Lavinoir was a hereditary monarchy for over millennia. Its glorious land was spreading broad at the south of the Arimungu continent. And nestled in the kingdom’s heart was Memfis.

Small town exuding serenity, in contrast to the bustling world beyond. It was often dubbed the perfect haven for those entering their twilight years. Just a two-day journey to the west lay a more lively city, a vital crossroads known for its sprawling markets, lucrative business prospects, and shadowy underbelly. Yet Memfis remained untouched by its neighbor’s influence. Even prominent enterprises, regardless of their ethical standing, paid little heed.

The people cherished their city, especially their mayor. The majority were middle-class citizens living in harmony, with a select few wealthy elites among them.

Amid the opulent district of Memfis, the affluent residents were discreet, unlike the enigmatic figure living just outside the city walls, a mere half-hour walk away.

An impressive estate with vast grounds, renowned for its mysterious owner, watched over Memfis as a majestic guardian. Nobody quite knew who this person was; they were simply referred to as one of the city’s primary benefactors and protectors. Little did the townsfolk suspect that their esteemed mayor kept most of these donations for himself, a secret agreement well within his rights.

The mansion’s servants were a common sight in the city, savoring their leisure. Yet, every inquiry about their duties or their elusive master received the same response.

“It’s private.”

Over time, the townsfolk stopped asking and caring. Memfis prospered, thanks to this inscrutable patron, and if peace and privacy were the prices, the people willingly paid it.

♦♦♦

Close to eleven at night, the piano’s gloomy tones were interrupted by a heavy knock. A young, pale pianist paused, awaiting her master’s orders. He, dressed in a dark purple suit, turned around his lean, athletic frame, a long claw clicking against his glass as he sniffed the air. His jackal features took on a sinister cast in the dimly lit room, accentuating his short abyssal fur, which possessed a metallic glow.

“Come in, Pierre.”

The pianist’s spine shivered as his voice, rough like gravel, filled the room. The double-winged door to his private sanctuary parted, and as it opened, an older servant appeared. He bowed respectfully and stood at attention.

“Apologies for the intrusion, sir, but your distinguished guest has arrived.”

“Excellent, bring them forth,” the jackal said, his gaze shifting to the pianist. “You are free for the rest of the night, my dear.”

She rose, executed a graceful bow, and left along the servant, her long, crimson braid swaying gently.

A sinister grin revealed sharp, glistening teeth. The guest’s unexpected arrival today brought a stroke of luck. It promised not only a generous reward but, more significantly, an elevation of his prestige, dispelling any lingering doubts concerning his business dealings.

Festayas, as they called those of his race, humanoid beings with animal-like traits, often faced discrimination. Despite a few being celebrated for their talents, particularly in sports, representing various kingdoms, animosity toward them ran deep.

Anubis, as he called himself for the time being, harbored ambitions that spanned diverse facets of existence. As a festaya, he enjoyed a longer lifespan, a distinct advantage that enabled accumulating knowledge he now harnessed to his advantage. While he was publicly recognized for his interest in art and antiques, particularly relics from ancient eras, his darker pursuits remained concealed, known to only a select few.

Suddenly, a resounding knock reverberated through the room. Anubis’s acute senses detected something amiss—the unmistakable scent of fear. The sound of a quiet growl filled the air as he commanded, “Enter.”

The aging servant opened the door, ushering in a middle-aged thug clad in simple leather armor and a dark hooded cape. Though his demeanor projected confidence and experience, uncertainty danced within his eyes.

Anubis gestured for the servant to depart. He fixed his golden gaze on the mercenary.

“Speak.”

The man moistened his lips with his tongue before finding the right words and courage to speak.

“The exchange was a failure, sir. We…”

He stammered as the resounding growl and the scraping of a claw on the glass reached his ears. The thug understood all too well the gravity of disappointing the Bad Wolf, a notorious figure in the underworld with interests spanning from stolen art to kidnapping, murder, and human trafficking. While rewarding those who delivered, failure incurred a harsher fate—disappearance.

After a seemingly endless silence, the thug continued, his voice quivering.

“You tasked me with extracting the goods from a mercenary group. However, when I came to the meeting point, only two men showed up, claiming that their entire squad had been slaughtered, and the goods taken, sir.”

Anubis’s eyes narrowed as he sensed the stench of lies and fear from miles away. The messenger was telling the truth. Gnashing his teeth, his mind started racing.

Could someone else try to get the reward? Everyone in the kingdom, particularly those interested, was aware of it. However, it was no simple task. It took him months and a considerable amount of gold to locate the bard, as he called himself now. He must get him back as soon as possible.

He pierced the thug with his golden eyes.

“Those two survivors came with you, correct?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Send them here and get lost. You are not getting a single coin from me.”

“Sure, sir. I-I understand.”

The thug bowed and left the room. He didn’t care about the money. Years later, he would tell stories about how he messed up a simple task for the Bad Wolf and survived.

As the jackal emptied his glass, his grip tightened until it cracked. His greatest concern was whether the wrongdoer comprehended the formidable opponent they were facing and if it was intentional. Anubis had amassed a collection of enemies, but did anyone possess the audacity to oppose him? Or was there an unrelated situation occurring? He needed to talk to those thugs and see what he could find out. Depending on the situation, the next step was to recruit a more capable individual for the job at hand.

Moments later, Chuma and Mok’Ar stood in front of the Bad Wolf himself, something they would have never dreamed about, explaining how they found dead members of their squad. Two at the entrance, their necks twisted, the rest deep in the cave, their bodies torn apart, faces unrecognizable.

Initially skeptical, Anubis soon realized that the palpable fear, the hesitant tones, and the halting recollection didn’t lie. Someone very capable massacred a group of skilled mercenaries and took the bard. It wasn’t a coincidence. The clock was ticking.

♦♦♦

“So, you two are a couple? You fit very well together,” Joaquin remarked as Red handed him a flask of water.

His fatigue was visible. Following his rescue, they had been making slow progress through the woods, and the sun’s position showed it was late morning, approaching midday.

A chuckle escaped Red’s lips at Joaquin’s question. In contrast, Dave shot him a stern glance.

“I liked you more when you kept your mouth shut, bard,” he uttered.

“So you like me already? That’s a good sign.”

“Don’t provoke him, Joaquin. But you could be nicer, Dave.”

She took the bottle from the bard’s hand and stashed it in her shoulder bag.

“Also, it’s almost lunchtime; we could take a break.”

With those words, she sat down and leaned her back against the nearest tree.

“I’ll go fetch some berries. Will you be alright with him?” Dave said and gestured with his head towards Joaquin, who had just settled down a few steps away from her.

As she removed her hooded cape, she could feel the weight of the world lift off her shoulders, and she unbuttoned a few buttons on her worn-out, once-white shirt for some much-needed comfort.

“I can handle a young man, don’t worry.”

Dave nodded, his attention captivated by the pale, smooth skin of Red’s neckline. Realizing his gaze, he turned on his heel and disappeared among the trees.

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“Now, I’m confused. I thought it offended him when I called you two a couple; now, this stare was…”

“We are not a couple,” she cut off his melodic speech, her voice calm. “We are just travel companions, mere travel friends. Nothing more.”

“And that stare?”

He raised his eyebrows and moved closer to her.

“You’ve seen what wasn’t there, Joaquin. Still, he is a man attracted to women, and he has his needs. And I’m a woman. Besides, are you not staring right now?”

She glanced at him with a mysterious gleam in her eyes.

“I-I wouldn’t dare to,” he stammered. “Sometimes, my eyes act beyond my control.”

She waved her head, smiling and leaning on the tree with shut eyes, basking in the sun’s warmth.

Joaquin examined her features. She didn’t resemble a warrior, thief, or an adventurer. Her skin was too smooth for such endeavors. Facial features appeared young and unburdened. He couldn’t imagine her being older than eighteen. Even that seemed like much.

The calm breaths she was taking accentuated her firm, ample breasts, barely concealed by her unbuttoned shirt. He let out a sigh.

Those eyes…

Despite his youth, he had witnessed many wise eyes. Yet none were quite like her rich, chocolate-colored ones. Their mysterious glow, the sincerity within them, and the wit they carried all intrigued him. She even moved and spoke differently. As a graceful fairy.

As for her traveling companion, Dave, he seemed equally suspicious. Tall, muscular with a sharp face, he moved through the forest as though it were his home, exuding a relaxed air, an aura of leadership that stemmed from knowing where each step would take him.

A ranger, perhaps?

Dave must be a formidable and skilled fighter. He had single-handedly dealt with those bandits earlier. Joaquin doubted Red had contributed much to that endeavor. He vividly remembered the sight of Dave washing his bloodied hands earlier in the morning. Strangely, Dave carried no sword, bow, or any visible weapon. Briefly, the bard doubted the wisdom of engaging with these mysterious figures. But those doubts soon melted away. This was precisely what he had dreamed of, mysterious strangers to fuel his artistic journey, inspiring countless stories he could sing.

Engrossed in his thoughts, Joaquin failed to notice Dave’s return until Red’s velvety voice interrupted his daydreaming.

“Wild strawberries?”

From the depths of his sleeveless shirt, Dave pulled out a handful of them and handed them to her, offering the rest to Joaquin.

“Thank you,” he said, his face playing with confusion. “Are you not hungry?”

“I helped myself right at the source.”

Dave casually reached into his pocket, fishing out a pack of cigarettes as he glanced at him.

“So, Joaquin,” Red interrupted. “Do you know any fascinating songs, tales, or legends?”

A chuckle escaped Joaquin’s lips, the remnants of the berries staining them red.

“What kind of question is that, lady Red? Of course, I do. I know many tales transformed into songs. Romantic, adventurous, even terrifying. Whatever your heart desires, I can sing.”

At first, he straightened his back in a cocky posture, but then his face clouded and his voice grew somber.

“But what’s a song without music? Those thugs broke my lute as I tried to escape them. They tore my vest and ruined the rest of my attire. I resemble a homeless man, with no gold to spare for a new instrument…”

He let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. Slowly, he chewed on the berries, his gaze fixed on the ground.

Red and Dave exchanged a silent stare. Neither understood how much the bard’s lute meant to him, or the depths of his despair. His journey had been a dream, albeit challenging to begin, risking far more than they could imagine. Yet, Joaquin was no weak-hearted man. He would rise, acquire a new lute, and continue his travels. A wide smile spread across his face.

“You shake off quickly,” Red remarked as she stood up and stretched, her brown leather trousers emitting a slight creak.

The bard’s eyes were drawn to her full, heart-shaped derriere, adorned by a loose belt on her left hip and a small dagger on the right.

Instantaneously, he sensed the pressure of a gaze upon him. Their eyes locked, and a shiver coursed down Joaquin’s spine as he was trapped by the intense force of Dave’s stare. The bard bit his lip, forcing a smile as he scratched his chin and stood up, matching Red’s pace.

This time, Red took the lead, Joaquin following, and Dave maintained a distance at the rear.

The forest grew hushed; only the faint sounds of a far birdsong reached their ears, and even that eventually fell silent as they drew closer. The only sounds that accompanied them were the rustling of their footsteps over fallen leaves and the occasional crackling of twigs underfoot.

After walking like this for an hour, Red hummed a melody. Joaquin’s heart swelled with joy. He listened for a while, and recognizing the tune, began to sing. It was an age-old lullaby. Not that he had ever heard a lullaby from his mother or father. Red showed no signs of discomfort with his impromptu serenade. If anything, she slowed her pace so they could walk side by side.

When he finished singing, she smiled at him, her bag resting against her side, carrying her red hooded cape.

“You can sing very well.”

“Oh, lady Red, that was a mere nursery rhyme, not an actual song,” he said with a tone filled with confidence and good cheer.

“So, sing me an actual song, bard. Perhaps one about adventure or treasures.”

“Treasures?”

He raised an eyebrow. Red instantly caught the suspicious glint in his dark eyes. She could see the gears turning in his head. He was sharper than she had initially thought.

“Joaquin, what do you think we do to earn a living?”

He cast a glance backward, but Dave had vanished from sight. As he redirected his gaze to Red, he shallowly breathed in.

Could they be Relic Raiders?

The notion fascinated Joaquin.

Relic Raiders operated in larger groups and had extensive connections with various merchant guilds. Yet, he had heard whispers of solitary individuals who ventured into ancient tombs, forgotten ruins, and deep caverns in pursuit of treasure. Did they have a specific reason for visiting the cave where he was held?

The absence of substantial equipment caught his attention and left him wondering. Red’s shoulder bag, while sizable, didn’t appear to contain the typical gear like hooks, ropes, and other implements used for such endeavors. Perhaps they had lost their equipment on some expedition, which would explain their ambush of the bandits. And Red, intentionally or not, had placed a noticeable emphasis on the word treasures. It seemed she desired him to recognize their identity.

“I must admit, I’ve been wondering about the identity of my saviors. Are you suggesting, lady Red, that you delve into dungeons and other perilous places in search of riches?”

She brushed her bangs aside as a breeze scattered them into her eyes.

“Not precisely, but to some extent, yes. We travel the land, seeking forgotten and intriguing locations, uncovering history, and occasionally, with a stroke of luck, discovering something valuable. Were you concerned that we might belong to some throat-cutting guild?”

“A tad. I’ve encountered numerous Relic Raiders on my travels, but none like you and Dave. Speaking about the devil, where is he?”

He cast another nervous glance around. Even though there was no trait of Dave, he sensed his lingering presence, his ever-watchful eye.

“We are not Relic Raiders. Although we have something in common, we don’t belong to any such guild. We just love to explore. And don’t worry about Dave, he can take care of himself. He went further ahead to scout. These woods are vast; it would be a miracle if only one bandit group had its hideout among the many caverns that are beneath our feet.”

With an agreeing nod, the bard rubbed his chin.

“I’ve heard many stories about these lands. Legends about how the underground river of dragon’s blood carved these caves and tunnels. I hope your companion will be all right.”

He took a quick look over his shoulder again. This feeling of being watched bothered him.

“A group of bandits might—”

“He’ll be fine,” she interjected, her voice sweet but firm. “Let me hear those stories you mentioned. I’ve never heard of them.”

Despite his swirling thoughts and unanswered questions, he couldn’t reject a beautiful woman’s request for a song.

Clearing his throat, Joaquin started singing. It took him some time to relax and find his rhythm. But as he dived deeper, the worry fell off. He and Red enjoyed songs and storytelling for the rest of the day. His manner of narrating was enthralling, his voice as sweet as honey, and his fervor for his craft intoxicating.

Red relived being a little girl again, listening to her grandmother’s tales. She also noted that each time her emotions flickered across her face, Joaquin altered his tone, eliciting laughter from her. He was genuinely considerate. And handsome. Her experiences with men were limited. Her parents had passed away when she was a baby, and she had been raised by her grandmother. Before she had any chance to meet another man, Dave swept into her life like a hurricane, forever changing its course. Since then, their fates have been intertwined, forever destined to be each other’s downfall.

♦♦♦

With each swift step, the fallen leaves crunched under her feet, releasing an earthy scent that filled the forest air. The dense canopy above allowed only slivers of moonlight to seep through, casting eerie shadows that seemed to dance alongside her.

Her eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in every detail. The moons cast a luminous glow upon the land, illuminating the ancient trees that stood like guardians, their twisted branches stretching out like ethereal hands. To her surprise, Joaquin, and Dave were nowhere in sight, leaving her feeling puzzled and alone. The night was alive with the symphony of owls and crickets, their calls, and chirrups filling the heavy silence with an otherworldly cadence. Each note of nature’s nocturnal choir resonated in her ears, amplifying her anxiety until it clenched her heart in an icy grip. When Dave was around, the world seemed to hold its breath.

Where are you, Dave?

Despite the tumult of her emotions, some invisible force compelled her forward, deeper into the forest’s enigmatic embrace. Before her loomed a distant, old hut, nestled between the trees like a forgotten relic of the past. Its timeworn timbers whispered secrets of ages gone by. Red knew this place intimately, for it was here that she had spent her childhood and teenage years under the watchful gaze of her wise grandmother. A faint light flickered in the small open window of the hut, teased by the wind’s capricious power.

Blanchette…

The voice called from within the depths of her memories, a distant echo that tugged at her mind. Red’s heart raced, and beads of sweat formed on her forehead, clinging to her like liquid diamonds. She clutched the edges of her red hooded cape, seeking solace in its familiar touch. When she stood at the door of the hut, she hesitated, caught between the haunting allure of the past and the uncertain present.

Did she desire to go inside? She knew the hut was empty now. Grandma was gone. Yet, someone must have lit that candle.

With a shaky hand, she reached for the doorknob. Its cold, rusty surface sent shivers down her spine. It had never been rusty when Grandma lived. As she pushed open the door, a heavy scent of blood filled her lungs, a nauseating miasma that threatened to overwhelm her. Her stomach twisted, and she had to lean on the wide-opened door, her eyes wide with shock. Covering her mouth and nose with her cape, she quickly surveyed the scene. Everything was a mess. Furniture was broken to pieces, and the walls and floor were covered in blood and fresh gore.

Blanchette.

The voice weakened, fading into her mind’s depths. With caution, Red advanced, her attention captivated by the bed at the room’s far end. There, a steaming cup of tea sat on the night table, next to grandma’s diary. Tears welled up in Red’s eyes, blurring her vision as she gasped, unable to take a breath. Her gaze fell on the torn-up body of her beloved grandmother, a sight too horrifying to comprehend.

She fell to her knees, her sobs wracking her body as the world twisted around her. In that moment of despair and inner turmoil, she caught the sound of his voice.

“Red…”

She turned back, her tear-stained eyes meeting the gaze of a wolf with dark silver fur and fierce golden eyes. It growled, baring its teeth, its snout smeared with fresh blood. As it moved closer to Red, she heard his deep voice calling her name again, rising above the sinister growling of the killer that had taken her grandma.

“Dave?”

Her voice was barely above a whisper, shaken, irritating the wolf facing her.

In her frozen state, her pulse was pounding in her ears. It was clear to her that there was nothing she could do. She was staring into the eyes of her Death.

“Red!” he yelled from some place far away.

“Where are you, Dave…” she whispered, and the moment a singular cold tear rolled down her cheek, the wolf lunged, aiming for her neck.

“Red!”