The archer stepped into full view, the sunlight dragging his shadow across the forest floor. His leather clothes clung to him, worn and patched in places, but not like anything Haise had seen before. The cut, the stitching, even the little gems and trinkets hanging from his belt, it all screamed something older. Cruder. Something straight out of a history book. Not modern. Not home.
The boy's grip on the bow stayed firm, the arrow never drifting from its mark. His face was sharp, a little too serious for someone who couldn't have been much older than Haise himself. Brown hair tangled across his forehead, wild and half damp from sweat. His eyes didn't waver. Not once.
Footsteps approached from somewhere behind the trees. He heard them before he saw the second figure, a man, taller, broader, moving with a rough edge that didn't need introduction.
"Lower your bow," the man said, his voice cutting through the tension like he'd done this a hundred times before. His sword rested loosely at his side, but the way his fingers curled around the hilt told Haise the weapon wouldn't stay lowered for long if things went bad. "He's just a kid."
The archer's shoulders twitched, his focus flicking toward the man. He hesitated, then finally let the bowstring slacken, though he didn't put the weapon away.
The man took a few more steps forward, his boots pressing into the damp earth, his eyes cutting over Haise like he was sizing up some half-broken thing someone had tossed aside.
"We don't have time for a long chat." His words came fast, rushed, like he was racing something Haise couldn't see. He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. "Name's Arno."
Haise started to speak, but Arno didn't give him the chance.
"Come on." Arno didn't wait for permission. He grabbed Haise by the arm and, with surprising ease, hoisted him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing more than a sack of grain. The sudden shift knocked the air right out of Haise's chest.
"Wait, hey, wait! What are you-" Haise squirmed, kicking his legs in protest. His fists pounded against Arno's back, not that it did any good. "Put me down! What the hell are you doing?"
Arno barely spared him a glance. "You want to die? No? Then shut up. We're hunted. They won't spare you just because you're confused."
Hunted?
The word sank into Haise's gut, sour and cold.
What kind of bad luck is this?
The archer, who still hadn't offered a name, ran alongside them, quick on his feet, moving like someone used to dodging tree roots and weaving through low branches. He glanced at Haise once, but whatever he wanted to say stayed behind his teeth.
The pounding rhythm of Arno's boots against the dirt filled Haise's ears, the rough jolt of each step rattling through his ribs. He couldn't tell where they were heading, just that the trees blurred past too quickly to track.
The noise came next.
A crack, branches snapping somewhere behind them, fast and sharp.
Then another.
Someone was gaining on them.
The archer cursed under his breath, picking up speed.
Arno's grip tightened. "Too close."
Haise twisted, trying to look over Arno's shoulder, but his stomach pitched with the sudden turn. Before he could get his bearings, something slammed down behind them with enough force to shake the ground.
Arno didn't hesitate. He dropped Haise roughly onto the dirt, the impact knocking the wind out of him. He barely got his elbows under himself before the clang of steel tore through the air.
Arno's sword caught the attacker's blade in a harsh cross, sparks spitting from the metal. The silver-clad man towering over him pressed down, his armor shining beneath the forest light.
Haise scrambled back, dragging himself across the grass, the breath burning in his throat.
The silver-armored man wasn't slow. His free hand shot out, clamping around Arno's throat, forcing him back against a tree with brutal speed. Bark cracked behind him, flecks of it snapping off under the pressure.
Arno's face twisted, muscles straining as he gripped the man's wrist, struggling to breathe.
"Get off-"
His knee jerked up, slamming into the man's side hard enough to make him stumble a step back, loosening his grip just enough for Arno to wrench free. He didn't waste it. His sword came up fast, cutting toward the man's head.
The silver soldier jerked back, just barely ducking the swipe, and countered low, his blade snapping toward Arno's leg in a sharp, mean arc.
Arno jumped, his body curling mid-air, both feet slamming down on the flat of the soldier's sword. The weight pinned it to the ground for half a breath.
Long enough.
Arno drove his own blade forward, fast and sure, the tip burying itself deep into the gap between the man's helmet and collar. The soldier spasmed, a wet, choking sound scraping out of his throat as Arno yanked the sword free.
The body crumpled, folding inward like the life had been scooped right out of it.
Haise couldn't pull his eyes away. His heart hammered in his chest, each pulse coming sharper, faster, as if his body still hadn't caught up to what he'd just seen.
Arno turned, his face unreadable, sweat clinging to his brow.
"Can you stand?"
Haise blinked, his mouth working around words that didn't quite form.
"What is happening?"
It came out more raw than he meant, a broken whisper laced with something too close to panic.
Arno's gaze flicked to him, not unkind, but distant, like he'd seen this before. "Questions later."
He grabbed Haise by the arm again and hauled him upright without waiting for an answer. His grip was firm but not rough this time. Haise stumbled into step, his legs shaky under him.
"The camp's close," Arno said, already pulling him along, already moving like the fight hadn't just rattled his bones. "We'll be safe there."
Safe. Sure. Haise wasn't sure he'd ever felt less safe in his life.