Chapter 1: The Slave's Escape
The moon watched from above, cold and uncaring, illuminating the forest in a pale, ghostly glow. Tall trees stood like giants around her, their twisted branches reaching for something they'd never find. The air felt heavy with bad energy—grief, death, and the stink of rotting leaves. Somewhere deeper in the darkness, the leftover scent of blood lingered. The whole forest seemed to pulse with menace. People whispered that corpses staggered up from the earth here, that monsters hunted for prey the way hungry children hunt for scraps.
She moved like a shadow—a small girl, maybe eight years old, weaving between tree trunks. Her clothes were barely more than scraps, pieces of fabric clinging to her body like they didn't want to let her go. Old scars and fresh wounds ran along her arms, legs, and back, proof that pain had been part of her life for too long. Bare feet struck roots and rocks again and again; each step hurt, but the pain felt ordinary now. She kept moving. Stopping wasn't even a question.
She didn't have a name. No one had ever bothered.
She'd entered the world at the wrong time, born to a family that had barely enough food and no hope. Folks around here saw children as burdens, something to get rid of. She was already considered dead weight when she was sold off for three coins. For two years, being a slave meant eating stale crumbs, working until blood caked her hands, and suffering every cruelty the world could invent. Sleep was rare, kindness nonexistent, and somewhere in her bones, she expected nothing better.
Until tonight.
Something had snapped in the world. The caravan carrying her and the other slaves was creeping past the Blackmist Forest's edge when disaster struck. Shadowfang Wolves—whose eyes glowed an eerie green—tore through the wagons as if they were made of paper. Screams filled the night. Guards and slave owners got shredded, and the chained slaves had nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. She, somehow, got lucky. When a wolf slammed into her wagon, her chains broke. Everything dissolved into chaos—blood, panic, death—and she slipped away, running for her life.
Now she kept running.
Her lungs felt like fire. Her legs were shaky, ready to give out. Every dark patch around her looked like it hid an animal ready to maul her. But inside, something new burned. Not fear, not resignation. Hope—a kind that felt wild and stubborn. Something whispered in her, urging her forward.
Freedom.
She had no plan, no direction, nothing but instinct. Stopping meant dying, she was sure of that much.
Then, a new sound—water rushing somewhere ahead. She fought her way through a thicket, ignoring branches scratching her skin, and stumbled into a clearing. A narrow river cut through the forest, the moonlight making it shimmer like liquid metal. The water's roar drowned out her racing thoughts. She dropped hard to her knees, nearly collapsing, and drank from the river with cupped hands. The cold water shocked her cracked lips and gave her a moment's relief.
But then she noticed she wasn't alone.
On a flat rock overlooking the river sat someone—a young man, probably not much older than twenty. He wore plain, dark robes; his long hair tied back but messy enough that loose strands framed his face. He held a fishing rod and seemed to belong to the forest, calm, almost casual, like none of the horror around them mattered.
He turned toward her.
She met his gaze, and something about his eyes caught her off guard. They were deep, quiet, and unnaturally intense, almost pressing the air around them. Neither spoke right away. She tensed and readied herself to run again. This was how it always went. Trust no one. Assume the worst. Her fists curled up, and she braced for pain.
But the man just watched her—a real, thoughtful look. He noticed her wounds, her clothes, the way she stared at him like every moment was a threat. A hint of a smile played at his lips, barely noticeable.
"Little one," his voice was soft and smooth, the kind of sound you wanted to hear just once in your life, "the forest isn't safe for rabbits wandering alone at night."
He set down his fishing rod and studied her.
"Are you lost, or is tonight the first time you've tasted freedom?"