The dagger is still pressed against their throat. The stranger doesn't move. Doesn't even seem afraid.
I don't like it.
They're watching me too closely, studying my grip, my stance—looking for a way out.
I tighten my hold. "I asked you a question."
Their lips curl into a faint smirk. "And I chose not to answer."
Bold. Arrogant.
But they made one mistake. They bled me.
The wound on my side still drips, the warmth of my own blood against my skin sending a deep, primal fury through me. No one wounds Asher Valerian and walks away.
I move to drive the dagger into their shoulder—not fatal, but enough to make them scream.
But the moment I shift, they explode into motion.
A twist. A feint. Too fast.
I adjust—but they're already gone.
A sharp pain flares along my arm. Another cut. A warning. They're playing with me.
I growl, turning—and stop.
They're standing at the edge of the ruined tower now, relaxed, their dagger still wet with my blood.
Their smirk lingers. "You fight like a man who used to be strong."
I clench my jaw. They're not wrong.
The ember inside me flares, feeding off my anger. I could kill them right now.
If I just reach deeper—
A sudden pulse erupts through my body. A surge of something ancient, raw.
The ground trembles beneath me. A gust of unseen force ripples outward. The stranger's smirk vanishes as the air warps, the space between us bending like heat rising off a forge.
Their stance shifts. Caution.
My breath is ragged. What was that?
The ember—no, the power inside me—it's waking up.
And the assassin knows it.
Their gaze flicks to my hands. The air around my fingers crackles with something dark, something unseen yet suffocating.
Their expression changes. Recognition.
They sheathe their dagger. "You should leave."
I narrow my eyes. "What?"
Their gaze flicks to the treeline. "You're not the only one being hunted tonight."
Then, as if on cue—a horn bellows in the distance.
A deep, guttural sound that makes the trees tremble.
The assassin steps back. "If you want to live, don't be here when they arrive."
Then they're gone.
A single blink, and the night swallows them whole.
Damn it.
I glance at the treeline. More horns. The sound is getting closer. Something is coming.
And from the way the assassin just vanished, I can tell I do not want to be here when it arrives.
I grab my pack, grit my teeth against the pain, and move.
One Hour Later
The forest is deathly silent. Too silent.
I keep my knife in hand as I press forward, sticking to the shadows. The ember inside me still hums, a dull warmth pulsing in my chest.
I should be dead. That assassin was too fast, too precise.
Yet they left. Why?
The horn from earlier still echoes in my mind. Whoever they were afraid of… I need to avoid.
Then—a flicker.
I stop.
Something moves in the trees ahead.
Not human. Too large.
I crouch low, pressing my back against a fallen log. My breath slows. I wait.
Then I see it.
A figure emerges from the darkness.
Cloaked in obsidian armor, taller than any man, its form unnatural—almost shifting between solid and mist. Its face is hidden behind a jagged, horned helmet.
And in its hand—a spear carved from black bone, glowing with runes.
My fingers tighten around my knife. I know what that is.
A Void Knight.
An executioner of the gods.
And it's hunting me.
Damn them.
I should have known they wouldn't let me exist in peace.
I exhale. If I stay, I die.
But if I run… it will hunt me.
No choice.
I grip my knife and move first.
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