Bjorn sat against a trunk, arms crossed, his body still aching from the last fight. Across from him, Aira was crouched over a small patch of ground, fiddling with her pack.

For a while, they just sat in silence, the kind that wasn't uncomfortable but carried weight — like both were listening to each other breathe.

Finally, Aira broke it.

Aira (softly, but trying to sound casual):

"It'll be dark soon. We should stop here. I… still have a tent from my old camp."

Bjorn's eyes flicked to her.

Bjorn:

"You carry that around?"

She gave a half-smile, faint but real.

Aira:

"Sloth group was lazy, but not stupid. Some of us kept supplies hidden… I thought I'd need it."

The forest dimmed another shade. Bjorn exhaled slowly through his nose, watching her hands as she carefully unrolled the folded canvas.

Aira:

"We'll take turns on lookout. You're injured, so… you should sleep first."

Bjorn's brow furrowed. He sat up straighter, his voice rougher.

Bjorn:

"Why would you do that? You barely know me."

She paused, glancing at him as if measuring his tone, then answered without hesitation.

Aira:

"Because you need it more than I do."

Bjorn let out a bitter chuckle, but his eyes stayed sharp.

Bjorn:

"Are you not tired of trusting people you don't know? Anyone could betray you."

Aira (looking at him steadily):

"I've stopped trusting strangers a long time ago."

He leaned forward, studying her face.

Bjorn:

"Then what am I? I'm a man, a stranger — you know nothing about me. And you're suggesting we sleep in a forest, where I could do anything to you. A helpless girl, right in front of me."

Her lips pressed into a faint smirk, though her voice trembled just a little.

Aira:

"But you're not a stranger."

Bjorn's eyes narrowed. His tone dropped, low and uncertain.

Bjorn:

"…What do you mean by that?"

She straightened her back, meeting his stare.

Aira:

"You just told me about yourself, did you not? That makes you something else."

Bjorn's expression faltered for the first time — a flicker of surprise. He turned his gaze away, hiding it.

(His thought, quiet, weighted)

Bjorn (inner):

This girl…

But Aira wasn't finished. She crossed her arms, as if to add a shield to her words.

Aira:

"And don't get any funny ideas. I might not look it, but I've already stabbed someone before."

The way she said it — trying to sound threatening but clumsy in her delivery — drew an unintended curl at the corner of Bjorn's lips.

Bjorn (after a pause, muttering):

"…Fine. I'll rest first."

He lowered himself onto the ground, still watchful, while Aira sat nearby with her arms folded, pretending she hadn't just admitted something awkward.

The forest fell into silence again, broken only by the rising chorus of crickets as night fully took hold.

___

The forest stretched silent beneath the moon, save for the faint crunch of leaves under one man's boots. His cloak was ragged, caked with mud, his eyes darting like a rat's as he approached the Lust Camp. Torches lined the camp perimeter, burning low and red like the breath of some slumbering beast.

Guards lounged lazily, but they straightened when they saw him. One barked, "What business?"

The man bent at once, bowing.

Spy (breathless): "I've come… to report. To her. About the target."

That word alone was enough. They shoved him forward. The camp inside was more a den than a settlement — canvas tents stretched between crooked trees, lit by flickering firepits. The stench of sweat, ale, and something more vile clung to the air.

At the center sat the Lust Leader — lounging on a crimson-draped chair too extravagant for the forest, her expression half-bored, half-dangerous. Jewels glinted at her throat, though her eyes were sharper than any blade. Around her, half-dressed men and women lounged, but all stilled when the spy dropped to his knees before her.

Spy (bowing low): "I did as you commanded. I shadowed him… the boy, Bjorn. Watched every step. I come with news—"

The Lust Leader leaned forward, her lips curving into something between a smirk and a sneer.

Lust Leader: "Good. Speak. Tell me… how does my prey move?"

(The camera lingers here, heavy tension. The idea is planted: Lust knows everything — Bjorn and Aira are already under her gaze.)

---

Darkness. Then a pale glow — the pool of light under a lone streetlamp. Eleven-year-old Bjorn trudged forward, a ragged bag slung on his back. His face was thin, bruised, his eyes hollow yet burning with suppressed fire.

The street was empty, silent save for the buzzing of the lamps. His shadow stretched long, quivering with each step.

Then he froze.

Two lamps down, under the sickly glow, stood a man. Broad shoulders. Thick arms. The face Bjorn both feared and loathed. His uncle.

The man's voice cut through the distance, rough and demanding — yet Bjorn could hear it too clearly, as if whispered directly in his ear:

Uncle (growling): "Where is my money?"

Bjorn's heart lurched. His eyes widened, disbelief twisting his face.

Bjorn (thoughts): What—!? How… how did he find me? What the hell is he saying?

He blinked — and suddenly his uncle was closer, under the next streetlamp. Shadows stretched behind him, unnaturally long.

Uncle (louder, harsher): "Where. Is. My. Money?"

Bjorn (aloud, stumbling back): "What the hell…!?"

Blink. The uncle was gone.

Bjorn's breath caught. Then—

He was right in front of him. His uncle's face, twisted with fury, spit flying as he bellowed:

Uncle (roaring): "WHERE IS MY MONEY!?"

The world warped — Bjorn's chest seized in terror—

---

Splash!

Bjorn's eyes flew open. Cold water stung his face, dripping down his chin. His vision blurred, then cleared into the harsh glare of daylight.

Pain. His wounds burned like fire — bandages torn, blood seeping freely. He tried to move, but ropes cut into his wrists and chest. He was tied upright to a tree, every breath a fight against the bindings.

Bjorn (thoughts, panicked, furious): Damn it… damn it! I knew it! I should never have trusted her. She was using me all along… Did she—did Aira do this?! Fuck… and I even told her about myself. Where the hell is she!?

His head dropped forward, then slowly lifted — and froze.

There, below him, tied against the same tree, was Aira. Her head hung low, blood seeping from a deep cut on her forehead. She was unconscious, her face pale, strands of hair stuck to her cheek.

Bjorn (thoughts, shocked): What the—!? Aira!? She… she didn't…

His fury twisted into confusion, then into something darker.

He raised his eyes.

And there she was.

The Lust Leader. Smiling. Flanked by her followers, blades gleaming, eyes hungry.

Bjorn's body stiffened, rage flooding him. His muscles strained against the ropes. He let out a low, animal sound, teeth clenched—

The Lust Leader's smile widened. She raised one languid hand. Instantly, one of her lackeys pressed a knife against Aira's neck. A thin line of blood beaded at her skin.

Lust Leader (mocking, purring):

"Tch. Careful, boy. One wrong twitch, and I'll have them spill her throat open like a wineskin. Is that what you want? To watch her bleed because of your tantrum?"

Bjorn froze, every nerve on edge. His jaw locked, veins standing out in his neck.

Finally, through gritted teeth, voice low and cold:

Bjorn: "...Woman. The fuck do you want?"

The Lust Leader tilted her head, eyes glinting with cruelty, as though savoring the moment.

One of the men licked his lips, calling out:

Lust Thug (grinning): "Boss lady, let us have a taste of both of 'em!"

Another laughed, raising his knife.

Second Thug: "Yeah, been a while since we had fresh meat."

Their laughter rang, ugly and eager.

Bjorn lifted his head, face still damp from the water, his jaw tight. His eyes—burning. Silent fury radiated off him, enough to make even some of the lackeys hesitate.

The Lust Leader stepped forward, swaying her hips deliberately, until she was inches from Bjorn's face. She leaned down, her breath warm against his ear.

Lust Leader (mocking, sultry):

"You can hear them, can't you? They want to taste you both… but so do I."

A ripple went through the crowd. The jeers faltered, replaced by whispers of disbelief.

Whispering Thug: "The boss… choosing him?"

Another, stunned: "She's actually making him a toy candidate?"

Everyone knew how impossibly rare that was. The Lust Leader's "toys" were chosen with obsessive care, and each one was envied, feared… broken.

She smiled, tilting her head.

Lust Leader: "Join me. Kneel… and maybe, just maybe, I'll make you mine."

Bjorn's lips curved into a smirk. He spat, the saliva striking her cheek. His expression mocked her, ridiculing everything she stood for.

The Lust Leader froze. Then—

Lust Leader: "Heh… hahaha… HAAHAHAHA!"

Her laughter echoed through the camp, wild, delighted, terrifying. But in an instant, her mirth snapped like brittle glass. Her smile twisted.

She hiked up her dress just enough to pull free two iron hammers, their weight making the ground tremble as she swung them up. The weapons were brutal — short-handled, thick, the kind that could shatter bone like dry twigs. She twirled them effortlessly, each spin ringing with lethal promise.

The lackeys cheered.

Lust Members (chanting): "Hammer Queen! Hammer Queen!"

Bjorn's eyes narrowed, his body tense against the ropes.

Bjorn (gritted teeth): "What the—"

She flipped one hammer in her hand, turning the head so the spiked end glinted in the light. Without warning, she thrust it forward—

THUNK!

The point embedded deep into the tree trunk, barely a hair's breadth from the back of Bjorn's skull.

Bjorn froze. Sweat slid down his temple.

Bjorn (thoughts, dark and low): This woman… she was really going for the kill.

The Lust Leader leaned close again, her grin wicked.

Lust Leader: "Make no mistake. I missed on purpose."

Gasps and laughter rippled through the forest. but none dared to blink.

She pulled the hammer free with a sharp jerk.

Lust Leader (mocking, cruel):

"Threats don't scare you when it's your own life on the line… how interesting. Let's see how brave you are after I crush your girlfriend's throat."

She lifted her hammer again, this time above Aira's unconscious form.

Bjorn's rage erupted. His body strained so violently the ropes groaned and cut into his flesh. His voice thundered, his eyes blazing red with fury.

Bjorn (roaring):

"I dare you to!! Do it!! I already warned you bastards not to cross me! The second you touch a strand of her hair—you'll learn what despair truly is!!!"

The Lust members stumbled back at his fury, muttering, some uncertain, others eager for blood.

The Lust Leader smirked, raising her hammer higher, savoring the moment.

Then—

Voice (lazily, from nowhere):

"I wouldn't do that if I were you."

The clearing fell into silence. Heads jerked left and right, eyes searching the shadows.

One of the Lust lackeys pointed upward with a trembling hand.

Lust Lackey (shouting): "There! Above them!"

Gasps spread like wildfire.

Lying sprawled casually across a thick branch of the very tree Bjorn and Aira were tied to, was the Sloth Leader. One leg dangled, one hand propping his head, as though he were watching a play instead of an execution.

His eyes half-lidded, his voice dripping with disinterest:

Sloth Leader (drawling): "Tch… loud bunch, aren't you? Mind toning it down? Some of us are trying to nap. ...........