Ronan awoke to a throbbing headache, his surroundings a blur. As his vision cleared, he realized he was inside a small, dimly lit cage. He attempted to move but found his limbs restrained by iron bars. His heart sank as he realized the gravity of their situation—they were prisoners of the Lycorian tribe.

The air was heavy with the scent of earth and dampness. The sounds of distant wildlife and the occasional crackle of a campfire reached Ronan's ears, a constant reminder of the wildness that surrounded them. He could see other cages nearby, their occupants shrouded in darkness, their presence felt rather than seen.

As Ronan's eyes adjusted to the dim light, he noticed a figure approaching his cage. It was the leader of the Lycorian tribe, adorned in ceremonial attire, his piercing gaze fixed upon Ronan. His voice carried authority and accusation as he spoke.

"You, Ronan, are the harbinger of death," the leader declared, his tone filled with anger. "The mark of destruction follows you wherever you go. Your past is stained with bloodshed, and now you have brought turmoil to our lands."

Ronan's eyes widened in disbelief and shock. He tried to defend himself, but the leader cut him off with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Do not deny it," the leader continued, his voice seething with contempt. "The battles that have raged through this forest, the fallen warriors, the destruction—it is all tied to you. You are a cursed soul, marked by death."

Ronan started feeling nervous, and sweat started to trickle down his forehead. Ronan's mind raced, searching for a way to diffuse the escalating tension. He took a deep breath, his voice steady despite his growing unease.

"Please, Chief," Ronan pleaded, his words laced with earnestness. "I understand your concerns, but I assure you, I am not responsible for the chaos you attribute to me. There must be a misunderstanding."

The leader scoffed, his eyes narrowing with disdain. "Misunderstanding? I think not. The evidence is clear, and the devastation that surrounds you speaks volumes. You cannot deny your involvement."

As the leader continued his accusatory tirade, Ronan noticed a glint of something in his hand behind his back. His instincts screamed at him, warning of impending danger. Time seemed to slow down as Ronan's gaze locked onto the hidden object.

Reacting swiftly, Ronan instinctively dove to the side, narrowly evading a concealed dagger that was aimed at his chest. The metallic blade thudded against the bars of Ronan's cage, sending a jolt of terror through his veins.

The leader's face contorted with rage as his failed attempt to strike Ronan was exposed. The atmosphere in the chamber grew tense, with the Lycorian warriors exchanging alarmed glances. It was clear that the leader's true intentions had been unmasked.

"You're the reason my son died," he yelled, spital flying out of his mouth. The once strong voice turned into a wheezing sob. The area fell into an uneasy silence as the leader's words hung heavy in the air. Ronan's heart sank, a mix of confusion and sympathy washing over him. He had no recollection of any involvement in the death of the leader's son, and the accusation blindsided him. He thought about the plausibility of killing this guy's kid. He killed a lot of people in the war, so perhaps he killed his kid.

Ronan's mind raced, desperately trying to make sense of the leader's accusation. He searched his memories, trying to recall any connection he might have had with the leader's son, but there was nothing. The accusation seemed founded and true. He decided to play it cool.

"I swear to you, Chief," Ronan said with conviction, his voice filled with sincerity. "I have no knowledge of or involvement in the death of your son. I understand your grief and anger, but I am not the cause of his demise."

The leader's sobbing gradually subsided, replaced by a piercing gaze that bore into Ronan's soul. A mix of emotions flickered across the leader's face—grief, anger, and a glimmer of doubt. Ronan could sense that the leader's accusations were fueled by deep pain, but he also saw a flicker of Loathing in the man's eyes.

"I have no reason to lie," Ronan continued, his voice calm but resolute. "I cannot change the past, nor can I take responsibility for something I did not do. I can only offer my condolences for your loss and assure you that I am not the cause of your son's death."

Finally, the chief spoke, his voice filled with a mix of vulnerability and anger. "I saw you on that fateful day," he murmured, his voice trembling. "You were there, slicing through the chaos with a blade stained with blood. My son... he fought bravely, but he fell under your relentless assault."

Ronan's heart sank, realizing the depth of the chief’s conviction. He searched his memories once more, but the images of that specific battle remained elusive. He knew that his own recollection might be flawed, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss.

"Chief, I can understand your grief and your desire for justice," Ronan replied, his voice filled with compassion. "But I implore you to consider the possibility of mistaken identity or manipulation. The chaos of battle can distort perception, and I fear that someone might be using that to their advantage."

The chief's eyes blazed with fury as he interrupted Ronan, his voice trembling with anger. "Mistaken identity? Manipulation? Do not insult my intelligence with such feeble excuses," he spat, his words dripping with venom. "I saw the fury in your eyes as you clashed blades with my son. You may deny it now, but the truth cannot be concealed."

Ronan's heart pounded in his chest, the weight of the accusation pressing upon him. He struggled to comprehend how he could have been involved in such a tragedy without any recollection. Doubt gnawed at his mind, but he refused to accept the accusations without concrete evidence.

"Chief, I understand your pain and the need for answers," Ronan responded, his voice steady despite the growing tension. "But I implore you to consider the possibility of false memories or manipulation. Our minds can be easily deceived, especially in the chaos of battle. Let us uncover the truth together, without assumptions clouding our judgment."

The chief's eyes flickered with a mixture of anger and doubt. The accusation had consumed him for so long, and now the emergence of uncertainty threatened to shatter the foundation of his beliefs. He clenched his fists, wrestling with conflicting emotions.

"You expect me to believe that my own memories could be false?" The chief scoffed, his voice filled with bitterness. "I have spent nights reliving that moment; the image of you striking down my son is etched into my very being. I cannot dismiss it as mere manipulation."

Ronan's voice remained calm, his gaze unwavering. "Chief, I do not dismiss your memories or your pain. But I beg you to consider all possibilities. There may be forces at play beyond our comprehension. Let us seek the truth together, for the sake of justice and closure."

The man's eyes glowed, his hand started leaking a white fog, and he approached Ronan.

As Chief's hand neared Ronan's forehead, a white fog emitted from his palm, enveloping Ronan's mind. Ronan's heartbeat quickened, unsure of what to expect. The mist swirled and danced, and suddenly, Ronan found himself transported into a vivid memory.

The scene unfolded before Ronan's eyes like a haunting vision. He saw himself on a battlefield, surrounded by chaos and the clash of weapons. The air was thick with the scent of blood and the cries of the wounded. And there, standing before him, was Chief Garrick's son, wielding his weapon with skill and determination.

Ronan watched in disbelief as the memory played out. He saw himself engaging in a fierce duel with Chief Garrick's son, their blades meeting in a clash of metal. The fight was intense, with both combatants showing formidable skill and unwavering determination. But in the end, it was Ronan who struck the final blow, his blade piercing through the young warrior's defenses.

Stabbing straight through the young man's chest.

The chief withdrew his hand, the mist dissipating into the air. His eyes bore into Ronan's, filled with a mix of pain and vindication. It was a truth that had haunted him, a truth he sought to confront and confirm.

"It is as I remembered," the chief said, his voice heavy with grief. "You did clash blades with my son, and it was you who delivered the fatal strike."

Ronan's heart sank, his throat tightening with a mix of fear and regret. The truth he had hoped to disprove had now been unveiled. He had been responsible for the death of the chief's son, a fact he had unknowingly carried within him.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"I am sorry," Ronan managed to say, his voice choked with emotion. "I did not know... I never intended for any harm to come to him. I cannot undo what has been done, but please believe me when I say that it was not my intention. I was just following orders."

The chief's eyes narrowed, his grief transforming into anger once again. The weight of his loss fueled his fury, and he stepped closer to Ronan, his hand clenching into a fist.

"You expect me to accept your apologies? To believe that it was just following orders?" The chief spat, his voice filled with venom. "Do you think that excuses the pain you have caused? The life you took?"

Ronan's face sank further, the gravity of his actions crashing down upon him. He had hoped for understanding and forgiveness, but Chief's words pierced through his fake defenses. He knew that mere words could not undo the irreparable damage.

Before the Chief could strike, however, a sudden explosion Before the leader could strike, however, a sudden explosion rocked the camp, shaking the very foundations.

Startled and momentarily disoriented, the leader turned his attention towards the source of the explosion. The chamber echoed with shouts and commotion as the Lycorian warriors scrambled to assess the situation. The leader's gaze flickered between Ronan and the chaos unfolding before them.

"I cannot ignore this," the leader growled, his anger momentarily overridden by curiosity and a sense of duty. "Stay here, Ronan. We will continue this later."

With those words, the leader swiftly left the clearing, his focus drawn towards the urgent situation outside. Ronan was left alone in his cage, the weight of guilt and remorse heavy on his shoulders. The explosion had granted him a temporary reprieve, but the unresolved conflict between him and the leader loomed ominously in the air.

As Ronan reflected on his actions, he knew that he had to find a way to get out of dodge, or he would get his head chopped off. Ronan murmured under his breath, "It would be very convenient if Minerva, or God forbid, Indigena, got us into this mess."

"You called"? The vines next to the bush started moving like they had a mind of their own. Ronan's eyes widened as the vines shifted and coalesced, revealing the form of Indigena. The self-proclaimed herbalist walked out of the shadows; her wrist was glowing a dule green. Ron thought to himself. He wondered why he never saw her wrist, and now he figured out why.

Ronan's surprise quickly turned into relief as he realized that Indigena had come to his aid. Her ability to manipulate plants and harness nature's energy had proven invaluable in the past, and now it seemed she had once again found a way to help them.

"Indigena, I'm glad you're here," Ronan said, his voice filled with gratitude. "We need to get out of here before the leader returns. Can you help us escape?"

Indigena nodded, her eyes glimmering with determination. She extended her glowing wrist towards Ronan's cage, and the vines responded to her command. With a gentle yet firm grip, the vines wrapped around the bars of the cage, exerting pressure and gradually bending them.

Ronan watched in awe as the bars yielded to the strength of Indigena's control over nature. Inch by inch, the gap widened until it was large enough for Ronan to slip through. With a grateful nod, he quickly maneuvered himself out of the cage, feeling a renewed sense of freedom.

Indigena then turned her attention to the other cages, utilizing her vines to free their companions one by one. The vines deftly worked their way around the bars, providing a means of escape for everyone trapped within the confines of the wooden cells.

When everyone, including some random people held hostage, Indigena decided to take charge and started yelling at the random people, "Run towards the fire," The people started fleeing in the direction their kidnappers were going. Ronan thought to himself that they were dumb livestock, but he changed his mind; that would have been an insult to livestock.

Him, Minerva, and indigena stayed behind. Indigena started moving in the opposite direction of the nimrods and said, “Okay, we have a distraction. Let’s get out of here." As they moved away from the chaos created by the fleeing hostages, Ronan, Minerva, and Indigena cautiously navigated through the camp. The sounds of commotion grew distant as they made their way towards the outskirts, carefully avoiding any Lycorian warriors who might be patrolling the area.

Minerva guided their path, leading them through shadowy corners and hidden paths. They moved with stealth and precision, knowing that discovery could order their heads on a platter the next day. As they neared the outskirts of the camp, the tension in their bodies began to ease.

When they reached a clearing, they heard footsteps following them, and then a boy shouted at them. He was skinny and frail; he had long, wavy hair that reached his neck. His skin was sickly brown. The glasses on his head were broken in one of the lenses, and blood streaked down the left side of his cheek. He had a crooked, mad smile. The baggy pants and teared up shirt.

The boy's presence sent shivers down the non military combatants' spines, his appearance and demeanor unsettling. His crooked, mad smile was haunting, and they could sense a deep disturbance in him. Ronan, Minerva, and Indigena exchanged wary glances, unsure of what to make of this unexpected encounter.

"Who are you?" Ronan asked cautiously, his hand subtly inching towards the hilt of his stick that he picked up while running. The boy looked at him and chuckled softly to himself. The teen seemed like he had a few screws loose, not the brightest tool in the shed, whatever can be said about his mental state most likely applied.

The boy's laughter echoed eerily through the clearing, sending shivers down their spines. He took a step closer, his movements disjointed and unnatural, like a marionette with its strings tangled. “ I've been caged in these woods for as long as I can remember," he replied, his voice distant and hollow. "Names don't matter much around here, not when all you've got is survival on your mind."

Ronan looked at the kid oddly “Don’t you know we live next to a civilization like five hours aways. No way you never saw a road, you know those brown things in a straight line in the forest.” Ronan’s eyebrows twitched looking at him, sometimes Ronan felt like he was the last sane person out there in the world.

The boy tilted his head, as if trying to comprehend Ronan's words, but there was a distant look in his eyes. "Roads?" he repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "I've heard stories about them, but I've never seen one myself. The trees, the shadows, the people, they keep me hidden. Hidden from the world and its so-called 'civilization.'"

Exasperated Ronan stepped forward making the kid back up “Listen, kid," Ronan said firmly, trying to suppress his frustration. "There's a whole world out there beyond these woods. Civilization, cities, people living in communities—you're missing out on all of it. Wandering these woods endlessly won't do you any good."

The boy's eyes darted around nervously, as if contemplating whether to stay or flee. His odd demeanor made it difficult to gauge his intentions, but Ronan sensed a deep confusion in him.

"I've survived this long on my own," the boy murmured, his voice a mix of defiance and uncertainty. "The woods protect me, and I protect them in return. Why should I care about your so-called civilization?"

Ronan's eyes blazed a hellish black he started pacing and had a panicked tone “ Because if you don’t move I'll bludgeon your head in with this stick.” He waved the stick menacingly around his body. His muscles tensed and breath became short. The ground shifted under him, the wind blew softly. Ronan dashed forward when a leaf fell off the tree behind him.

He arrived on the boy's left and swung true the hit landed on his ribs. The impact of Ronan's strike landed hard on the boy's ribs, causing him to stumble backward with a gasp of pain. But to Ronan's surprise, the boy's demeanor didn't change. He remained eerily calm, almost unfazed by the blow.

As Ronan readied himself for another attack, the boy straightened his posture, and his gaze fixed on Ronan with an unsettling intensity. A low chuckle escaped his lips, and a wicked grin spread across his face.

the boy pulled out the pendulum, a sense of unease filled the air. Ronan's eyes narrowed as he instinctively took a step back, unsure of what to expect. He remembered the boy's eerie laughter and disjointed movements, and now, seeing the bruise healing before his eyes, a chilling realization washed over him.

"What kind of trick is this?" Ronan demanded, his voice tinged with suspicion. "Are you some sort of healer?"

The boy continued to swing the pendulum gently, a serene smile on his face. He didn't say a word, letting the pendulum work its mysterious magic. The bruise on his face slowly faded away, leaving no trace behind.

"You're strong, aren't you?" the boy said, his voice tinged with a strange mixture of admiration and amusement. "But strength alone won't save you from the forces at play here."

Ronan's heart raced, uncertainty gnawing at him. He couldn't comprehend the boy's enigmatic words, nor could he shake off the eerie feeling that something was terribly wrong.

Before Ronan could respond, the boy moved with unnerving speed, closing the distance between them in a blink of an eye. He swung his pendulum, the gleaming object glinting in the moonlight.

Ronan's instincts kicked in, and he raised his stick to defend himself. But the boy's attack was not a physical one; it was something else entirely. As the pendulum swung through the air, a strange energy emanated from it, surrounding Ronan in an invisible grasp.

A surge of pain shot through Ronan's body, and he felt his strength waning. The boy's pendulum seemed to drain him of his vitality, leaving him weakened and vulnerable.

"What... what are you doing?" Ronan managed to gasp, his voice strained with effort.

The boy didn't answer. Instead, he continued to swing the pendulum, his eyes fixed on Ronan with an unsettling intensity. Ronan's vision blurred, and his limbs felt heavy as if weighed down by an invisible force.

Desperation surged within Ronan, and he mustered every ounce of willpower to resist the boy's strange power. With a primal roar, he broke free from the invisible grasp and lunged forward, aiming a powerful strike at the boy.

But the boy was quicker. He sidestepped with an almost unnatural agility, and with a swift countermove, he struck Ronan across the chest. The impact sent Ronan sprawling backward, gasping for breath.

His mind reeled, trying to make sense of the situation. The boy seemed to possess a power beyond his understanding, a power that defied the laws of nature. Ronan couldn't comprehend how such a frail-looking figure could be so formidable.

"You can't defeat me," the boy said, his voice low and haunting. "I am connected to the very fabric of time. I could age you in the blink of an eye."

Ronan struggled to his feet, his body bruised and battered. He knew he couldn't match the boy's strange power, but he couldn't let fear consume him. With grim determination, he faced his adversary once again.

As the boy swung his pendulum once more, Ronan took a deep breath and focused his mind. He refused to die here, He needed to save his sister if he didn't. No one would. Gathering his strength, Ronan charged forward with a newfound strategy. He evaded the pendulum's range and closed the distance, aiming for swift, calculated strikes. His stick connected with the boy's defenses, but the boy moved with unnatural grace, avoiding the full impact of the blows.

Their dance of battle continued, each move calculated and precise. Ronan had to rely on his instincts, anticipating the boy's movements and countering with agility and determination.

The boy's laughter echoed eerily through the clearing, adding to the haunting atmosphere of the fight. Ronan's frustration grew, but he refused to give in to the boy's mind games.

As they circled each other, a sudden surge of energy pulsed through the forest. The ground trembled, and the air crackled with electricity. Ronan sensed an ancient force awakening, and he knew that the boy was somehow connected to it.

In a bold move, Ronan mustered all his strength and charged forward. With a powerful strike, he aimed directly at the boy's pendulum, aiming to knock it from his grasp.

But the boy was ready. With a flick of his wrist, he sent the pendulum spinning in a dazzling display of light. The energy around them intensified, and Ronan felt himself being pulled towards the boy's power.

The force was overwhelming, threatening to consume him entirely. But in that moment, Ronan caught a glimpse of the boy's vulnerability. Beneath the veneer of power, there was a flicker of fear in his eyes.

Drawing on his own inner strength, Ronan resisted the pull of the boy's power. With a surge of willpower, he redirected his strike, aiming directly at the boy's hand.

The impact was precise, and the pendulum was knocked from the boy's grasp. The energy around them dissipated, and the forest fell eerily silent.

The boy stumbled backward, his eyes wide with shock and uncertainty. For the first time, he seemed lost and vulnerable.

Ronan held his ground, his breath heavy, but his determination unwavering. "I won't let you kill me," he said, his voice steady and resolute. "I won't be conquered by another when I still have a use for others."

The boy didn't respond. Instead, he retrieved his pendulum, clutching it tightly in his hand. With a final glance at Ronan, he turned and slammed his foot onto the ground and disappeared in a light show.

Ronan watched him go, his heart still pounding with the intensity of the encounter. He knew he had faced something beyond his understanding, something ancient and powerful.

But as he stood amidst the eerie silence of the forest, Ronan felt a newfound sense of strength. He had faced the boy's craziness and emerged with his life intact.