No other duo could match Chuma and Mok’Ar as night guardians. Both seasoned and skilled, complementing each other’s strengths and weaknesses, they were once again entrusted with safeguarding a 3-km radius around their hideout. However, tonight was unlike any other.

“What a bewitching night, ay?”

Chuma’s pirate-like voice pierced the air, despite never seeing a ship. Mok’Ar had long since deciphered this as a sign of his partner’s concealed anxiety. And he couldn’t blame him. The forest enveloping their secret lair was palpably ominous tonight. The celestial glow of the Three Sisters was the only source of light in a world otherwise devoid of sound—no rustling leaves, no hooting owls, and no chirping crickets. Just a suspicious silence. The woods held its breath, as if wary of hidden evil.

Chuma was a short, bald man, his nose a crooked landmark on an otherwise forgettable face. He moved with the grace of a shadow, his every step almost noiseless, his actions devoid of sentiment.

Mok’Ar’s grip tightened around the hilt of his gargantuan battle-ax, its blade catching a fleeting glint from the moons above.

“What? You scared, big guy?” Chuma spat out, his voice strained, his eyes darting like frenzied fireflies.

In contrast to his partner, Mok’Ar was a so-called human giant: an imposing behemoth of muscle, with shoulders as broad as an ox-cart, eyes like dark pebbles, and a snout resembling a swine’s. His voice rarely ventured beyond monosyllabic grunts, but his eyes lit up like a child’s at any chance to spar. He had loved fighting since a young age, often brawling because people mocked his deformed teeth that made his lower lip look bloated.

Unbeknownst to him, or indeed anyone who encountered him, his lineage was tainted by orcish blood. He was the unwitting legacy of a lone orcish warrior who survived an ill-fated expedition to human lands. Enslaved and consigned to the unyielding rocks of a quarry, Mok’Ar’s ancestor had been a subject of fascinated stares, particularly from ladies. Although he impregnated many of them, only one woman survived childbirth. Because of these unintentional deaths, he was executed, and his lover and their newborn child were banished.

Despite the odds, his lineage persevered through the generations, the orcish genes blending with human DNA. In Mok’Ar’s case, these traits manifested with surprising strength.

Sadly, neither he nor Chuma had the privilege of familial love; they were both orphans molded by adversity into thugs, thieves, killers, and outlaws.

Two other members of their group were stationed at the entrance to their hideout, nearer to the heart of their gang and potential reinforcement. If Chuma and Mok’Ar faced danger on these outskirts, it would be too late to notice their absence. Yet, luck or divine neglect smiled upon them this night. As they circled back during their bi-hourly check-in, they’d silently offer thanks to the old gods that whatever danger roamed the woods tonight had overlooked them.

♦♦♦

“You can wait here,” Dave said and gestured towards a hollow formed by the gnarled roots of a colossal oak tree. His voice, deep and smooth, shattered the night’s unsettling quiet. 

“As always,” Red said politely and gave a slight nod.

A breeze that rustled the leaves above carried her voice—velvety and youthful. Cascading waves of chestnut hair framing her face danced in the wind, and a stray strand of her side-swept bangs veiled her eyes.

With the grace of a dancer, she brushed the disobedient hair behind her ear with one hand, while her other hand lowered her worn leather shoulder bag onto the leaf-strewn ground. In a gesture that echoed hers, Dave let his thick, dark, silk obsidian hair fall free from its makeshift bun. It cascaded down to just below his shoulders as he handed her the leather band that had confined it.

“How many are there?” she asked.

Her question was a strategic calculation, devoid of curiosity or worry. She measured the wait time to plan her follow-up accordingly.

While eyeing her young, soft, and defined features through his smokey charcoal gray eyes that always seemed to hold a storm within, Dave fished a crumpled pack of cigarettes from his dark leather trousers pocket.

“Two are on patrol. They’ll be back in two hours. Two at the entrance, six inside,” he said, striking a match and igniting the tip of his cigarette.

The faint scent of sulfur mingled with the earthy aroma of fallen leaves. As he exhaled slowly, the smoke spiraled into the crisp night air, adding a tinge of smokiness to the natural fragrance around them. He glanced from her face to the dark woods, where old trees wore majestic crowns scattering the dim glow of the moons.

“Twenty minutes?”

She reclined against the oak’s rough bark, her fingers pulling the crimson hood over her head to shroud her features.

Dave rubbed his left eye marked by two diagonal scars—relics from a time he never spoke of, the gesture of his muscular hand swirling the smoke from his cigarette. Even though they had been traveling together for some time, his relationship with her remained complicated, and he kept many secrets from her.

“Fifteen is fine,” he grumbled, the words barely escaping from between his lips, which clamped a smoldering cigarette.

The smoke spiraled, cloaking his angular face in a sinister veil. Red couldn’t help but chuckle; his sharp nose, marred by a horizontal scar, seemed to slice the curling smoke as if defiantly declaring its presence.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced at her. Her youthful mannerisms had always annoyed him. Nonetheless, of late, there was a slow shift. The way her pink lips formed a bashful curve, a smile, was gradually becoming something worth spotting. Yet inner dissonance lingered; they had, after all, started as enemies, forced to cooperate to break the ancient magic that bonded them together. 

 “Be careful,” she uttered as he moved away.

Although she knew he would be alright—Dave was always alright—a lingering sense of worry remained within her. The cruelty he was capable of still weighed heavily on her heart, yet she understood it was simply who he was. She banished the unsettling thoughts and looked around, but he was already nowhere to be seen.

Quick and quiet, as always.

A hunter who had once considered even her his prey.

♦♦♦

The two guards who had once occupied the entrance now lay just a stone’s throw away from each other, their necks contorted in an unsettling fashion that made it clear they’d met a swift end. Dave had handled it with professional efficiency. No spills of blood to clean, no commotion to stifle. Red understood the necessity; silence was paramount, ensuring no time for them to alert their companions slumbering within. 

Stepping lightly, she advanced, clutching a small but effective knife. A wavering light from a distant torch within the cave cast her shadow, which played on the irregular stone walls as if it were a misshapen specter.

During their travels, the knife with a blade specifically crafted for gathering plants had proven its worth in a more violent role on two separate occasions. The memories of those instances were brief but vivid flashes in her mind. She shook them off. No time for that now.

Her footsteps echoed, layering over the musty scent filling the air. It was a strange blend of rock salt and smoldering torch oil, a sensory combination that made the cave seem both ancient and lived-in. Somewhere deeper, a gruesome sound—like the tearing of meat—resounded.

You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

Dave…

Before continuing, Red took a deep breath, steeling her nerves for what lay ahead. 

The chamber she next entered was more confined than she had expected, cluttered with a haphazard arrangement of travel chests and makeshift sleeping quarters. Bags presumably filled with clothes and well-crafted swords laid beside each sleeping sack.

Her brow furrowed. She wondered if they were in this place for the long haul, or if this was just a pit stop in their broader journey across the kingdom.

As she moved further in, the metallic scent of blood intensified. Three of the sleeping sacks were splattered with it, and a wide, uninterrupted trail led into the shadowy depths beyond. She trusted Dave to handle whatever was happening back there. Her task was to scavenge for anything valuable—usable goods or items for bartering.

The swords were solid and well-crafted. The wear on the blades suggested their owners knew how to use them. She sifted through the bags. Clothes, some leather straps, ropes. Mundane items mostly. As she pondered her finds, a haunting whisper of something breaking—bone, by the sound of it—echoed through the cave, causing goosebumps to ripple across her skin.

Her gaze flicked towards the entrance, ears straining for any sound.

Silence.

The patrol’s return wasn’t imminent; they had ample time to slip away undetected.

The chests were locked, keys most likely in the possession of their original owners. Red knelt, stowing her knife and retrieving a set of lockpicks from her bag. While a spell would make quick work of unlocking them, magic had faded over four centuries, leaving behind a world bereft of its once-familiar presence. She sighed, her lips curving into a melancholic smile.

I miss you, grandma.

In moments like these, her thoughts inevitably turned to her grandmother. Despite the years, the absence persisted, especially when the Three Sisters adorned the sky in the Three-Headed Goddess formation—the same as the night her grandmother had passed away.

A resounding click wiped the wistfulness from Red’s expression, replaced by a triumphant smirk.

“Got you.”

The chest yielded effortlessly. Another bunch of clothes, belts, knives, and weapon accessories accompanied a handful of golden coins. Red collected just the gold, depositing it all in her pouch. The remaining contents held little value for carrying. The other chests, upon inspection, revealed nothing substantial. As she closed the last, a presence brushed against her senses from behind.

“Attempting to scare me?”

She rose, her lips curving into a playful smile as she turned.

Dave’s smirk answered her question. His hair was messy and his hands were stained in fresh gore. Red fetched a flask of water from her bag. With a wave of his hand, he refused. 

“Buckets of water and some towels are further back. I’ll clean there. But there’s something you should see.” With that, he turned and departed.

Intrigued and slightly uneasy, she capped her flask and followed him, careful to avoid the still-wet, crimson path that led deeper into the cave.

After walking briskly for a few moments, Dave guided Red through a tunnel-like corridor that opened into a junction. The air seemed heavy, nearly solid with unexpressed anticipation. Each option had sufficient light provided by strategically placed torches, and Dave guided her to the right path.

As they stepped into a smaller chamber, the atmosphere intensified. It was a heavy, stifling quiet that seemed to physically press against their skins. 

The sight that greeted them upon entering was not a pleasant one: two blood-soaked sacks lay abandoned on the floor, but it was the cage at the center of the room that commanded her attention.

Inside was a young man, blindfolded and bound, his hair a cascade of long dark waves tousled around his face like a messy halo. Wearing just worn-out trousers, an old torn shirt, and brown boots, he was sitting in an uncomfortable position. His breathing was quick and shallow—no doubt a mix of confusion and fear. Every breath, gasping and shaky, intensified the silence and heightened the gravity.

“Shall I bite his head off?”

Dave’s voice, low and almost detached, accompanied the ignition of his cigarette.

“Dave!”

Red’s reproach was immediate and stern.

“What? He can be dangerous.”

“I-I-I’m n-not…”

The young man’s voice trembled, carrying a melodious timbre despite the fear it held.

Red arched an eyebrow at Dave, her fingers deftly taking out a lockpick set.

“You hear that?”

He responded with an annoyed look, and as she crouched down, skillfully picking the lock, he took out a key from his pocket and tapped her shoulder. Her gaze shifted to it, and she swiftly seized it from his hand, a mixture of irritation and amusement flickering within her.

He didn’t need to have brought her here; he could have eliminated the guy, concealing his existence from her. Yet he respected her stance enough to allow her involvement. He was changing. Her lips curved into an unconscious shy smile he couldn’t see.

“Don’t worry, we’ll help you. But—”

“Oh, in the name of the Ancients, thank you!”

The young man cut her out, his voice hinting a relief.

“I will be in your debt.”

“But,” she repeated, her voice, normally velvety, took on a weightier tone as she continued, “if you do something foolish, you’ll meet your end.”

Dave’s chuckle resonated as he extinguished his cigarette against the cave wall. The prisoner energetically nodded his head, anxiety etched across his features. “Don’t worry. I won’t, I promise. I’m in your debt, lady.”

“Lady?!”

Both Dave and Red echoed simultaneously, an amused note lacing their tones. Their gazes connected for a moment before he looked away, the edges of his lips curling upwards.

“We’ll keep him tied and blindfolded until we are far enough,” Dave said as she opened the cage.

He moved swiftly inside, his voice firm as he addressed the captive.

“Make a sound, and I’ll snap your neck.”

The guy was nodding before the warnings were finished.

Minutes later, they emerged into the open air, traversing the woodland with haste. Luna, one of the Three Sisters, was nearing the horizon, the night transitioning towards dawn. At a safe distance, Dave gently placed the young man on the ground, realizing his hands were still covered in blood. They must locate a creek, at the very least. The metallic smell of the blood was irritating him. He glanced at Red, who promptly extracted her knife, untied the prisoner, and removed his blindfold.

With a deep inhale, the prisoner’s light, stormy gray eyes darted between the tall, muscular man with a rugged and refined face adorned with stubble, and the young girl with full, pink lips.

“Thank you, beautiful damsel, and brave—”

“Shut up.”

Dave’s words were curt, his gaze intense yet controlled.

“Dave, you don’t have to be so rude. Are you hurt?”

Her attention remained focused on the young man, his smooth, pale complexion, and handsome features not escaping her notice.

The guy patted himself down with both hands, ensuring his well-being.

“I’m okay, I guess?”

Dave’s interjection was swift and irritated.

“You guess?!”

“No, I’m fine. They roughed me up a bit, but I’m alright. Thank you again. I’m Joaquin, a humble bard traveling the lands, spreading stories and joy.”

His voice held a charm, a melodious quality befitting his trade.

Dave turned to leave, his impatience clear.

“Great. Now you can continue your travels. Let’s go, Red.”

“Dave, we should at least navigate him to town,” she said, shaking her head.

A smile played upon Dave’s lips, though he concealed it before turning to face her.

“That way.”

With a sweeping arm motion, he gestured westward.

“I know it might be rude,” Joaquin said, his voice shaken with hesitation, “or that I’m asking too much after you’ve saved me, but could you escort me to town, please? I can get easily lost in the woods, especially at night, and I—” 

“Give us a minute,” Red interrupted him.

She took Dave a short distance away and engaged in hushed conversation.

Dave kept his eye on Joaquin.

“He is not our problem,” he said.

“But we can’t just abandon him,” Red countered, her voice tinged with something unspoken, something curious. “He’s a bard.” 

“So?”

“They know stories.”

A playful smile appeared on her lips, and a spark lit in her eyes. 

Dave’s eyes narrowed but then opened wider, as if seeing the possibility. He knew very well that Red was much smarter than him, but he was learning her ways quickly. 

A witty little girl.

His smirk conveyed his understanding. He glanced at Joaquin; bards often carried legends of ancient times, old gods, and forgotten relics. Unfortunately, the bards they had come across so far proved to be of no help.

Despite doubting the young man’s knowledge, their progress had stagnated for too long. The chance might be slim, but it was a chance they couldn’t afford to ignore.

He exhaled audibly, which was all Red needed to see to smile victoriously. She pivoted gracefully and headed toward Joaquin. 

“Good news, Mr. bard. We’ll accompany you to town.”

His face lit up at her girlish tone, and he offered an elegant bow.

“But,” she continued, “remember, any false moves and you become a wolf food.”

Dave contained a laugh, watching Joaquin’s smile give way to confusion and apprehension. Red’s manner of offering a threat was an art in itself, sweetened by her earnestness. 

Without further ado, they set out towards the nearest town, Dave leading the way. Joaquin’s gratitude resonated throughout the night, offering heartfelt expressions of thanks. Unaware of his kidnapper’s identity, he found temporary safety with these strangers. His true identity remained concealed, and all those bandits lay lifeless. The orchestrator would learn the mission had failed after he was far away. None of them had any inkling of the troubles that Chuma and Mok’Ar would soon unleash. Oblivious to the looming peril, they inadvertently became ensnared in the risky dealings of the notorious Bad Wolf.