Sitting astride a galloping horse, a young girl held close to the figure she loved more than anything. They fled together, the horse's hooves pounding a frantic rhythm against the hard earth. In the distance behind them, screams and the clash of steel filled the air, a rising tide of chaos.
An arrow hissed through the sky.
It struck the horse with a sickening thud. The animal let out a pained, gurgling wheeze, its legs buckling. It crashed to the ground in a tangle of limbs and dust.
The man scooped the girl up, his grip firm on her hand, and dragged her toward the treeline. Her feet stumbled, her legs betraying her with sudden weakness. The sounds of clattering armor and shouting soldiers grew louder, closer. Without hesitation, he pulled her onto his back in a desperate piggyback carry and ran into the dark embrace of the forest.
He ran. They ran. Trees blurred past. Arrows whispered through the leaves around them, thudding into trunks. He dodged, weaved, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Until one arrow hit its mark.
It struck the side of the man who had so desperately tried to shield her. A choked sound escaped him. His stride broke. They tumbled together, falling, rolling down a steep, mossy slope in a painful cascade of limbs and rocks. He managed to twist in the air, wrapping himself around her, taking the brunt of the impacts.
When they reached the bottom, she rolled a short distance away from him. The fall had been kinder to her. For him, it was final. He lay broken, his body at an unnatural angle, his breathing shallow and wet.
She sobbed, the sound a raw gasp in the cold air. Sniffing back tears and blood from a cut on her lip, she crawled on scraped hands and knees toward her only source of love, protection, and kindness in a world that had just ended.
His hand, trembling slightly, rose to meet her. It brushed her bruised cheek, then cupped her crying face. The figure on the ground was fading, his face obscured not by shadow, but by something else. She could no longer remember his features, nor clearly recall the timbre of his voice. It was as if a strange static had replaced the memory, but the words he spoke were crystalline and clear.
"Run," the voice said, gentle yet urgent. "Run towards the twin moons. Seek out their benevolence, and do not look back."
"Our clan shall continue through you. You must be strong now."
"Walk the path that Mother Alisia has shaped for you, my dear child."
The voice seemed to grow stronger for a moment, clearer, more profound, as if imbued with a final, desperate love. Then, from the top of the ridge they had fallen from, a harsh, triumphant shout tore through the woods.
"WE FOUND HER!"
She ran. She did not look back. She did not dare to slow. She continued, the low-hanging twigs and brambles of the forest tearing at her soft legs and staining her cheeks with thin lines of blood. She stumbled over a root, fell hard, but scrambled back up, claws of desperation giving her strength. She could not afford to slow. She could not accept defeat. She had to go. Even if it hurt.
Behind her, the voices, the shouts, the blood-curdled screams, and the metallic cacophony of battle grew louder and louder, swallowing the forest in sound, until the terror of it all finally forced her awake.
***
Opening her eyes, she was met with the soft, flickering light from a campfire, a warm orange glow. Something rested under her head, a satchel used as a makeshift pillow. A long, heavy coat made of thick fur covered her body, trapping precious warmth. She pushed herself up from the lying position. Everything felt foreign and different. This was not the snow, not the hazard. She was inside a warm cave, next to a fire that radiated gentle heat. Looking past the dancing flames, she saw a boy. He wore heavy woolen trousers and only a simple short sleeve grey shirt that exposed his arms, which were crisscrossed with faint white scars. Something registered in her mind, but her thoughts were slow, thick with cold and exhaustion. He noticed her sudden movement.
"Lucid, she is awake," Alice said within his mind.
Looking up from his position tending the fire, he saw the person he had saved return to the world of the living. Her skin was impossibly pale, like polished alabaster, with a faint hint of pinkness at her cheeks and ears, perhaps from the fire's warmth. Her lips were soft, slightly parted, and a stark contrast to the severe set of her features. Her eyes, however, were what held him. They were a deep, dark, bottomless black, devoid of any immediate spark. Her hair, a cascade of inky black silk, was captivating. A single horn, not like the paired horns of the bovine demi-humans he had seen, protruded from the right side of her forehead. It was the same pale color as her skin, smooth and sharp, curving slightly backward. She carried an aura of profound sharpness, a silent, palpable warning that screamed, *Do not approach.*
He wanted to say something, but for a moment, he could not take his eyes off her. She was, in a word, captivating.
'Is she an Oni?' he wondered, the old tales surfacing in his memory.
"Lucid, stop dreaming. Say something," Alice's voice sounded, a bit irritated now, as if his unguarded thoughts had leaked something unpleasant for her to pick up on.
He bit his tongue, the small pain clearing his head slightly.
"Uh, hello," he said, the word almost stammering out.
She did not reply. She just watched him, her dark eyes reflecting the firelight.
Lucid brushed the back of his head awkwardly. "May I ask why you are out in such terrible clothing and in this harsh environment, no less?" he asked, genuinely confused.
Silence. It was quiet, the only sound the subtle pops and crackles of the campfire as dry twigs settled.
'Perhaps she is in no condition to speak,' he thought.
He remembered the wounded Mountain Wolf. Maybe she was the one who had inflicted that deep gash before being incapacitated by the cold or a counterattack. If so, she had done a great job. But looking at her now, he saw no weapon, no visible gear aside from the black traveling tunic and heavy cloak she had been wearing. They were now neatly folded beside her.
'What in the world...'
He brushed the thought aside. He stood up in a slow, deliberate motion, not wanting to startle her. The girl reacted instantly to his sudden movement. Her body tensed, a slight shift in her posture even while lying down, ready to spring into action.
Lucid, noticing, raised his hands slightly. "Relax. Relax. I made some tea," he said, trying to sound non-threatening.
On the edge of the campfire, a small metal pot had water boiling. He lifted the kettle carefully, but still managed to burn the tips of his fingers on the hot handle.
"Ouch, ouch, ouch," he hissed, shaking his hand.
He had only one metal mug. He did not hesitate to give it to her, pouring the hot herbal tea into it. It was the same blend he had at Karmen's and at the tavern. He hated tea, but at this point, he could not call himself a tea hater either. It was growing on him.
"Here. You must be cold," he said, offering the steaming mug.
She took the warm cup, her fingers brushing his. They were ice-cold. She did not drink. She only held it, staring into the dark liquid as if it reflected her own visage.
Lucid, thinking she was suspicious of him, said, "Relax, I do not poison people. It is not my style. If I wanted to kill you, I could have finished it while you were sleeping."
The silence that followed was heavier than before. That did not lighten the mood in any way. In fact, her dark eyes seemed to grow even more guarded, the tension in her shoulders tightening.
"I do not think that was the right thing to tell someone, Lucid," Alice cut in, her mental voice exasperated.
Lucid looked at the girl. He had removed her outer traveling tunic and cloak to dry them by the fire, leaving her in a simple, somewhat ragged crop top and shorts. The act of undressing an unconscious stranger, even for practical reasons, now felt like he had committed a grave sin.
He crouched in front of her, coming closer. He gently took the cup back from her fingers, his own brushing against hers again. She flinched slightly at the contact. He lifted the mug and took a long sip. The tea tasted bitter, minty, and earthy. He did not mind it.
"See?" he said after swallowing. "No poison."
He offered the mug back. She took it, holding it just as before, not drinking, looking at him with an utterly unreadable, indifferent expression.
'Maybe she hates tea,' he thought.
Then he remembered.
The tales of the Scattered Realms, the books he had skimmed in Karmen's study, mentioned various races. Among them were the Oni. They were descended from ancient demonic lineages. They lived on the harsh, forgotten edges of the realms, interacting little with others, keeping fiercely to themselves. They were said to be incredibly strong, tall, and could rival an Awakened human's power without needing to be Awakened themselves. And they were inherently, dangerously predatory. The books described them as evil in nature, at least that what the book described them as, beings who consumed human flesh and other living beings. They were feared by humans and most other races.
Realizing what he might have just brought into his cave, a deep, primal sense of fear coiled in his stomach. He had rescued something that, according to legend, could kill him at any moment without a second thought. The warm cave suddenly felt much smaller, and the comforting fire seemed to cast longer, more menacing shadows.