I woke up to voices—muffled, sounding kind of urgent, but... not panicked. My head was pounding, and the world felt like it was spinning when I tried to focus. Warm air brushed against my skin, and I could make out the flickering light from a fire somewhere nearby. It crackled softly, mixing with the quiet conversation of two people.
"Why didn't we just leave her in town? There was a healer, at least..." The man's voice was steady, but I could hear a little hesitation in it.
"Master, we can't just leave her. She's... she's been through too much. We have to help her," came the girl's voice. She sounded younger, but there was a firmness to her words, like she wasn't backing down from whatever decision she'd already made.
The man sighed, like he was exhausted. "I know. I just... didn't know what else to do."
"You should've been gentler with her," the girl said. Even though her voice was soft, there was a quiet strength behind it, like she wasn't asking, just stating a fact.
Their words faded in and out as I tried to gather my thoughts. I blinked slowly, trying to shake off the fog. Everything hurt—but not like I expected. No burning, no stabbing pain. Just a dull, wrong kind of ache.
As I focused on the voices, I saw them both. The girl first. She couldn't have been much older than me, maybe around my age. Her golden hair fell around her shoulders, glowing in the firelight—soft, out of place here, and her grey eyes were... well, I don't know how to explain it, but they made me feel safe. It was like looking at a gentle storm—calm on the outside, but with something deep beneath. Her clothes were simple—white blouse, red vest, black skirt, and black leggings—but they looked well-made. Like someone who actually knew what they were doing had put them together. It was weird, considering the situation. But she fit in a way I couldn't quite explain.
Then, I turned to the guy. Arden, I remembered. He looked older, or at least he seemed that way. Dark skin, blending into the shadows from the firelight, and this black robe that made him almost disappear in the dark. He wore dark sunglasses that hid his eyes, but I could still feel his attention. He had this presence about him, like... well, like he didn't need to try too hard to command respect. He had this quiet authority, but not in a scary way. More like he was just... him. The rings and bracelet on his wrist caught the light, and I could see something about him that made it hard to look away.
I tried to move, to sit up, but my body was heavy, slow. My limbs ached with a strange heaviness, like wading through thick water—off, wrong somehow. I wasn't sure what, but it was like my body didn't quite feel... right.
When I pushed myself up, both of them turned to me. The man didn't look directly at me, but I could feel his attention, like he was always aware of me, even without making eye contact. The girl, though, she smiled at me, and it made me feel a little better.
"You're awake!" she said, voice gentle. "We were getting worried. I'm Sora, and this is my... companion, Arden. He... well, he saved you."
I turned toward Arden, trying to figure him out. He looked like he was in his early twenties, but something about him felt older—like he carried weight most people didn't. But still, there was this air of... maturity. His short curly hair and a bit of stubble gave him that rough-around-the-edges look, but those sunglasses made it hard to read his expression. Still, there was something about him—he had this quiet power that made me feel small without even trying.
I swallowed, trying to get a grip on myself, but it didn't do much. Everything felt tight. Too much, too fast. "Thank you," I said, barely above a whisper. It was stupid, but it was all I had.
Arden didn't answer—not with words anyway. He shifted a little, just enough to make it look like he was done with the moment. I thought he was brushing me off at first, but then something shimmered at his side, quick and soft like pulling a thread from air. Just a flick of his wrist, and something small vanished into his hand. He didn't make a show of it, didn't explain. Just turned away again like it was nothing. Like pulling stuff out of thin air was the most normal thing in the world.
Sora leaned closer, her voice warm but steady. "It's okay," she said. "We'll take care of you. Just… rest for now, alright?"
Sure. Rest. Like my brain wasn't doing somersaults.
"What happened to my village?" I asked. My throat felt dry, voice tight. I already knew. I think I'd known the second I woke up. But I wanted to hear it anyway, like that'd make it real. Like hearing someone else say it would make it stop echoing around my skull.
Sora paused. Too long. "I'm sorry," she said, and I could hear the crack in her voice. "It didn't make it. Everyone…" Her words faded out before she could finish, but she didn't have to. I got it.
The silence that followed wasn't kind. I closed my eyes. Just for a second. Tried to breathe through it. One minute I'd been out picking herbs. The next? Smoke. Screaming. Metal. Gone. The kind of gone that doesn't leave anything behind.
Then Arden spoke again, his voice low and even, placing a vial in my hands. "Drink this."
I drank it without question, warmth trickling down my throat. The pain dulled.
"Thanks," I said, a little clearer this time. Not because I felt better, but because I could finally get the words out.
Arden waved it off like it was no big deal. "We were checking out a high-level dungeon nearby," he said, like it was just a casual errand. "Didn't make it in time. But we're here now."
A dungeon. Sure. Why not. Add that to the list of things I didn't understand yet. He didn't sound guilty. Didn't want pity. Didn't want to be a savior. Just facts.
Before I could ask anything else, his head tilted. Just slightly. Like a dog hearing something I couldn't. His whole vibe changed in a blink—like someone had flipped a switch from "quiet traveler" to "murder machine."
"We're surrounded," he said.
Great. Love that. My stomach did a neat little flip, and I twisted toward the trees. Nothing there. Just thick dark and the crackle of our fire. No movement, no snarling bandits twirling daggers dramatically. Just silence. The kind that feels like it's waiting.
"Bandits?" Sora asked. Her voice was sharp, but not surprised. She sounded like someone who found this more annoying than scary. Like waking up to a bug in your bedroll.
Arden nodded once. "Quite a few. Lightly armored. Swords, shortbows. There's a stronger one keeping back."
Okay. Sure. Why not.
I blinked at him. "How do you even—"
He didn't answer. Of course he didn't. Just rose to his feet like he hadn't been sitting still for hours. His coat moved with him, silent and fluid—he was already in motion. The guy even stood like he belonged in a portrait.
"Stay by the fire," he said over his shoulder. "Both of you."
Sora didn't argue. She just folded her legs neatly and stayed exactly where she was. Like this was all part of the plan. Or a very familiar rerun.
I didn't argue either. There was something about him—something in the way he moved. Like he'd been through this a hundred times already and didn't feel like explaining it again.
The night held its breath.
Then everything went sideways.
Fear crept in the way it always does—quiet at first, then all at once. I kept trying to peer into the trees like I'd suddenly develop night vision through sheer panic. No such luck. The forest pressed close on every side. Every shadow looked like it might move. Every gust of wind sounded like a footstep.
Sora was still sitting beside me. Calm. Or at least putting on a very solid impression of it. Her hands were folded in her lap, her posture perfect. Her eyes, though—those were fixed on Arden like she was tracking a storm. She bit her bottom lip. Just for a second.
"He knows what he's doing," she murmured. "You don't have to worry."
Which was hilarious, actually. Because I hadn't even started worrying yet. I'd rocketed straight past it and landed somewhere between "numb disbelief" and "can I pretend to faint and sleep through this?"
I didn't respond. Sora glanced at me anyway, then leaned a little closer. "We're safe here. He won't let them get close."
Her voice had that soft, hesitant quality people use when they're trying to calm a spooked animal. Probably because I was staring wide-eyed into the dark like it owed me answers.
Arden raised his hands, and suddenly the air snapped.
Light flared around him—circles full of moving symbols, glowing and turning like gears in some invisible machine. The magic didn't look gentle. It looked like something that didn't ask permission.
The bandits didn't come charging in like idiots. They crept. Slid out of the trees in near silence, dressed in rough leathers and carrying the kind of weapons you stab people with when you're more interested in their coin purses than conversation. These weren't back-alley thugs. They were coordinated. Armed. Focused.
Perfect.
Arden didn't even blink. A shimmer of magic snapped out from one of the glowing circles and spread around me and Sora like a dome—faintly golden, just translucent enough to make the outside look even more terrifying. I didn't need an explanation. I could feel the barrier. Gentle hum, thick air, the sense of something solid keeping the worst at bay.
For now.
And then Arden lit them up.
Red light burst from his spell circles like fireworks with a grudge. They flew—dozens of them—each with a purpose, each with a target. No random sprays or wild chaos. Just surgical destruction. Every flash slammed into someone, flinging bodies through the air like scarecrows on a bad day.
I ducked instinctively, even though I knew nothing was getting through the barrier. The sounds outside were distant, muffled. But that didn't stop my heartbeat from going absolutely feral in my chest.
Sora's hand brushed my arm.
"It's okay," she said softly. "He's really strong. They won't win."
She smiled at me, like that was supposed to help. It was a small smile. Awkward. She wasn't great at hiding the tension in her shoulders or the way her fingers fidgeted with the hem of her sleeve. But she was trying. I think that counted for something.
Arden kept moving like death on autopilot. Shadows curled around his arms like pets, stretched out into long, writhing tendrils that snapped and whipped through the air. They yanked weapons from hands, wrapped around legs, hurled people into trees with wet, unpleasant thuds. His sword flicked through the dark like a knife through silk, clean and impossibly fast.
The whole thing felt weirdly quiet. Or maybe that was just the magic dome. It turned the world into a snow globe of violence.
Then something slammed into the barrier. Hard.
I flinched as the dome flared, throwing light across Sora's face and mine. Her smile faltered for half a second.
"He'll be fine," she said again, firmer this time. Maybe for me. Maybe for her.
A low hum vibrated through the air. Deep and metallic and wrong. The kind of sound that feels like it was designed specifically to make your bones remember bad things.
Birds exploded from the trees, screeching into the night sky.
And then he appeared.
The knight stepped into the clearing like he belonged there—like the trees had grown around him on purpose. A wall of iron and silence. No gleam, no frills. Just bulk and intent. The kind of presence that made the forest go quiet out of something deeper than fear.
Even the bandits froze. No shouting, no charging. Just that awful, collective pause when everyone realizes they're suddenly part of something much bigger than themselves.
He didn't speak right away. Just tilted his helmet toward Arden, slow and steady. I couldn't see his face, but somehow that didn't matter. You didn't need to see a fire to know it was hot.
"I've waited for this," he said. His voice was wreckage—low, dry, old pain and older pride ground together. "To face the one they whisper about. The ghost who walks through fire and leaves only ruin."
Arden didn't answer. Of course not. He just pushed his glasses up like he was adjusting for a sun that wasn't there and kept standing. Calm. Casual. Like he was waiting for his tea to steep, not a duel to the death.
But there was a shift. Small. Barely more than a twitch in the air. Enough to make me wonder if he was… wary? No one else seemed to notice. But something had changed. Like the wind had drawn in a breath and didn't dare let it out yet.
The knight continued, his voice eager, almost feverish. He spoke of his journey, his reasons for joining the dark organization that had sent him here. He had trained for years, bled for the chance to prove himself in this moment. His words spilled into the night like a rant, his excitement palpable, but Arden remained silent, almost disinterested, as though none of it mattered.
Arden said nothing. Not even a twitch. Just stared, like he was listening out of politeness and not particularly enjoying the tale.
Finally, the knight raised his sword, its massive blade gleaming in the pale moonlight. "Show me," he said, his voice almost reverent. "Let's see what the ghost can do."
The words barely had time to fade before Arden moved.
No flash. No noise. Just a blur—too fast, too clean. One step forward, and the air seemed to snap. The knight swung his blade down with a roar, but Arden was already gone, a shadow shifting past him, like he was just a part of the night.
A streak of red magic traced across the knight's side.
Nothing.
Then the knight's shoulder pauldron cracked in half.
Arden raised his hand. A quick snap. The ground beneath the knight lit up with glowing runes, like the earth itself had come alive to trap him.
A shockwave hit the knight, throwing him off his feet and into a tree hard enough to make it shudder. The bandits, surprisingly, didn't scream. They didn't even hesitate. They ran. Well, tried to.
Black tendrils shot up from the ground, twisting with deadly precision, wrapping around ankles, weapons, throats. A dozen bandits were lifted off the ground, screaming as their limbs flailed, caught like puppets in a bad dream. Then, in quick flashes, crimson magic shot through them, precise and deliberate, too fast for even the eye to track.
The knight got back up. Not fast. Not strong. Just… stubborn. He swayed a little, boots dragging through the moss as he steadied himself. Smoke still curled off the gaps in his armor where the runes had burned through, edges glowing faint like dying coals. His sword hand shook. Not from fear—just worn down. Like even his anger was starting to crack.
Arden didn't give him the chance to catch his breath.
A single ribbon of shadow slid out from his sleeve. No theatrics, no big swing of the arm. Just a lazy flick, like swatting away a bug. It snaked forward and punched through the knight's chestplate without resistance, like the metal was made of paper.
For a heartbeat, it looked like nothing had happened.
Then came the sound. A low, ugly crunch as the metal caved inward. The knight staggered, chest rising once, twice—then the air left him in a sharp, broken wheeze. He stumbled a step back.
Tried to raise his sword again.
Arden stepped in close.
No words. No warning. Just one clean strike—a vertical slash, straight down like a guillotine.
The sword dropped. Not with a clatter—more like a soft thump, swallowed by the moss. The knight followed it, knees hitting the ground, then slumping forward, facedown in the dirt.
Silence swallowed the clearing. Deep and sudden, like even the trees were holding their breath.
Arden turned to us. Calm. Not proud. Not cold. Just… done. He brushed a bit of dirt off his sleeve, looked up, and said in a voice so steady it somehow made my skin crawl:
"Let's keep moving."
And then he walked away. Simple as that.
I didn't follow. Not right away.
Couldn't, really.
That knight—some monster of steel and fury, the kind of man you'd build statues for—was dead. Just dead. Sliced open and dropped like firewood. The air smelled sharp and heavy, full of blood and scorched mana.
And Arden was already walking like none of it mattered.