Aric sat by the fountain long after the woman had vanished, the map still clutched tightly in his hands. The word written beneath it, Run, echoed in his mind, rattling him more than he’d like to admit. It wasn’t the first time he’d been warned of danger, but something about this felt different. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had just taken a step into something far larger than himself.

He exhaled sharply, tucking the map into his cloak. Whatever was coming, he’d face it. He always did.

Pushing himself up from the fountain, Aric’s gaze shifted toward the road leading out of Aurendale. The Forgotten Isles lay far beyond the city, past the Reachwood Forest and across the treacherous waters of the Ebon Sea. The thought of heading into such an infamous place would have given most people pause, but not Aric. The Isles had always called to him, even before the woman’s cryptic warning. And now, with the token in his possession, he had no choice but to follow.

He began the walk toward the city’s edge, moving with purpose despite the late hour. His mind raced as he replayed the encounter with the veiled woman over and over, dissecting her every word. Who was watching him? And why now, after all these years? He’d been careful — no one should have known about the token. No one but the one who had sent him after it in the first place.

I know many things, she had said. The words gnawed at him. Aric had made enemies before, but this was different. He had the unsettling feeling that he wasn’t just a pawn in someone else’s game. He was the board.

Aurendale’s outskirts were quiet as he passed the final rows of houses. The tall, looming trees of the Reachwood Forest greeted him like silent sentinels. Aric paused at the treeline, glancing back at the sleeping city. Aurendale had never been home, but it had been a refuge. A place to blend into the crowd, to disappear. Now, he’d have to leave it behind, perhaps for good.

A rustle in the brush snapped him out of his thoughts. Instinctively, Aric’s hand went to the hilt of his dagger, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the darkened forest. Something wasn’t right.

Another sound, this time closer. Slow, deliberate steps.

He crouched low, his muscles tensing. Whatever was out there was not an animal. The steps were too heavy, too purposeful. Aric’s breath slowed as he listened, every sense sharpened. Whoever was watching him had wasted no time.

Suddenly, a shadow moved in the corner of his vision. Aric reacted on instinct, spinning and drawing his dagger in a single fluid motion. The blade glinted in the moonlight as he slashed at the air.

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But the shadow was fast — too fast.

A blur of motion, and before Aric could react, something collided with him, sending him crashing into a nearby tree. The impact knocked the wind out of him, and pain shot through his back. He grunted, trying to regain his footing as his attacker loomed over him.

A figure stepped into the moonlight, its face hidden beneath a dark hood. But there was no mistaking the deadly intent in their posture. They held a curved blade, its edge gleaming ominously.

“You’ve been marked,” the figure hissed, their voice low and dripping with malice.

Aric’s mind raced. Marked? He hadn’t even begun his journey, and already, someone had been sent to kill him. His grip tightened on his dagger as he pushed himself to his feet, his eyes never leaving the assassin.

“Who sent you?” Aric demanded, though he wasn’t expecting an answer.

The assassin didn’t speak again. Instead, they lunged, their blade cutting through the air with deadly precision. Aric barely managed to sidestep the strike, his reflexes taking over as he ducked and countered with a quick jab to the attacker’s ribs. His dagger met flesh, and the assassin grunted, stumbling back.

But the wound barely slowed them. In a blur of motion, they recovered, their blade spinning in an arc that forced Aric to retreat.

He cursed under his breath. Whoever this was, they weren’t an amateur. The assassin’s movements were fluid, their strikes calculated. But Aric had survived worse. He had to.

The two circled each other in the small clearing, the tension thickening with every passing second. The assassin struck again, this time with a feint that nearly caught Aric off guard. But he was ready. In a swift motion, he parried the blow and delivered a vicious kick to his opponent’s knee.

The assassin faltered, and Aric seized the moment. He surged forward, slamming his shoulder into the attacker’s chest and sending them sprawling to the ground. The assassin’s blade clattered from their hand, and Aric didn’t hesitate. He pinned them down, pressing his dagger to their throat.

“Who. Sent. You?” Aric growled, his voice laced with fury.

The assassin coughed, their hood falling back to reveal a young face — much younger than Aric expected. The assassin’s eyes were wide, filled not with fear but with grim determination.

“You can’t run from this,” the assassin whispered, blood dripping from the corner of their mouth. “The Forgotten Isles… they’re waiting for you.”

Aric’s grip tightened, his mind racing. The Isles again. Whoever had sent this assassin knew about his destination — knew about the token, about the map. This wasn’t a coincidence.

But before Aric could press further, the assassin smiled, a chilling sight given their injuries. “You’re already dead, Aric.”

With a swift, fluid movement, the assassin wrenched free a small vial from their cloak and shattered it against their chest. Aric recoiled as the assassin’s body convulsed, smoke rising from the liquid now seeping into their wounds. In mere seconds, the assassin’s body began to disintegrate, turning to ash before his eyes.

Aric stumbled back, his heart pounding. In moments, the assassin was gone, nothing but a pile of black dust and the faint echo of their final words lingering in the air.

He stood there for a long moment, his chest heaving with exertion, his mind still processing what had just happened. Whoever they were, they had been sent to stop him from reaching the Forgotten Isles. But by who? And why?

Aric wiped the sweat from his brow, his hand trembling slightly as he sheathed his dagger. He had expected danger on this journey, but not this soon. And certainly not someone willing to die just to deliver a message.

As the first light of dawn began to break through the trees, Aric’s resolve hardened. He glanced once more at the blackened ashes, then turned his gaze toward the distant horizon, where the path to the Isles awaited.

Whatever awaited him there, he would face it.

And he would not run.