The bandit’s body hit the ground with a sickening thud, blood pooling beneath the lifeless form. Sid stood over him, chest heaving, his sword still dripping with crimson.

His heart pounded in his ears, deafening against the eerie quiet that followed. The world around him seemed to slow, everything muted except for the stark reality of what he had just done.

He’d killed a man.

His hands, slick with blood, trembled uncontrollably. Sid’s breath came in short gasps as his gaze fixed on the body. The bandit’s eyes were still open, staring into nothingness, and it was that vacant look that sent a wave of nausea crashing over him. His stomach twisted violently, and he doubled over, retching onto the forest floor.

I killed him… I really killed him.

The thought echoed in his mind, over and over, louder each time. His legs felt like they might give out beneath him. Sid stumbled back, almost dropping the sword as the weight of his action sunk deep into his bones.

“This... This isn’t like hunting rabbits,” Sid muttered, voice shaking. His mind raced. He had planned the kill—the drop from the tree, the precise strike. It was supposed to be quick, efficient. But now, standing in the blood-soaked aftermath, the horror of it all gripped him tighter than he had expected.

His hand instinctively went to his mouth, smearing blood across his face. The metallic taste on his lips snapped him back to the present. What now? What the hell do I do now?

The other bandits, caught off guard by their comrade’s sudden death, quickly snapped out of their shock. One of them, a hulking brute with a scar running down his cheek, snarled as he pointed his sword at Sid.

“Get him!”

Sid barely had time to think before the bandits started closing in on him. Panic surged through his veins, freezing him in place. He had only planned for the first kill, not what would happen afterward. His grip tightened on the sword, but his mind was blank.

Suddenly, one of the bandits lunged at him, grabbing his arm in a vice-like grip. The man’s hand was rough, his fingers digging painfully into Sid’s skin. The bandit sneered, his breath foul as he leaned in closer.

“You’re dead, boy.”

Sid reacted instinctively, swinging the sword wildly. The blade caught the bandit across the chest, not deep enough to kill, but enough to send him stumbling back with a grunt of pain. Sid’s heart raced, his mind a whirlwind of panic and fear. He hadn’t planned for this, hadn’t expected to feel so cornered.

The remaining bandits circled him like wolves, their eyes gleaming with malice. They weren’t just going to let him walk away. Not after what he’d done. Blood dripped from his sword, splattering onto the forest floor as he swung it desperately, trying to keep them at bay.

The brute with the scar moved forward, his eyes filled with cold intent. Sid swung again, but the man was faster. His sword met Sid’s with a violent clang, sending a jarring shock up Sid’s arm. Pain shot through his wrist, but he gritted his teeth and held on.

I’m not dying here. Not like this.

The bandit pressed forward, his strength overwhelming. Sid could feel his body weakening, the adrenaline fading as the reality of the fight hit him. He wasn’t a trained soldier. He wasn’t even a seasoned hunter. He was just a boy trying to survive.

The brute shoved him back, and Sid stumbled, his feet catching on a root. He fell hard onto the forest floor, dirt and blood mixing on his clothes. His sword slipped from his grasp, landing just out of reach.

The bandit loomed over him, raising his weapon high.

Sid’s heart pounded. Time seemed to slow as the blade descended toward him. He rolled to the side, just barely avoiding the strike, but the force of the swing sent a sharp pain through his arm. Something snapped. He cried out, clutching his arm as white-hot agony shot through him. His vision blurred from the pain, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

I’m going to die. The thought pierced through the fog in his mind. Not from sickness, not from the illness that had tormented him for years. But here, in this cursed forest, at the hands of strangers.

The bandit raised his sword again, a cruel grin spreading across his face. “You’re finished.”

Sid’s vision swam. His body felt heavy, the pain in his arm nearly unbearable. Blood trickled down his face from a gash on his forehead, blurring his sight even more. He could barely make out the figures of the remaining bandits, closing in like vultures ready to pick apart a carcass.

No… not like this.

Somewhere deep inside him, a primal instinct flared to life. Sid’s good hand shot out, fingers grasping desperately at the dirt, searching for anything—anything—that could save him. His hand closed around something cold and metal. His sword.

With the last of his strength, Sid swung upward, the blade catching the brute’s leg. The man howled in pain, stumbling back as blood poured from the wound. It wasn’t a killing blow, but it bought Sid a few precious seconds. He struggled to his feet, gasping for air, his vision still blurred.

But the fight wasn’t over.

Another bandit rushed him, and this time Sid couldn’t dodge. The man’s sword sliced through his side, sending a fresh wave of pain crashing over him. He staggered back, his legs barely holding him up. Blood soaked through his shirt, warm and sticky against his skin.

Sid’s body was screaming at him to stop, to give in, but his mind refused to surrender. He raised his sword again, though his arms felt like they were made of lead. The bandits closed in, their eyes gleaming with the promise of an easy kill.

This is it, Sid thought. His vision was fading, the world around him growing darker and darker. This is how it ends...

But just before the final blow could land, the world around him went silent. The figures of the bandits blurred into shadows as Sid’s legs gave out beneath him, and the forest floor rushed up to meet him.

Darkness swallowed him whole.

Sid drifted into unconsciousness, slipping away from the pain and blood of the battle. As the world around him faded, he found himself enveloped in an endless expanse of blue light. It wasn’t the kind of blue one would associate with the sky or the sea—this was deeper, more profound. It was a void of color, a place where there was no ground beneath his feet, no air to breathe, and yet he existed.

The blue light pulsed gently, as if it were alive, and Sid felt weightless within it. There was no sound, no wind, no sense of time. Just... nothingness.

For a moment, it felt peaceful. A strange calmness washed over him as if the struggles of the world outside—the blood, the killing, the fear—had never happened. He couldn’t feel his wounds. There was no pain. Only the soft glow of blue light that filled his senses.

But then, the light began to shift. It flickered, wavering as though something was pressing against it, distorting the serene emptiness. The light dimmed, growing blurry, as though his vision was clouding over. Sid reached out, though he wasn’t sure if he even had arms in this strange void, but the light slipped away from his grasp.

Suddenly, a sharp pain jolted through his body, and the blue light shattered into fragments. The nothingness around him dissolved, replaced by a sensation of overwhelming soreness. He felt the weight of his own body again, the dull ache in his bones and the sting of his wounds.

His eyes snapped open, and he gasped, sitting up too quickly for his weakened state. The room around him spun, his head pounding as the world slowly came into focus. He was no longer in the forest.

He lay in a bed, soft and unfamiliar, with clean white sheets tucked around him. The faint scent of herbs filled the air, calming but foreign. A fireplace crackled quietly in the corner, casting a warm, orange glow across the stone walls of what seemed to be a well-furnished chamber.

I’m... alive?

His heart raced as the memories of the fight flooded back. The bandits, the blood, the brutal swing of the sword—he was sure he had been on the brink of death. How was he still breathing? How had he escaped?

He shifted beneath the covers and winced as the sharp pain from his side reminded him of his injuries. His arms, covered in bandages, throbbed with each movement. Sid's mind raced as he scanned the room, trying to make sense of his situation.

But one question consumed his thoughts: Where are the bandits?

The last thing he remembered was being surrounded, certain that death was inevitable. He had blacked out. Someone must have saved him. But who? And why?

As he glanced toward the far side of the room, his eyes fell on a man seated in a chair by the fire. He hadn’t noticed him at first, but now, in the flickering light, the figure came into sharp relief.

The man was impeccably dressed, wearing a tailored dark coat with intricate embroidery along the sleeves. His long black hair was tied neatly behind him, and his sharp features were illuminated by the firelight. He had an air of nobility about him—calm, collected, and in complete control of his surroundings. But there was something more. Something unsettling.

Sid’s instincts screamed at him that this man was dangerous. Not in the way a bandit wielding a sword was dangerous, but in a far more controlled and deliberate manner. This man exuded power—real power.

The man looked up from the papers he had been studying and met Sid’s gaze with piercing, ice-cold eyes.

“Ah, you’re awake.” His voice was smooth, calm, and oddly devoid of emotion, as if he had seen countless men teeter on the brink of death and back again. He closed the papers and set them aside, standing with an effortless grace that spoke of someone accustomed to commanding attention.

Sid swallowed hard, his throat dry. “Who... who are you?” His voice was hoarse, weak from his injuries.

The man stepped closer, the light from the fire casting shadows across his face. “My name is Thorne Blackwood,” he said, his tone flat yet authoritative. “And you, young one, are fortunate to still be breathing.”

Sid’s mind spun. Thorne Blackwood. The name wasn’t familiar, but the way he carried himself spoke of someone of high status—possibly a noble. But why would a man like him save a nobody like Sid? And where were the bandits?

“What happened?” Sid croaked, wincing as the pain flared in his side again. “The bandits...”

“Gone,” Thorne replied simply. He didn’t elaborate, as if the fate of the bandits was of no consequence. “You were on the verge of death when I found you. Had I arrived even a moment later, you would not be here now.”

Sid’s mind reeled. “You saved me?” he asked, the disbelief evident in his voice.

Thorne raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let’s just say... I was curious. A boy like you, taking on armed men alone in the middle of a dangerous forest, piqued my interest.”

Sid’s hands trembled slightly under the covers. He wasn’t sure if it was from the shock of the situation or the lingering fear of what had almost happened. He wanted to ask more—how Thorne had taken out the bandits, why he was helping him—but something in the man’s gaze kept him quiet for the moment.

Thorne moved toward the window, his back now turned to Sid. “You’re in no condition to travel,” he said without looking back. “Rest. We’ll speak more when you’re stronger.”

Sid lay back against the pillows, his body still aching, but his mind racing. Who was Thorne Blackwood? And why had he saved him? There were too many questions and not enough answers.

As the fire crackled softly, Sid’s eyelids grew heavy once again, the pain and exhaustion pulling him back into the darkness. But this time, as he drifted off, there was no blue light—only the lingering mystery of the man who had spared his life.