People think monsters announce themselves with noise.
They are wrong.
The most dangerous ones arrive quietly, with eyes that understand exactly what they are doing and why.
I sensed him long before I saw him.
Not through sound—though the forest was unnaturally still—but through absence. The kind of absence that forms when something moves with intent rather than instinct. No broken branches. No disturbed ground. Just… pressure.
I stopped walking.
The road ahead curved gently to the left, framed by dead trees stripped bare by something older than weather. Moonlight filtered weakly through the branches, painting the dirt in pale streaks.
I lowered my spear slightly.
"Come out," I said.
My voice sounded calmer than I felt.
For a long moment, nothing happened.
Then a man stepped onto the path.
He was human. Completely.
No twisted limbs. No unnatural aura. No corruption crawling under the skin. He wore worn armor patched carefully rather than replaced, a sign of someone who valued survival over pride. A sword rested at his side, not drawn, but close enough to be honest.
He did not look afraid.
That alone made him different.
"I was wondering when you'd notice," he said. His tone was conversational, almost tired. "You walk like someone who expects to be attacked. That makes you predictable."
I did not respond.
Words invite closeness.
Closeness invites mistakes.
He studied me openly, eyes flicking briefly to the mark on my skin before returning to my face. No flinch. No sharp intake of breath. Just… assessment.
"You're Arlott," he said.
The way he spoke my name startled me.
Not because it was loud—but because it wasn't.
"You shouldn't follow me," I replied.
"Wasn't planning to," he said. "I was planning to stop you."
The statement carried no anger. No righteousness. Just intent.
I shifted my stance slightly, spear angled forward.
"Why?"
He exhaled slowly. "Because you leave the same thing behind, every time."
"Bodies?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Questions."
That answer unsettled me more than any threat.
"I'm not here for vengeance," he continued. "Or justice. Or whatever word people like to pretend makes killing cleaner. I'm here because wherever you go, things escalate. Monsters get worse. Orders tighten their grip. People start believing fear is the only answer."
I felt something tighten in my chest.
"That isn't my doing."
"No," he agreed. "But it follows you."
Silence stretched between us.
I could end this quickly. He was skilled—I could see it in the way he balanced his weight—but he was still human. Flesh. Bone. Finite.
The thing inside me stirred faintly, already calculating outcomes.
I resisted it.
"This isn't your fight," I said.
He met my gaze without hesitation. "That's the problem. It became everyone's fight the moment people like you were turned into solutions."
The words struck deeper than I expected.
People like you.
Not demon. Not monster.
You.
"You don't know me," I said.
He smiled faintly. Not mockery. Sadness.
"I know exactly enough."
He drew his sword.
So did I.
The clash was immediate, metal striking metal with a sharp ring that echoed through the trees. He moved with discipline, not desperation. Each strike was measured, controlled. He wasn't testing me.
He was pushing.
I parried, stepped back, countered. Sparks flew as blade scraped against spear shaft. He adjusted quickly, shifting angles, forcing me to reposition.
He was good.
Better than most.
"You hesitate," he said mid-exchange, breath steady. "You didn't with the beast."
My jaw tightened.
"How do you know that?"
"Because beasts don't look back after killing," he replied. "You do."
The next strike came faster, harder. I barely blocked in time, the impact rattling my arms. I retaliated with a sweeping thrust aimed at his shoulder. He twisted away, blade flashing, cutting across my side.
Pain flared.
Good.
It meant I was still human enough to feel it.
We broke apart briefly, circling.
"Why?" I asked finally. "Why are you really here?"
He hesitated.
Just for a moment.
"I watched you kill a man once," he said.
The forest seemed to freeze.
"He was a deserter," the man continued quietly. "Ran from the Order. He begged you. Told you he'd disappear. That no one would ever see him again."
My grip tightened unconsciously.
"He was lying," I said.
"Maybe," the man replied. "But you didn't even consider it."
I remembered that night.
Rain. Mud. A man shaking so badly he could barely stand.
I remembered the ease with which it ended.
"That was my duty."
"And this?" the man asked, gesturing between us. "Is this duty too?"
I stepped forward without thinking, spear flashing in a precise arc. He blocked, countered, forced me back. Steel sang through the air as we exchanged blows, neither gaining ground.
"You think stopping me changes anything?" I snapped. "The world won't become kinder because I disappear."
"No," he said. "But maybe it'll hesitate."
I struck again, harder this time. The thing inside me surged eagerly, sensing resistance. I allowed a fraction of it through—just enough to break his guard.
He stumbled back, barely catching himself.
Blood trickled from his lip.
He laughed softly.
"There it is," he murmured. "That certainty."
I froze.
"What?"
"That look," he said, wiping the blood away. "Like you've already decided how this ends."
He was right.
I had.
And that realization made something twist violently in my chest.
I advanced again, movements faster, sharper, guided by instinct refined through countless fights. He defended desperately now, retreating step by step.
His sword slipped.
I didn't hesitate.
The spear pierced his chest cleanly.
He gasped, eyes wide—not in surprise, but understanding.
I held him there, impaled, feeling his weight sag against the shaft. Warm blood coated my hands.
The forest was silent.
Slowly, he reached up and gripped my wrist—not to stop me, but to steady himself.
"You see?" he whispered. "You chose."
I looked into his eyes.
They weren't afraid.
They were disappointed.
The spear shook in my hands.
That had never happened before.
"I didn't come to win," he said weakly. "I came to see… if you could stop."
The thing inside me urged completion. Finish it. End the uncertainty.
I didn't.
I pulled the spear free.
He collapsed to his knees, gasping, clutching the wound. Blood poured freely. He would die if left like this.
I knelt.
That shocked both of us.
I pressed my hand against the wound, focusing, forcing the darker energy into control rather than destruction. The pain in my chest intensified as I fought the instinct to let go.
"Why?" he rasped.
I didn't have a clean answer.
"Because killing you proves nothing," I said finally. "And letting you live terrifies me more."
He laughed weakly.
"Good," he said. "Fear means you still care."
When it was done, he slumped unconscious but breathing, alive for now. I stood slowly, staring down at him.
For the first time in years, my hands were shaking.
Not from loss of control.
From choice.
As I turned away, leaving him hidden among the trees where others might find him, I felt it—the shift. Something subtle but irreversible.
I was no longer just reacting to the world.
I was answering it.
And that meant I would eventually have to face the people who taught me not to hesitate.