“He went this way!”

Everytime he thought he lost them, they’d pick up on his trail within the hour. Several close encounters drained him of his stamina and inflicted wounds on his already crumbling body. While he was confident he could take down any of them in a one on one situation, they numbered about a dozen and stuck closely together.

He ducked into a ditch, cringing as pain wracked his left arm. It wasn’t broken, but he suspected a fracture and had wrapped it in a makeshift splint of twigs and torn cloth. The sword he carried was of dubious quality. Dinks, chips, and other wear blunted its edge and his constant use of it as a crutch ruined the tip. Without a sheathe there was no real way for him to protect it from the elements.

Somehow he managed to rest. His eyes grew heavy and he fell into a light slumber. Minutes later he was startled awake by a voice and instantly shot up to disappointment and anxiousness. No matter how tired he was or how much he wished this were a dream, he had to push on…

The pendant stayed at the number zero despite two days passing. Whatever restored its power, he had no idea. Grabbing the sword, he hurried deeper into the trees and further down south as the sounds of pursuit neared.

Traces of beasts, tracks clear and fresh, diverted him from various easier paths early on but now, with a sleep deprived mind along with a band of soldiers nipping at his heels, he didn’t care. Kieran didn’t much at all about the beasts and monsters of this world. Hunts that his father called never included him, and Alexandra kept his focus on surviving a battle. Along his route, fresh malleable dirt was filled with what he could only assume was a single set of prints twice the size of his own. Whatever was nearby, he hoped it wouldn’t notice him.

Perhaps the risk was worth it. He couldn’t hear them anymore and whatever beast made those footprints was nowhere to be seen. The best case scenario was that his pursuers got into a scuffle with it.

Kieran continued south. A part of him wanted to turn west and look for help in the Blessed territories, but without knowing who wanted him and his family dead, he couldn’t trust anyone. Tidal Valley Fortress was less than an hour’s walk from where he first ended up after teleporting, but the men hunting him right now were likely from there, meaning it was a death trap. For all he knew, the only safe place would be the palace with the royal guards. Too bad it was weeks away on foot.

He crested over a small hill, peering over the shorter trees as best he could to get a lay of the land. The Vayson Mountains stretched all the way from the Haald Plains to a few miles out from the sea where it was then replaced by a passage controlled by the people of Mist Mountain. If he could make it there, then he might just be safe. The Marharden Empire and Rohet Theocracy weren’t the only countries bordering the Raidah territory. The Union of Mist was the official name for the five major tribes that inhabited Mist Mountain, and together they formed one of the neutral parties in the human-blessed conflict. The other was tucked in the Lancur Mountains between Marharden and Rohet, the country of Serenity.

Despite its name, he’d heard from Alexandra that it often housed deserters from Khoenyth, Marharden, and Rohet, and that most mercenaries came from there.

Of the two neutral countries, The Union of Mist was closer and thus would be his destination.

Crawling under an overhung, crooked tree whose trunk was propped up by its smaller and less branchy neighbor, Kieran curled into a ball and slept. It was simultaneously the best and worst sleep he’d had in a while. He awoke during the dawn of a new day with a slightly numb arm but a partly restored mind and went on with his march. As fortune would have it, he stumbled across a dirt path with a simple sign. The wood was rotted and the words faded but he could just make out what it said.

“O’keen Village one day ahead”

Judging by the grass growing back over the path and lack of wheel imprints, he guessed the village was either abandoned, very small, or very remote. Possibly a combination of any three.

The next day, with no signs of his pursuers, he shifted focus to properly dressing his wounds, or dressing them as best he could. He ignored the pain in his side and awkwardly moved along the road overgrown with grass and plant life. Multiple trees had their bark torn off, and inside the open wood were darker, dried splotches of what he assumed was blood. None of the foliage under the trees seemed to have the same marks of blood but in its stead were uprooted plants and deep, unnaturally curved claw prints digging into the ground.

Kieran raised his alertness by a few levels all the way until the village. To his surprise, he saw a few people going about their days and it filled him with relief. It was rather large, almost comparable to the ones near the cities or well managed lands like the Loftus’ domain. There was, however, something strange about them. The houses composing the outer part of the village looked old, dilapidated, and just plain abandoned. Villagers walked to their fields with sullen faces and thinning bodies. Rows of fresh piled up dirt lined one of the fields not too far away with pieces of wood, carved and tied together to crudely resemble wings, sticking out of them.

It took him a second to realize that they were graves.

He tried to scope out more of the village from where he was, but a few of the buildings blocked his line of sight. Unfortunately, one of those buildings blocked happened to be the village leader’s lodging. The fields weren’t too far away and he hadn’t seen that many villagers, so they were most likely gathered around the leader’s home.

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Kieran limped toward the village until he was spotted by a man around twice his age. He was carrying some farming tools, but dropped them immediately upon seeing him. “You holding up alright? You must be one of the ones they thought they lost.” He flinched when the man touched him but didn’t resist. It was obvious he was trying to help. “Oh, sorry, your wounds from fighting that thing must hurt. I’m glad you made it back. Me and the others were feeling lotsa guilt for getting you caught up in our village’s mess.”

What is this guy talking about? I’ll just play along for now.

“Uh, yeah, it’s okay. I somehow made it back in one piece.”

“Great, that’s great. Here, let me help you to where your buddies should be.”

“H-Hold on. Wait. Is there a place where someone can patch me up first?”

The man nodded and pointed toward the center of the village, “The village leader used to be an herbalist and you guys had a healer too right?”

His body tensed for the pain that was about to shoot through it. He had weighed his options already and made his choice. There was no way whatever party the man was talking about would mistake him for their comrade and even spreading a lie about it would most likely end up getting him into some kind of trouble, especially if they started asking him about why he was there.

“Thank you for helping me this far,” Kieran said as he pushed off and held back a wince. “I’ll go by myself now.”

“But look at you you’re in-”

He held up a hand, “Please, I uh… I’ve got my pride as a warrior…” he said the first thing that came to mind.

The man nodded somewhat understanding. His little black horns stood out all the more as he did so and Kieran was beginning to realize that all the people around him had their gifts out. Would they suspect him of being Colorless or even a Marharden spy or something?

No, there wasn’t time for those useless thoughts. As he rounded past the last house blocking his view, he ducked back. In the center of the village were a dozen men dressed in Kheonyth Kingdom’s standard military garb. Of those, he recognized the one speaking with the village leader, it was the captain who had stabbed him in the gut. But who was that other group next to them?

Four men and two women wearing strikingly bright yellow cloaks listened to the captain and village leader’s conversation. One of the yellow cloaks had a pair of keys hanging from their belt and held a chain binding the hands of a man in tattered clothes. Of his two horns, one was chipped and the other was snapped in half, his face bore evidence of a savage beating as black and blue colors warped his naturally light tone. It might’ve looked worse if not for the stubble on his lower face.

The prisoner turned to spit. A ball of blood and saliva hit the ground. Whatever crime he committed must have been related to all the graves. As Kieran took another look at the prisoner, noting his rather unassuming frame and frail physique, their eyes met. The prisoner’s were glazed over, still weak from the abuse he received. Suddenly, he saw a flash of clarity.

“What are you doing?”

He spun around and standing there was one of the men pursuing him. Kieran froze.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck.

The man must have realized who he was since he drew his sword and attempted to shout. “I found-” Kieran struck him across the chin with a well placed punch, instantly knocking him out. A woman who seemed to have been watching from the side screamed and all hopes he had of possibly escaping without being noticed was dashed.

He heard them racing toward him and took off. A dagger flew over his head, hitting a tree and landing harmlessly to the ground. They were gaining on him and he wasn’t sure if he’d have the fortitude to bend down and pick it up so he ignored it opting to delve as deep into the forest as he could. From behind he heard someone scream, “Wait!”

Like hell he’d wait.

Their voices and footsteps grew fainter and fainter until he could no longer hear them no matter how hard he tried. His pace slowed to a stop right in front of an empty massacre. A pool of blood in the middle of coagulating lie in the heart of a disaster of upturned foliage and toppled trees. The owner of the slowly hardening iron-filled liquid was absent as if it’d simply gotten up and walked away. Unusual, inconsistent red prints led one way and Kieran quickly went the opposite of it. It was a detour from Mist Mountains according to his mental map but a necessary one.

Experience with corpses, torn apart by claws, swords, magic, and burnt to a crisp by fire, helped keep his insides in check even as the smell, wafted by the wind, filled his nostrils. It also helped that all his meals were light and easy on his stomach.

With some distance between them, he used his shadows to erase as much of his tracks as possible. So long as none of them could detect traces of Essence, he’d be fine. At the end of the day, he collapsed in a cave despite signs of it being previously lived in. A small fire pit sat at its entrance, knocked over along with a dinky iron kettle whose leftover contents he eagerly drank. The bed inside, just a few feet away from the entrance, was made of straw and further cushioned by greying leaves. It might’ve been a while ago but the thin blanket still carried the lingering scent of body odor. However, after days of walking, his feet were a complete mess. The soles of his shoes were wearing out. He was starting to feel even the tiniest of pebbles digging into the disintegrating leather all the while he dealt with blisters that looked like the beginning of a new toe. Who cares if someone lived here before. Kieran didn’t, not with how tired he was.

And so, he drifted off to sleep.

He jolted awake when he felt something tighten around his wrist. Light blue hues lined the sky and in the middle of this new dawn, he found himself staring up at a man who was on his last legs. A strong breeze would have knocked him over. It was the prisoner he’d seen at the village. “Sorry about this, but I’m going to need your help…” breathed the prisoner, blood dripping from his lips.

Kieran instinctively jumped back. Halfway up, he felt his arm come to a stop. Connecting them together was a chain held together by a padlock.

“What?! What are you doing? Let me out of this!” Kieran shouted.

The prisoner held up the key, “If you want me to,” he coughed, “...let you out, then you’ll need to help me.”

“Like hell I will!” Kieran dived for the key but the pain in his feet momentarily stunned him and the man dodged. With one quick motion, he swallowed the key.

The man laughed. He laughed a hysterical laugh that only the crazed would. "I guess we're a pair now."