The fire crackled softly, casting a warm glow over their faces. Lyra and Alex sat by the flames, preparing a simple meal from the herbs and fish they had gathered earlier. There wasn't much daylight left — shadows thickened around them, and the sky gradually darkened.
Suddenly, Alex heard a snap.
He instinctively turned his head… but it was already too late.
A man leaped from behind a rocky outcrop. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but the way he moved, the sword at his side, and the cold, contemptuous smirk — left no doubt.
A slave hunter.
— "Finally, I have you," he hissed, drawing his blade. "I've chased you for a long time."
Before they could react, he lunged. Alex heard another sound from behind — a soft step, a snapping twig, someone's muffled grunt.
The hunter struck first — with a fury Alex hadn't expected. Everything happened in a blink: Lyra dove aside to avoid the blow, and Alex was slammed to the ground by one of the two guards who accompanied the attacker.
The hit knocked the breath out of him. He collapsed with a dull groan, eyes stinging with tears. He tried to gasp for air, but another punch to his diaphragm left him writhing silently in pain. He lay on the ground, defeated before he could even raise a hand.
One of the guards drove a knee into his back and roughly tied his hands with a coarse, filthy rope. Alex struggled, but he was too weak to resist. Through a haze of pain, he saw the hunter approaching Lyra.
The elf reached for her dagger and struck. Her movements were fast, precise — like a seasoned predator. But the hunter anticipated her every move. He blocked her attacks with disturbing ease, moving with the confidence of someone for whom battle was second nature.
— "Your strikes are laughably predictable, elf," he snarled. "I've fought many of your kind... They all end the same — on their knees, in chains."
Lyra gritted her teeth and launched into a fresh assault. Their weapons clashed with the sound of metal and sparks. They danced around the fire — she with fluid grace, he with ruthless efficiency. Steel clanged against steel, lighting the darkness with fleeting flashes.
— "You thought you could escape?" he growled, countering her strikes with brutal force. "Your place is in chains. All elves end up there."
— "You're weaker," he added with a sneer, pressing harder.
Lyra answered with rage and determination. Every move was a fight for life — for her freedom and for Alex. Her eyes were focused, cold, full of fury. She fought without mercy.
The clash of blades filled the night. Their duel was a dance of death — precise, swift, and merciless. With each strike, the tension grew. Each step could be the last.
The hunter's smirk never faded — he took perverse pleasure in the fight. He mocked her, provoked her, testing how much strength she had left.
— "Sooner or later, you'll fall. Just like the rest," he snarled. "And your companion… well, his fate depends solely on me. And it won't be pleasant." He spat.
Neither of them backed down. Fire, night, and a growing sense of dread surrounded them. Their blades collided in a rhythm that echoed impending tragedy.
The fight continued — each strike testing not just skill but willpower. Neither yielded. Their deadly dance moved in the rhythm of steel and the flickering flames of the campfire. The outcome remained uncertain.
Alex lay bound like cargo meant for trade — facedown in the dirt, as if he were nothing more than a shipment. When the guard stood, ready to aid his master, Lyra made a move no one expected.
She spun, slipped under his arm, and drove her dagger into his armpit — with precision and wild resolve. The man howled and dropped to his knees, choked by pain. Lyra didn't give him time to recover. She pulled out the blade and plunged it into his throat, slashing it with a wet, sickening sound. A crimson fountain sprayed across the sand. The guard collapsed, gurgling, hands clutching his bleeding neck as life poured out. A dark puddle spread before him.
The second guard screamed and drew his sword.
And the hunter lunged at Lyra.
— "Kill her! Stop playing around!" the guard roared at the hunter.
Lyra tried to fight back, but the hunter crashed into her with such force that she was nearly knocked off her feet. He slammed her against a stone wall.
He punched her in the side of the head, disarmed her, and threw her to the ground.
She lay on her back, the world spinning around her, breathing heavily, dazed and defeated.
Alex still lay in the sand, bound. His breathing was shallow, mouth full of dust and blood.
His heart pounded like a war drum. He wanted to scream. To leap into the fight. But his body was useless.
The hunter grabbed Lyra by the hair and forced her face into the dirt. The blade in his hand rose high.
— "Since you won't submit… we end this now."
The sword whistled through the air.
And then Alex screamed.
Fear, despair, and panicked fury tore from his throat. He couldn't lose her.
His fingers clenched in the sand.
The ground trembled.
The earth cracked with a deep boom, and from its depths shot up thorned vines — thick, dark, bristling with spikes. They erupted from beneath Alex's hands, lashing through the sand like living whips.
The hunter turned — too late.
The thorns wrapped around his torso and arms, slamming him to the ground, immobilizing him completely. He roared in helpless rage, thrashing among the writhing vines.
— "Filthy mage!" he bellowed in disgust. "KILL HIM! FINISH HIM!" he screamed at the last guard.
Lyra, spared by Alex's magic, didn't hesitate. She saw her chance. She grabbed the hunter's sword lying nearby and, with a cry, plunged it into his gut. The blade ripped through flesh, muscle, organs. She dragged it upward, nearly slicing him in half.
His intestines spilled out in a steaming, bloody mass. The hunter's scream tore through the night and echoed off the rocks. His eyes widened in horror as he watched his guts spill from his belly. Then the light in his eyes faded.
The guard standing nearby watched it all unfold with growing terror. He backed away. One step. Then another.
And one step too far.
Beyond the barrier.
Past the line of protection.
From the darkness, figures emerged.
Demons that had been waiting for a mistake. They'd watched the fight in silence, lurking at the edge. Waiting.
When the guard crossed the line — they pounced.
He didn't even have time to scream. They swarmed him with fury — tearing, ripping him apart piece by piece, bones snapping. His armor meant nothing against their superhuman strength, claws, and razor-sharp teeth. His screams rang through the air, filled with unimaginable agony.
Alex watched everything as if through a thick fog. The world trembled.
The vines he had summoned began to wither. The thorns slowly drooped.
Moments later, they evaporated, leaving no trace. The hunter's corpse dropped to the ground with a dull thud.
Strength drained from his body.
With effort, he lifted his head.
Lyra was alive.
And she was looking at him… differently. In her eyes was no awe — but something deeper.
His eyes closed.