The forest exhaled, a damp, earthy breath that swirled around me, thick with the scent of pine and decaying leaves. Every inch of my skin throbbed, a violet-black afterimage of that… power… still burned behind my eyelids.
My head swam, my stomach churned, and my throat burned like a raw wound. Willing my body to move, I tried to sit up, but my muscles refused to obey. Finally, I managed to roll onto my side, finding a sliver of comfort in the coarse moss pressing against my skin.
Where was I? This was unlike anything near Praag. The trees were colossal, ancient sentinels whose gnarled roots clawed at the earth. Their branches wove together, creating a canopy so dense that only slivers of sunlight pierced through, casting the forest floor in perpetual twilight. A bone-chilling dampness permeated everything, seeping into my very core.
Fear, sharp and icy, gripped my throat. I was utterly alone. Grak… Borin… Mother… Images flashed in my mind – Grak's unwavering gaze, Borin's fiery pronouncements, my mother's gentle touch… Gone. A wave of grief threatened to swallow me whole, but I choked it down. Not now. Not when survival demanded every ounce of strength.
Taking a slow, deliberate breath, focusing on the scent of pine and damp earth, I forced myself back to the present. That familiar cold, hard kernel of instinct began to override the grief. Shut it down. Analyze. Adapt. Survive.
A searing pain shot through me as I pushed myself up, wincing. My clothes, torn and singed, clung to me like a shroud. My boots were gone. My bare feet were numb against the frigid ground. The air tasted metallic. I ran my tongue over my teeth, tasting blood.
Water. Shelter. Weapons. Information. The basics.
I cataloged my surroundings, scanning the forest floor, carpeted with fallen leaves and splintered branches. Pale mushrooms sprouted from decaying wood, their caps glowing faintly in the dim light. Nearby, a narrow stream gurgled, its water dark and deceptively clear.
Ignoring the screaming protests of my abused muscles, I crawled toward the stream. The water was icy, biting at my skin, but I drank deeply, ignoring the grit and sediment. As I drank, I noticed something else – an acrid stench, like burnt sugar and sulfur, hung heavy in the air. Faint, but unmistakable, it clung to me.
My stomach twisted. That smell… it wasn't natural. It was… wrong.
A twig snapped nearby. My head snapped up, senses screaming. The forest went silent, but the feeling of being watched prickled across my skin.
Someone was out there.
Ignoring the dizziness that threatened to overwhelm me, I scrambled to my feet. Weapon. I needed a weapon. My eyes darted around, searching for anything, anything, I could use. A broken branch lay nearby, its end jagged and sharp. I hefted it in my hand. Pathetic, but better than nothing.
Moving slowly, silently, I navigated the uneven, treacherous forest floor, straining my ears for any sound. I stumbled once, twice, but managed to maintain my balance. The gaze was on me, heavy and assessing.
Then, I saw him.
He stood in the deep shadows beneath a sprawling oak, his figure almost indistinguishable from the surrounding trees. Tall and lean, his face was a tapestry of wrinkles etched by wind and time. Long grey hair, streaked with silver, was pulled back from his face with a simple leather thong. He wore clothes of roughspun wool, dyed in muted greens and browns, patched and mended beyond recognition.
But it was his eyes that held me captive. Oceanic steel, cold and piercing, fixed on me with an intensity that made my blood run cold. A longbow was held loosely in his left hand, his right hand holding an arrow, aimed directly at my chest.
He wasn't a soldier. He wasn't a hunter, not in the way I understood it. He looked… ancient. Like a gnarled, unyielding part of the forest itself.
"Stay where you are, boy," he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that seemed to carry on the wind. "Don't move a muscle."
I froze, my heart hammering against my ribs. The arrow was aimed true, and I knew, with a certainty that settled like lead in my stomach, that he wouldn't hesitate to loose it.
"Who are you?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my efforts.
He didn't answer. His eyes narrowed, his gaze sweeping over me, cataloging every detail: the torn clothes, the bare feet, the pathetic branch clutched in my hand. Then, his gaze lingered on something else. Something I couldn't see. Something he smelled.
His face hardened, twisting into a mask of disgust. "What are you?" he asked, his voice laced with suspicion.
"I… I don't understand," I stammered, my mind racing. What did he see? What did he smell?
He took a step closer, his bow unwavering. "Don't play coy with me, boy. I know what you are. I smell the sulfur." He paused, sniffing the air, his gaze burning into me. "I see the… taint." He spat the word like a curse. "You're touched. Touched by Ruin."
Ruin? I didn't understand. But his words, his tone… they resonated with the darkness that churned within me. A flicker of fear danced along my spine.
"I don't know what you mean," I said, my voice stronger now, laced with desperation. "I'm just… lost. I need help."
He snorted, a harsh, humorless sound. "Help? You expect help from me? From Gareth Ironwood? You reek of the Abyss. I've spent my life hunting things like you."
Ironwood. The name was unfamiliar. But the look in his eyes… it was the look of a predator who had finally found his prey.
"I'm not a monster," I protested, my voice rising. "I haven't done anything wrong."
"Haven't you?" he said, his voice dangerously soft. "Then explain the smell. Explain the unnatural heat that radiates off you like a bonfire. Explain why the birds won't sing and the squirrels have fled at your approach." He paused, his gaze turning to ice. "Explain the dead patch of earth where you appeared. The scorched roots. The lingering echo of… something else."
I had no explanation. All I knew was that I was tired, scared, and alone. And this man, this Gareth Ironwood, stood between me and whatever meager chance of survival I had left.
"Please," I pleaded, my voice cracking. "I don't know what's happening to me. My home… my mother… they're gone. I just want to understand." The memory of my mother's face, contorted in pain, the blood staining the floorboards, threatened to drown me. I fought it back, focusing on the present, on the arrow aimed at my heart.
He stared at me, his eyes unreadable. The silence stretched, thick and heavy. I could feel the tension in his body, the barely suppressed urge to end it all.
Then, something flickered in his eyes. Not pity. Not exactly. More like… a sliver of recognition. "Tell me your story, boy," he said, his voice still rough, but with a hint of something else beneath the suspicion. "Tell me everything. And don't leave anything out. Because if I catch you in a lie… I'll put an arrow through your heart before you can blink."
I hesitated. Could I trust him? He clearly despised whatever he thought I was. But I had no choice. He was my only chance.
Taking a deep breath, I began to speak, the words pouring out of me in a torrent. I told him everything: my life in Praag, my friendship with Grak, the village children, Borin's guidance, the Aeridor attack, my mother's sacrifice, and the terrifying surge of power that had brought me here. I described the soldiers, the way they spoke of me, their knowledge of my age, my eyes.
As I spoke, I watched his face. His expression remained impassive, but I saw the subtle shifts in his eyes, the tightening of his jaw. He didn't interrupt, didn't offer any sympathy. He simply listened, his gaze unwavering. When I mentioned the soldiers knowing my description, his eyes narrowed further, and the hand holding his bow tightened noticeably.
When I finished, the forest was silent save for the rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. The acrid smell seemed to intensify, clinging to me like a shroud.
Gareth Ironwood stood motionless, his bow still in his hand, his eyes fixed on me. I could feel his gaze probing, searching, trying to unearth a lie.
Finally, he spoke. "The Duchy of Aeridor," he said, his voice a low growl. "They haven't dared to send troops this far west in decades. Not since…" He trailed off, his eyes clouding with a distant memory. He shook his head, as if dismissing the thought.
"And this… power," he continued, his gaze returning to me. "You say it just… erupted? You had no control?"
"None," I said, my voice barely a whisper. "It was like… something inside me broke. And then… everything just… happened."
He studied me, his face a mask of conflicting emotions. I saw the revulsion, the prejudice. But I also saw a flicker of doubt, a sliver of hope that I wasn't beyond redemption.
"Alright, boy," he said finally, his voice resigned. "I'll bite. I'll give you a chance to prove you're not just another monster in disguise."
Relief washed over me, so intense it almost brought me to my knees. But this was just the beginning. This wasn't trust; it was a test.
"But understand this," he continued, his voice hardening. "I'm watching you. Every second of every day. And the moment I see any sign of that… taint… taking control, the moment I sense any danger to myself or to anyone else… I won't hesitate. I'll put you down like the rabid dog you are."
He lowered his bow completely, but the threat in his eyes remained. He tossed me a waterskin, which I fumbled to catch. "Drink. Then follow."
Turning, he disappeared into the trees. "It's going to be a long walk. And you've got a lot to learn."
I hesitated, looking back at the spot where I had appeared, the last vestige of my old life. The dead patch of earth, the scorched roots he'd mentioned, were a grim reminder of what I was. I looked to my hands, expecting them to be clawed.
Taking a deep breath, I followed him into the darkness, my heart filled with a mixture of hope and dread. The water was cool and refreshing, but it couldn't wash away the acrid taste of sulfur in the air.
I had survived. For now. But I had no idea what the future held. I was walking into the unknown, guided by a man who hated what I was, and who was ready to kill me at any moment.
The forest floor was littered with sharp stones and broken branches, each step a painful reminder of my vulnerability. But I pressed on, driven by the desperate hope that maybe, just maybe, I could find a way to understand what I was, and how to control it.
The sun began to set, casting long, eerie shadows through the trees. The forest grew darker, and the air grew colder. I shivered, not just from the cold, but from a growing sense of unease. Gareth Ironwood moved with a silent grace, his knowledge of the forest evident in every step. He didn't speak, didn't offer any encouragement. He simply led the way, a grim and silent guide.
After what felt like hours, we reached a small clearing. In the center stood a crude cabin, built of logs and covered with moss and vines. Smoke curled from a stone chimney, a beacon of warmth and light in the gathering darkness.
"This is it," Gareth said, his voice breaking the silence. "My home. Such as it is."
Near the cabin was another slightly smaller one, obviously less cared for. "The small one there has a leaky roof, but it works as a shed. You can sleep in there for now."
Without another word, he turned and headed toward the cabin, leaving me standing alone in the clearing. The shed was small and dilapidated, but it offered shelter from the wind and rain. I crawled inside, burying myself in the straw. It smelled musty and damp, but it was warm.
Exhaustion claimed me quickly. But even as I drifted off to sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. That Gareth Ironwood was standing just outside the shed, his bow in his hand, waiting for me to make a mistake.
And somewhere, deep inside, a small voice whispered that the monster he feared was already there.