Rain lashed against the canopy, the thick scent of wet earth clinging to the air. A lone figure dashed through the dense forest, his breath ragged, his feet sinking into the mud with each frantic step. The trees loomed around him like silent sentinels, their twisted branches clawing at his arms, tearing at his soaked clothing. Rain blurred his vision, but he couldn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
They were coming.
A flash of movement behind him—a shadow shifting between the trees. His pulse roared in his ears. He dared not look back. He pushed forward, weaving through the undergrowth, his lungs burning, his legs screaming in protest.
Then—a misstep.
A root, hidden beneath the rain-soaked leaves. His ankle twisted, and before he could catch himself, the ground disappeared beneath him.
He tumbled. Down, down, crashing through foliage, rolling over slick rocks. The impact knocked the air from his lungs, and then—darkness.
When he came to his sense, the rain had softened to a whisper, a distant murmur against the leaves. A dim glow flickered in the distance. He squinted through the gloom. A house? No—something older, something forgotten. Stone walls, covered in moss, barely standing against the weight of time.
Pain pulsed through his body, but he had no choice. He had to move. He dragged himself forward, each step a battle against exhaustion.
Inside, the air was thick and heavy, a mixture of damp wood and something else—something metallic. A single lantern flickered in the corner, casting jagged shadows across the walls. And then he saw it.
A figure sat in a high-backed chair, waiting.
Their face was concealed behind a mask—half porcelain white, half a chaotic dance of emerald and gold. They tapped their fingers against the armrest, slow and deliberate. The masked figure tilted their head, as if sensing his fear even from a distance. Then, in a voice smooth as silk yet laced with quiet menace, they spoke.
"He's close."
The man swallowed hard, his voice trembling. "Please... save me."
The masked figure rose, stepping closer. Their gaze, though hidden, seemed to pierce through him. Slowly, they reached out, helping the man to his feet.
"Come," they murmured. "I will help you hide."
Relief flooded the man's chest—but only for a moment.
A sharp pain bloomed in his stomach. His breath hitched. His body stiffened. With shaking hands, he turned his gaze downward, his eyes widening in shock. A knife. The masked figure had stabbed him.
"Wha—?" the man gasped, clutching at his own stomach where the blade now rested, buried deep.
Blood seeped through fabric. His fingers trembled over the wound.
"You... fucking... bastard," the man rasped, fury and betrayal woven into their voice. His hand shot out, seizing the masked by the throat, choking him.
The masked figure struggled, clawing at the man's hand, gasping for air—
Then, a sudden impact. A heavy blow struck the man's head. His grip loosened. His body wavered.
And then, He collapsed to the ground.