The trio hurried through the forest, running away from the elders search, those old men were still searching for them, and they weren't safe, not yet.
"Are they still after us?" Scar asked, running even faster. He was suddenly thankful for his bulk, it allowed him carry Old Han easily.
Orin nodded slightly as he gritted his teeth, running alongside Scar.
"We can't outrun them, we need to hide." Orin said.
Scar nodded, sweat painting his face as his mind ran wild.
A short while later, Scar suddenly spoke again. "Ah, boss! I know somewhere!"
Orin's eyes lit up. "Where?"
"It's a cave, just around the corner."
Orin nodded and they continued their flight.
They soon arrived at the cave and Scar quickly led them in, then they shut the entrance with a boulder, sealing the entrance.
Orin panted, his energy was sapped. What a day this was.
Orin crouched in the cave's damp gloom, the air thick with the scent of moss and earth. Scar knelt beside him, pressing a torn strip of cloth against Old Han's chest—blood seeped through, slow but steady, staining the fabric.
The old man's breaths came shallow, each one a faint rasp against the drip of water from the cave's jagged ceiling. Outside, the forest trembled faintly—aftershocks from the crater Orin had carved hours ago, a scar on the earth that marked their escape.
"They are still out there," Scar whispered, his voice low, his eyes darting to the cave mouth where vines hung like a frail curtain.
"I heard them earlier—shouting, searching."
Orin nodded, his gaze fixed on Old Han. The elders' qi had flared in the distance at dusk—purple pulses cutting through the trees—but now, hours into the night, only faint rustles broke the silence.
"They will not give up easily," he said, voice steady despite the ache in his limbs. "We have to stay here until it is safe."
Scar frowned, adjusting the cloth on Old Han's chest. "Safe? We have no food, no herbs—nothing. He is hurt badly," Orin looked at him.
Orin sighed, it was with mixed feelings, a bitter sigh coming off it. "Staying in the village would be a lot tougher than it is now..."
Scar nodded, understanding his thoughts. They might have to leave sooner than later.
Old Han stirred, a weak groan escaping his cracked lips. His eyes fluttered open, clouded with pain.
"I have survived worse," he rasped, his voice barely above a whisper. "Do not fuss over me, boy. Focus on staying alive."
Orin's jaw tightened. Old Han's bravado rang hollow—his skin was pale, sweat beading on his brow, blood pooling beneath him. Without herbs or proper care, he would not last long.
"We need supplies," Orin said, rising to a crouch. "I will go. The village outskirts are not far."
Scar's head snapped up, panic flashing in his bruised eyes. "You cannot! The elders are hunting you—they will catch you!"
"I will be quick," Orin replied, his tone firm. "Stay with him. Keep him still." He pulled his hood up, shadowing his face, and crept to the cave mouth, peering through the vines.
The forest lay dark and still—no purple qi, no voices. He waited, ears straining, until he was certain the elders were not near. Then he slipped out, a silent figure swallowed by the trees.
He darted through the forest, swift and nimble, he was running on his feet, his leg barely touching the floor. He was as silent as the wind.
The village outskirts loomed within the hour—ramshackle huts glowing faintly with lantern light, the murmur of voices drifting on the wind. Orin kept low, his hood drawn tight, and he quietly approached a stall at the edge—a grizzled man selling bread and dried meat.
"Two loaves, and some meat," Orin said, sliding a few chipped coins across the rough wood.
Orin bent his head, hiding it even more under the hood, so that the man wouldn't see his face.
However, this was night and the man was more suspecting than usual.
The man's eyes narrowed, peering under the hood. "You are..." he muttered, staring at Orin, then he shook his head, no speaking. He shoved the coins back.
"No sale. Get lost."
Orin exhaled, pocketing the coins. He didn't want to push it, before the man got angry and raised alarm, that would be worse.
"I only need food," he said, voice calm but edged. "Name your price."
"Price?" The man barked a laugh, loud enough to draw eyes from nearby huts. This caused Feng's heart to skip a beat.
"No price for a demon! Go back to your hole!" He waved a hand, and others started to gather—villagers, their faces twisted with suspicion.
A stone sailed past Orin's shoulder, then another struck his arm, sharp pain blooming. He turned, hood still up, and strode away, steps quickening as jeers followed—"Freak!" "Cursed runt!"
The sales man arranged his bread properly, not caring. "No bread for demons..." He whispered.
Orin inhaled deeply, at least these people didn't know that the elders were after him, else they would alert those oldies already. He looked at the bright side of it, this could get worse.
More stones flew, one clipping his hood, nearly tearing it off. Orin gritted his teeth, breaking into a run toward the forest's edge, their shouts fading behind him.
But the forest offered no reprieve. Except it's calm and quiet, he was free from the villagers.
Orin started trudging slowly, not eager to get back to the forest. His head was down, his thoughts running wild as he walked slowly.
A group emerged from the trees—women carrying baskets of herbs, men hauling sacks of meat and game from a hunt, their chatter halted as they spotted him.
A burly man with a deer slung over his shoulder stepped forward, smirking. "Look who it is—the crippled child. Lost your way?"
Orin kept moving, head down. "I want no trouble," he said, voice low.
"Let me pass."
"Pass?" A woman sneered, dropping her herbs to block him.
"Is that how to speak to elders?!"
She shoved him—hard. Orin stumbled, and the man swung a fist, meaty knuckles grazing his jaw.
Enough.
Orin ducked the next blow, his hood slipping as he moved slickly.
Orin's eyes sparkled, rage suddenly driving through his blood. They wouldn't help him, yet they wouldn't leave him alone.
He drove his elbow into the man's gut, sending just enough power to cause severe pain.
The hunter doubled over, gasping, and Orin spun, the woman wasn't going free too.
He grabbed her arm, twisting it until she dropped her basket. He stared at the herbs that spilled, he could really use these.
He scooped them up. The others rushed him—fists, kicks, shouts—but he was faster, his wiry frame weaving through.
He was into it now, when life threw these situations at him, he could use a little Robbenhood.
He snatched a sack of meat, a haunch of game, every scrap he could grab, and bolted, their yells chasing him into the undergrowth.
The noise swelled, then footsteps thudded, heavier, more ordered. Orin paused, then quickly ducked behind a thick oak, holding his breath as he faded into the night light.
He listened as voices rose—angry, distorted. "He attacked us!" the burly man shouted. "Stole everything—beat us bloody!" A woman wailed,
"He's mad—cursed—came at us unexpected, swinging a stick!"
Orin's stomach twisted. Lies—filthy lies—
But the new arrivals didn't question it. "Spread out!" a gruff voice barked— it was a male, older, and carrying a spear. "The elders want him found—dead or alive!"
Lanterns flickered, boots ran—vigilantes, armed and eager, fanned into the forest.
They were all after the boy with the crippled spirit vein.
Orin pulled his hood tighter, slipping deeper into the shadows, his heart pounded as he traced his way back. The cave loomed ahead, it's vines swaying faintly.
Orin slid inside, dropping the stolen goods—herbs, meat, a bruised haunch. Scar looked up, a grateful expression flying across his face.
Orin nodded, his breath ragged. " We have to be even more careful now, I saw vigilantes, the elders sent them. They are scouring the forest now."
He knelt by Old Han, pressing herbs against the old man's chest.
He didn't know what to do with them, Old Han would have to do the work by himself. At least, the herbs had to have a little importance.
"We have to stay here—quiet. Once he is well, we would leave."
Old Han's eyes cracked open, a faint grin tugging his bloodied lips.
"Keep that head down."
Scar swallowed, glancing at the cave mouth. "How long can we hide? They will find us eventually."Orin's gaze hardened, hands steadying Old Han.
"As long as it takes. We survive this—together."Outside, lanterns bobbed closer, voices murmuring—vigilantes circling, relentless.