Dreven didn’t intend on harming these people, but Lisan had underestimated how sharp his hearing was. Sanguinari, after all, were creatures reborn by dark powers, with certain… enhancements. Her words carried to him in whispers through the trees, laced with hints of distrust. The rest of the party’s murmured voices blended into a low hum, but her mention of his “outworlder” status sent a chill through him. It wasn’t uncommon knowledge, and that was dangerous. Surrendering to authorities wasn’t an option. Not in this new life.

Walking over, he adopted a calculated smile. Emotions were harder to conjure since he’d been reborn, but he summoned a faint sense of warmth, weaving a mask of amiable helplessness.

“Lisan,” Dreven called softly, “I’d appreciate it if either of you had some clothes. Waking up in this forest naked wasn’t exactly how I planned my morning.” He forced a chuckle, low and rough, like a voice unaccustomed to laughter.

Lisan glanced at him with mild amusement, clearly eager to lower the group’s suspicions. “Can we get him some clothes for our new friend Dreven?”

He watched as the other men quickly measured him up. He could feel their stares crawling over his skin, assessing him, but he managed to keep the smile steady. Despite the fabric being slightly snug, he managed to slip into the trousers and shirt, feeling the coarse material scratch against his undead skin. His senses were heightened now—textures felt like sandpaper, and even the faintest scent seemed sharper, thicker.

As they started on a narrow, winding trail through the forest, he kept his steps light, matching their pace, though his mind raced. Only a day's journey to the nearest town. That meant less than a day to decide: concoct a story, somehow convince them of his harmlessness… or kill them. Each option played out in his mind, weighing risks and outcomes. His fingers twitched slightly, itching for the simplicity of the last choice.

“Dreven,” Lisan’s voice broke through his thoughts, soft yet laced with hidden motives.

Dreven looked down, his gaze meeting her bright green eyes that flickered in the dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves. Her hair, vivid red like autumn leaves, swayed slightly as she tilted her head up to him. “What can I do for you, Lisan Ashwood?”

She hesitated, then, with a forced casualness, asked, “I’m curious—where exactly did you come from? I’ve never seen an elf quite like you.”

Dreven held her gaze, considering. She was trying to draw him out, testing him. “Where I’m from,” he said smoothly, “they call me… a Sanguinari Elf.”

“Oh, really? And where exactly is that located?” Her voice held a forced sweetness, her hand hovering subtly over her staff.

The smallest shift caught his attention: out of the corner of his eye, he saw Caius’s fingers slide toward his blade, and Tarn’s grip tighten on his warhammer. The cool forest air, thick with the scent of damp earth, suddenly felt tense, charged with impending violence.

His smile vanished. “You know, Lisan,” he said softly, “you can’t blame me for being placed in a spot with no good choices. Perhaps you’ll forgive me someday.”

The flicker in his eyes made her blood run cold. She flinched back, stumbling a step as her fingers traced a hasty rune mid-air, summoning a defensive spell.

But Dreven was faster, muscles coiling like springs as he lunged toward Rowan. The archer’s sharp intake of breath was drowned by the soft twang of an arrow hastily loosed. Dreven dodged right, feeling the arrow graze past his cheek, a hot, fleeting sting that only fueled his momentum. He extended his fingers, claws forming as he slashed into Rowan’s shoulder, his hand driving deep into sinew and muscle.

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A raw scream tore from Rowan’s throat, echoing through the trees as he fell to his knees, blood seeping through his tunic. Dreven forced him down, the wet crunch of bone audible as he wrenched Rowan’s arm back at an unnatural angle, leaving it dangling uselessly at his side.

Caius charged with a shout, blade slicing through the air toward Dreven. The metallic scent of fresh blood mingled with the earthy forest aromas, filling Dreven’s senses, urging him forward. He sidestepped the blade just as it whistled past, close enough that he felt the cold steel graze his chest, slicing through the fabric of his shirt and drawing a thin line of blood. He winced as the wound sent a brief flash of pain, a reminder of his own vulnerability.

Seizing the opportunity, he struck, driving his fist into Caius’s throat with brutal precision. The sensation of flesh collapsing under his hand, the sickly, wet crunch as Caius’s trachea buckled, sent a perverse satisfaction surging through him. Caius dropped to his knees, eyes wide with terror as he choked, blood trickling from his lips, staining the corner of his mouth.

Dreven scooped up Caius’s fallen sword, turning just in time to catch the blur of Tarn’s hammer swinging down. The impact reverberated through the blade and into his arm, his muscles straining under the force. Tarn snarled, the dwarf’s eyes blazing with fury.

“You damned outworlder! You’ll pay for this!” Tarn’s voice was a guttural roar, each syllable vibrating with fury.

Dreven grinned, feral and cold. “Tarn, you’re wasting your breath.”

Lisan’s desperate voice echoed from behind Tarn. “Tarn! Stop, I need to support you properly!” Her hands trembled, the half-formed rune dissipating in a haze of sparks.

Dreven seized his moment. With his free hand, he grasped the hammer’s head mid-swing, feeling the bones in his fingers crack under the force. Agony flashed through his nerves, but he gritted his teeth, pushing through it. Tarn smirked, triumphant—until Dreven’s other hand swung the blade in a clean arc through his neck. The steel met flesh and bone with a sickening, wet crunch, and Tarn’s expression twisted from triumph to confusion as his head toppled from his shoulders, thudding heavily to the forest floor.

Dreven felt the warm spatter of blood across his face, its rich, coppery scent filling his nostrils as Tarn’s body crumpled beside him.

Lisan stumbled backward, her face ghostly pale, her breath coming in sharp, panicked gasps. “This… this can’t be happening. What are you?”

Dreven approached her slowly, his boots crunching softly on the forest floor, each step deliberate, controlled. She raised a trembling hand, trying to form a rune with shaky fingers, but he was upon her, hand closing around her slender throat. Her skin felt fragile, pulsing with the frantic beat of her racing heart under his grip.

He dragged her over to Rowan, who was desperately reaching for his fallen bow with his one good arm. Dreven pushed Lisan to her knees beside him, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gulps as her gaze darted between her fallen comrades and the blood-soaked monster standing before her.

“Lisan,” Dreven murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “If you hadn’t plotted against me, your allies would still be breathing.”

Without hesitation, he raised Caius’s sword and drove it through Rowan’s chest, the blade sinking deep into his heart. Rowan’s body jerked, a strangled gasp escaping his lips before he slumped forward, lifeless.

Dreven then turned his gaze to Caius, who lay sprawled and gasping, eyes wild with pain. He bent down, pulling Caius close, his fangs glinting in the dappled light filtering through the trees. “Look what you’ve made me do,” he whispered, voice soft and venomous. “Such a waste.”

Sinking his fangs into Caius’s neck, Dreven drank deeply, feeling the warrior’s strength flood into him. The taste of blood—rich, potent, laced with the metallic tang of iron—sent a surge of power through his veins, each gulp invigorating, mending. His hand throbbed as the shattered bones knit together, his other wounds fading to a faint ache. Every cell hummed with renewed vitality, his senses sharpened.

As he released Caius, letting the warrior’s drained body slump to the ground, he turned to Lisan, whose pale face was streaked with tears. Her breaths came in soft, broken sobs as she stared up at him, helpless.

Dreven frowned, wiping a trace of blood from his lips as he regarded her. “Now, Lisan… what shall I do with you?”