"Ugh..."
Why does my head hurt so much?
As I opened my eyes, I was blinded by light—sunlight, warm and vivid. It poured from above like golden rain, and as my vision slowly adjusted, I found myself lying on soft green grass under a wide, open sky. Surrounding me was an endless plain of swaying fields, wildflowers in full bloom, and a few scattered trees reaching lazily toward the heavens.
A breeze passed through—cool and crisp. I could tell it was afternoon by the sun's position overhead.
I sat up slowly. No pain. No thirst. No hunger. It was as if I'd been healed during sleep.
But how?
What about the mirror?
The door?
The darkness?
Who am I?
The questions rose like smoke in my chest, choking and thick—but they vanished just as quickly when I noticed movement in the grass nearby.
A rustle.
I froze, instincts kicking in. Predator? Something stalking me?
But then I spotted legs—small, human—hidden in the tall grass. Quietly, I crept forward and pushed past the last curtain of green.
There she was.
A girl, crouched low.
About my age.
Blonde hair tucked under a green helmet. Green eyes. Medium skin. A camo shirt covered in pockets.
She saw me and reacted instantly—her hand darted into one of her pockets and pulled out a knife, eyes filled with suspicion.
I raised my hands in the air.
"I mean no harm."
She studied me. Her eyes didn't leave mine for several seconds before she spoke, voice low and cautious:
"Who are you?"
We understood each other. That was something.
But what do I say?
I didn't know my name. I couldn't even remember my face until the mirror showed it to me. If I made one up, I'd be stuck with it. Still, saying "I don't know" might make her more suspicious.
I took a risk.
"I'm Lance. And you?"
She hesitated before answering.
"Sunflower."
"Sunflower?" I echoed, surprised.
She whispered sharply, "Shh! You shouldn't be here. Be quiet or you'll scare the food away!"
Food.
She was hunting.
I nodded and followed as she started moving again—crouched, slow, silent. I mirrored her movements. She raised a hand to signal me to stop. I froze.
She moved ahead.
Suddenly, I heard a sharp scream—a shrill, dying cry. I sprang to my feet and rushed to her.
When I reached her, she was holding two chickens, blood gushing from their slit necks, their bodies still twitching. With swift precision, she ended their suffering.
"Damn it," she muttered, frustrated. "Only two again."
Then she turned, pointing a bloody finger at me.
"It's your fault. You wasted my time."
"My fault?" I snapped. "You're the one who started asking questions. That wasted your own time."
Her glare was sharp. "You expect me to just ignore a stranger wandering around?"
We stared each other down, both breathing heavily. But eventually, the tension eased. Arguing was pointless.
She changed the subject.
"Where are you from?"
I hesitated, then tried to weave a lie with truth.
"I don't remember. I left when I was very young."
She seemed satisfied—for now.
"Do you have a place to live?"
"Not at the moment," I answered honestly.
She paused. Then:
"It's almost dark. You can come to my village. For now."
I nodded, grateful. But behind her calm offer, something stirred in her eyes.
He doesn't know his town and picked a fake name. He could be dangerous. I should kill him now—but I don't have traps, tools, or terrain advantage. His clothes aren't survival-ready, yet he's survived. That's not luck. That's skill.
I thought he wanted my chickens—but he never tried to take them. So what's he after? My village? Maybe. If I hadn't invited him, he might've followed me and ambushed the chief. But now… now he's under watch.
When we get there, I'll signal the chief. If he's a threat, we'll eliminate him.
Her mind raced with suspicion, strategy, and survival.
Lance had no idea the battle she was already preparing.
...
"How much longer?" Lance asked, panting lightly. "We've been walking for an hour."
Sunflower didn't slow her pace. "Do you expect us to build our village out in the open? Where it can become an easy target?"
The sun sank lower, washing the sky in shades of amber and crimson. Shadows stretched across the fields, and soon, darkness crept in fully.
Without a word, Sunflower reached into one of her many pockets and pulled out a small round object. She squeezed it silently.
A golden light radiated from the orb, casting a soft, circular glow around them—just enough to see the ground beneath their feet.
Lance looked at the orb, curious but cautious. Asking questions could make him seem suspicious. He didn't want to give Sunflower more reasons to distrust him—especially while she still carried that knife.
But just as he was debating whether to speak...
Sunflower stopped.
She squeezed the orb again, and the light faded into nothing. Pitch black returned.
Then—before Lance could even ask what was happening—Sunflower turned and kicked him in the face.
Thump!
"Ow! What the hell?!" Lance hit the ground, dazed. He blinked up in confusion—only to freeze.
A knife hovered inches from his throat.
Sunflower's face was still, her green eyes cold and unreadable.
The silence between them turned dense. Unbreakable.
Then she spoke, voice sharp as steel:
"Tell them to leave and I'll guarantee your life. Your freedom, however... is uncertain."
Them? Lance's thoughts raced. Are we being followed? Does she think I'm with them?
He opened his mouth to respond—only to realize he couldn't. No sound. Nothing. His voice had been cut off, like someone had muted reality.
Before he could panic, Sunflower grabbed him by the hair and lifted him—with one arm, holding him up like a trophy.
"Ow—dammit, let go!" Lance squirmed and shouted, but it made no difference. She wasn't letting go.
Then she shouted into the dark:
"It'll take one second to kill this man. If you want to save his life, come out. Both of you!"
The grass rustled.
Two figures emerged.
One was a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black coat, a scarf wrapped tight around his neck. Brown hair. Cold eyes. A revolver on his hip.
Beside him stood a woman in heels, also dressed in black. Long black hair, eyes a piercing violet, and another revolver on her thigh.
They said nothing.
Lance continued to groan in pain as Sunflower kept her grip tight.
The woman finally spoke, calm and deliberate:
"Drop him, or we'll be forced to respond in kind."
Sunflower dropped Lance. He hit the ground beside her.
"Fine," she said, never taking her eyes off the two. "But if he tries to move, I won't hesitate."
The brown-haired man smiled faintly. "Who might you be, miss?"
Sunflower sneered. "You think this is an interview? I've got the hostage. I'm the one asking questions."
Lance tried to speak: "Sunflower, I don't kn—"
But nothing came out. His voice was still gone.
What is this? he thought. Some kind of power? A spell? Why mute me? Are they using me as bait—to pressure her into slipping up?
No… Sunflower already doesn't trust me. That wouldn't work.
Then… they're trying to overextend her focus. Three directions to watch instead of two. Smart.
Sunflower pointed her knife toward Lance.
"Why were you following me? What do you want?"
Silence.
She drew her dagger and pressed it lightly to Lance's neck.
Still nothing.
The tension rose like a storm cloud, heavy and electric. No one moved.
Finally, the woman spoke.
"We were hired to locate your village. No one needs to get hurt. We're not here to kill—just to find it."
She glanced at Lance.
"You should also consider not hurting him."
Sunflower narrowed her eyes. "Why? Who hired you? What do they want?"
This time the man answered.
"Sorry. We don't reveal client information. Not part of the deal."
"Fine," Sunflower said. "How much did he pay you?"
The two exchanged glances, then chuckled—low, amused.
"I'm afraid we values loyalty more than gold," the woman said.
Sunflower sighed, half a smirk forming.
"Guess I tried to talk my way through."
The woman tilted her head, grin sharp. "And what's that supposed to mean?"
BAAM!
The ground shattered.
Dirt exploded upward, a cloud of dust filling the air.
When the smoke cleared, the brown-haired man lay broken in a crater, blood pouring from his mouth, coughing violently.
And standing over him…
Was Sunflower.
She held only a dagger—her right hand steady, her stance unwavering.
Her eyes turned upward to the woman. Her killing intent was unmistakable.
The black-haired woman instinctively stepped back, her grin gone.
For the first time, she looked afraid.