promptly earned me a shove as I forgot to focus on walking.

"I usually went out of town to practice with weapons at night. Thomas was always there with me. He was helping me get out of a dark place after my first time fighting torments." I heard a hiss as someone behind me sucked in air. Talking guy glared at whoever made the noise - clearly there was some communication that I was missing out on. "That's why I've got nothing except the armor and my weapons. I expected to be back in bed in an hour or two, not having to spend a week or so walking alone."

Things went quiet for a bit after that, until finally talking-guy spoke up again. "Look, frankly, you look terrible enough to where I'm willing to believe you've been through hell and back. But I'm not taking a chance, you're gonna be locked up in prison until the investigator gets here."

"The who?" I blinked. I've never heard of any investigators before.

"Fuck's sake, fuckin' boonies." He groaned, but soon went ahead and explained anyway. "You do realize the report included you using supernatural powers - like teleportation and darkness. Things way outside a normal person's range?"

"Yeah? And?" I didn't see where he was going with this, but for the first time something I said managed to change talking-guy's expression - from professional detachment to surprise."

"You- you knew?" His eyebrows furrowed and I felt tension rise in the air. I quickly crunched the implications in my head and - ah. They expected me to deny it because that's stuff only a torment would do - and I'm clearly not acting like one. I let out a sigh. 'In for a penny, in for a pound.'

"Yeah. My story's a bit complicated. My full name's Malinka of the Hunt." That got them to stop moving, the tension in the air becoming razor sharp. "I was recruited near the edge of the world by a hunter when I was a kid, we were on our way to Eldorath but she was murdered due to a misunderstanding in Ravensbrook. Innkeep there raised me as his own, but I decided to leave and join up with the hunters anyway." The nervous silence was almost deafening. "Larton was quite literally the first stop in my journey."

When none of them spoke up, I continued. "I have no idea what my power is or how it works, the first time it manifested was that night in Larton, it helped me escape. That's it, nothing else happened."

Talking-guy pondered my info for good few seconds. "Give me the details. Of what you know of your power." He finally said before scowling and shaking his head. This 'silent communication' thing was getting quite annoying, especially since he was the only one I could see without turning around.

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"Not much to go off, just that I managed to get through the town's gate while it was closed." Talking-guy rubbed his forehead as I spoke. Guess I was becoming a real pain-in-the-ass for him with each word I spoke. "I had a sword at my neck by then, you understand if I wasn't exactly considering all the details at the time."

"Yeah, yeah I get that. Look, you just admitted you can move through solid things. Means prison is pretty much useless against you if you decide you don't want to be there." What he said made sense, though I didn't even realize the implication of my words until he said so. "I'll offer you a compromise. You don't activate your power, or even try to do so while in prison and in return I'll get some nicer meals for you. Your story's strange, but it adds up. I want to believe you, but ultimately this is already out of my hands."

"About a week from now, someone should show up - the aforementioned Investigator. I got no idea who, but they'll want to speak with you. They're the person you want to have this discussion with. Not me. This is above my paygrade." He just nodded and started moving once more - and so did rest of the group.

They didn't push me again.

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Talking-guy kept his word. The cell I was in was... something. Stone walls, bed and a chamber pot plus a barred tiny window. The uniform they put me in wasn't much better - plain white shirt and pants, and the material was rough and uncomfortable. However, the meals were pretty good. Always a large serving, and always tasty. Though I didn't exactly keep my word, I did meditate and try to figure out how mom's power works, but to no avail.

I would have gone a bit crazy from loneliness if not for talking-guy's visits. He always personally delivered the food and talked with me for a bit before heading off to do whatever the heck he does. I still had no clue what his actual job was. Guard captain? No clue. Each town had it's own weird little system.

One thing that annoyed me to no end is that he refused to give me his name, and even laughed when I threatened to call him 'talking-guy' out loud. At least I wasn't left to rot alone in solitary while waiting for whoever would come to decide my fate.

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A week was soon up, and exactly as talking-guy promised the guard dragged me out of my prison cell to a small room with two chairs and a table. My anxiety rose as I sat down on the chair opposing the door and waited. And waited more. Some thirty minutes later, the two guardsmen who were in the room with me left.

Until now, nobody asked me anything, and the only one who bothered to even speak with me at all was talking-guy, and now I just have to wait here and hope that whoever comes in isn't some sort of lunatic who will want to kill me just because of who I am?

My thoughts started to spiral - riding a wave of anxiety. When, suddenly - a click from the door in front of me. The door opened, and- my mind came to a screeching halt.

The clothes the person was wearing - I'd recognize them anywhere. Black-and-blue colors, practical with a clear focus on function over form, form fitting - clearly tailored to fix exactly a single person perfectly. Lots of straps and pockets to fit a multitude of different tools so the wearer doesn't need to search through their bag. I'd recognize all of that anywhere.

"Mom...?" my mind blanked for but a moment as a whisper escaped my lips, before reality came crashing back. They sent a Hunter to investigate the situation. A hunter.

"Not usually what I'm called." Said the person - a man I finally realized - as he sat down with a small smirk on his lips. I finally registered that his uniform was actually different from hers - he was wearing a cape. It was a strange design, going all the way from the back and around his shoulder and hid his right arm. It still shared the same black-and-blue color scheme, but had a symbol of golden scales emblazoned upon it where his shoulder was - alongside the words 'Fate is a choice' in the same golden color.

He appeared to be an older man with brown eyes, with slowly greying black hair and beard, and what can only be described as a permanent expression of disappointment engraved on his face. I think I'd have a look like that too if I kept working at the Prancin' Pony for thirty more years and had to deal with people's stupid requests the entire time.

"My name's Rybrus of the Hunt." He continued as my mind barely processed reality. "I've been asked to look into your situation. Give me your blood."

"Huh?" I blinked, his words finally catching up with me. "What? Why?"

"I'm able to determine if you're lying if I have your blood." He said as if it was the most obvious thing and extended his gloved hand across the table. I hesitated for a moment, but decided that I have to just trust him. I put my hand into his and winced as he almost instantly poked a needle into the skin of my finger. A moment later, he collected a few drops in a tiny vial.

Then he drank it.