As the door rattled violently on its hinges from the relentless pounding, Amriel’s heart raced within her chest. The sound echoed through the cottage, clearly whoever was on the other side was determined to be heard. If they didn’t stop soon, she feared they might shatter the door entirely.

Her eyes landed on the belt and the blade hanging by the door. Nythia had mastered close combat, and she had made sure her daughter was just as skilled. Meeko rose from his spot before the fire, a low growl rumbling in his chest. With his razor-sharp claws and fangs, the forest cat was a formidable ally. Together, they could handle almost anyone on the other side of the door.

In one swift motion, Amriel tossed aside the blanket and sprinted toward the door. She snatched the belt and drew the blade from its sheath, the edges glinting ominously in the flickering firelight. The weight of the weapon felt reassuring in her grip, a reminder of her training and the strength she inherited.

Dropping the belt, she moved back to brace herself in the middle of the cottage. She was well aware of the inherent risks of living alone on the outskirts of the forest, especially as a woman. With that knowledge in mind, she had committed to maintaining her training, ensuring that her skills and her blade remained wickedly sharp, ready for anything or anyone.

Her heart raced wildly in her chest, each beat hammering painfully against her ribcage as adrenaline surged through her veins.

Once more, the door rattled on its hinges, the jarring noise reverberating through the cozy space and sending a chill down her spine. Meeko growled low in his throat, a warning rumble that echoed her own unease. Whoever stood on the other side of that door clearly had no intention of leaving anytime soon. Either she open the door, or they would break it down.

With a deep breath, Amriel summoned her courage and cautiously cracked open the door, instantly feeling a surge of icy air against her face. The wind rushed in, battering her smooth, pale cheeks while rain lashed sideways, propelled by the howling gusts. Squinting against the onslaught, she focused her gaze on the figure standing before her door. The silhouette was barely discernible through the curtain of rain, shrouded in shadows and mystery, but Amriel could make out the outline of a drenched cloak and the faint glimmer of eyes that seemed to pierce through the storm.

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Beneath his cloak, the man’s clothes were soaked through, clinging heavily to his skin as if they were a second layer of flesh. His short, dark hair lay plastered against his skull, dripping with rainwater. A dark mask adorned with intricate runes concealed the upper part of his face, but it couldn’t hide the intensity of his piercing emerald eyes, which locked onto hers with an unwavering gaze.

Amriel tightened her grip on her blade, bracing herself for whatever confrontation awaited her.

Yet, even in the dim light of the cottage, she could see the pain etched in his gaze, a vulnerability that contrasted sharply with the tension in the air.

The man’s cracked lips trembled, but only a guttural moan escaped his throat. It was then that Amriel noticed his arm tightly clasped around his waist, his fingers slick with blood. The metallic scent permeated the air, mingling with the fresh aroma of rain, overwhelming her senses. The gravity of his injuries hit her like a wave; the healer within her recognized the urgency of the situation—without intervention, he would likely perish. But aiding him was a dangerous gamble; she could feel the tension coiling around them, the risk of him turning against her looming large.

Just then, the masked man’s free hand slammed against the creaking wooden door, the sound reverberating through the small cottage. With a desperate push, he swung the door wide open.

Leaping backward, Amriel’s heart pounded in her chest. Instinctively, she raised her blade, the glint of steel catching the flickering firelight. Adrenaline surged through her veins, sharpening her senses and drowning out all other sounds with the rush of blood in her ears.

Slightly bent over and clutching his stomach, the man struggled to maintain his balance as he maneuvered through the narrow doorway. Even hunched over, his head nearly grazed the door frame, rainwater cascading off his drenched clothes and pooling on the floor beneath him.

The man’s emerald eyes, intense and unyielding, stared at her from behind his mask, while Meeko, her feline guardian, hissed and growled in the dim light of the room.

Meeko’s fierce hisses echoed through the cottage, his bristled fur standing on end as he positioned himself protectively in front of Amriel. Unimpressed by the stranger’s audacious intrusion, he was ready to defend his territory.

As the man crossed the threshold into Amriel’s humble abode, he emitted another agonized groan. Just before his emerald eyes rolled back, he managed to utter a single, haunting word: “Fha’lear.” Then, with a heavy thud, his body collapsed onto the earthen floor, the sound reverberating throughout the small cottage.