The clearing faded behind her, the faint groans of beaten goblins melting into the hum of cicadas. Darkness pressed deeper into the trees, her stride confident, her senses alert. She knew more lurked nearby—goblins always traveled in loose packs, scattered like vermin but never far from one another.
The branch rested easily in her hand. To others, it was a crude weapon, laughable even, but to her it was a faithful tool, sharpened not by steel but by experience. How many of the little beasts had fallen to its blows? How many had been tricked by her sway, her feigned stumble, her carefully crafted bait?
A soft smile touched her lips.
"Still," she murmured, voice low and silky, "there is a certain… hunger in me today."
The memory of Kara lingered, unbidden but insistent. The girl's flushed face, her trembling gasps, her body arching beneath the goblin's rough rhythm. A battlefield, yes, but also a confession Kara herself might never speak aloud. Darkness had seen enough to know.
And she had laughed—laughed because the truth had a way of crawling out, even when one fought to bury it.
Her pace slowed as the scent of river water touched her nose—fresh, clean, weaving through the heavier musk of forest floor. She followed the trail until the trees broke open into sunlight. Before her, the river glistened like liquid glass, the current carrying flecks of gold where it caught the light.
She leaned her branch against a rock and crouched at the water's edge, dipping her gloved hand into the cool stream. For a moment she let the chill wash over her skin, then lifted it, droplets cascading down her fingers.
"Seven before," she counted softly, thinking of her earlier victory. "Three more just now."
Ten trophies, ten proofs of her skill. Enough to bring coin—though never enough for comfort. The memory of the squalid inn pressed into her mind: the stench of too many bodies, the thin fabric that barely passed for bedding, the bitter bark of the innkeeper telling her she'd be better off in a stable.
Her smile faded into a thoughtful line.
She could endure it, of course. Darkness had always endured. But endurance was not the same as thriving. She wanted more—better gear, sharper steel, a weapon that would answer her will with precision instead of compromise.
The river carried her reflection, golden hair shadowed by strands fallen loose from battle, pale skin flushed faintly with heat. Her black leathers clung damp where sweat had dried, outlining every curve with a brazen honesty she no longer noticed.
"Selvara Draymore," she whispered her true name, just once. "Darkness."
The word rolled like a mantra, both curse and promise. From darkness, light. Her house's motto. Once a noble creed, now a fragment she carried like a shard of broken glass.
She rose, gathering her branch once more, and scanned the treeline. Movement stirred in the underbrush—low, crouched, deliberate. More goblins.
This time, three again.
Her lips curved upward, laughter bubbling in her throat.
"Fufufu… you vermin never learn."
The first broke from the brush with a shriek, weapon raised. Darkness met it head-on, her branch whipping across its face with a satisfying crack. The second circled, claws glinting, but she pivoted, her heel grinding into the soil as she jabbed the stick into its ribs. The third rushed from behind, and for a moment, its weight knocked her forward, teeth snapping at her shoulder—only for her to slam her head back, skull colliding with its nose.
Blood sprayed. The goblin howled.
She twisted free, planting her boot on its chest and shoving it into the dirt. Her branch rose high, then fell with brutal force. The forest echoed with the sound of impact.
When it ended, three more bodies littered the ground.
Darkness straightened, chest rising and falling, sweat dampening her brow. The thrill coiled hot in her chest, mixing danger with satisfaction until she felt almost light-headed.
"Ten… and now thirteen," she breathed.
Her laughter spilled, low and velvety.
"Fufufu… the night will be long, but I will not go hungry."
She glanced once more toward the deeper woods—the same direction Kara had fled, shame twisting her retreat.
Darkness turned away, her expression calm, almost serene. Kara's battles were her own. For now, Selvara Draymore had her hunt, her trophies, her path forward.
And with each step into shadow, she carried both her laughter and her hunger.