The wind whispered through the leaves, and dappled sunlight filtered between the towering trees, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. Beside one ancient oak, two blades lay resting, their sharp edges glinting faintly in the light. A small creature, perhaps a squirrel or a curious fox, skittered down the bark, its nose twitching as it approached the gleaming steel.

But a sudden sound shattered the tranquility—footsteps, deliberate and heavy. The creature froze, its ears twitching before it darted back up the tree, vanishing into the safety of the branches above.

A scarred hand reached down, grasping the blades with practiced ease. With a slow, methodical motion, the figure strapped the weapons to his waist. His other hand, rough and calloused, wrapped his forearms in fresh bandages, concealing wounds both old and new.

From his side, he withdrew a bracelet, a glint of silver flashing as it hung from a chain. His body disappeared beneath a dark, tattered cloak, shadows consuming his form as he prepared himself. With a heavy breath, he stepped out of the forest's cool embrace, his gaze fixed on the distant kingdom, its silhouette rising like a dark omen against the sky.

The kingdom’s walls loomed tall and imposing, their rough stone surfaces worn by time but still standing defiantly against the elements. Beyond them, faint towers pierced the sky, banners fluttering lazily in the wind. The distant clamor of the city beyond those walls was just barely audible, carried on the same breeze that stirred his cloak. Each step drew him closer to the kingdom

. 

The gates creaked open as I stepped into the kingdom, the familiar hum of the marketplace greeting me like a distant memory. Vendors shouted over one another, their voices blending into a chaotic chorus. Fruits, weapons, cloth—everything one might need or want was on display, but I had little interest in their wares.

"Apples, fresh from the trees! Get your fresh apples here!" A man shout into the crowd, holding two bright red apple in each hand. 

"Finest cotton dresses! Fit for royalty!" A lady said, displaying a sires of dress. It could be worn by rich spoiled noble brats.

I moved through the crowd unnoticed, the dark cloth wrapped around me ensuring that. My eyes scanned the stalls until I spotted a small stand laden with weapons—swords, axes, and knives, each one catching the sunlight in a dull gleam. The merchant was slumped in a chair, asleep, his head drooping to the side as if the weight of the world could wait for his nap to finish.

I approached the stand, my gaze landing on a knife. It wasn’t anything extraordinary, but something about the blade called to me. I reached out and lifted it from the display, the weight solid but unremarkable in my hand.

Then—

BANG!

The old man's chair crashed to the ground, jerking him awake. He scrambled to his feet, disoriented. "Where… where am I?!" he stammered, looking around wildly before his eyes settled on me. He blinked once, twice, and then seemed to remember where he was.

"Ah, I see you've got a good eye!" he said, recovering quickly. "That’s one of my finest knives. Strong as steel, durable as they come. Go on, give it a try! Bend it—see how well it holds up."

I raised an eyebrow under the shadow of my hood, but remained silent. Fine knife, huh? I decided to humor him. I gripped the knife, one hand on the handle, the other near the blade’s tip. Then I applied pressure. The knife bent slightly before—

SNAP.

The blade broke in half with a sharp crack, the metal splintering like brittle wood. I stared at the broken piece in my hand as the old man gasped, eyes wide with disbelief.

"What the—" he grabbed the two halves of the knife, inspecting them as though he couldn’t believe his eyes. His hands shook slightly as he ran his fingers over the jagged edge. "Must be… just old age," he muttered, more to himself than to me.

I simply let the broken blade drop onto the stand

"MOVE IT!" A voice barked from behind me, sharp and commanding, cutting through the market’s hum.

I turned to see a line of children—no older than ten, likely younger—bound together by their wrists. A single rope tied them all, linking them like prisoners. Their clothes were no more than rags, tattered pieces of cloth that barely clung to their frail bodies. Dirt and mud smeared their faces and arms, leaving little of their true selves visible. 

As the line trudged forward, one of the kids lagged behind. A man, dressed in shining metal armor that reflected the sunlight as though mocking the dirt-stained world around him, released his grip on the rope. In his hand, he held a thick rod. Without hesitation, he swung it hard against the child's head.

"I said MOVE IT, didn’t you hear me, brat?" His voice was filled with disdain, as though speaking to something less than human.

The child crumpled to the ground, her white hair catching my eye before it was stained with red, blood soaking into her scalp from where the rod had struck. People around us didn’t react, didn’t flinch. They just stared. Another normal day for them, it seemed. Another child beaten in the street. kept my eyes on the scene.

The child—a girl, I realized—raised her head, and for the briefest moment, our eyes locked. She had pale, haunting eyes, filled with something I couldn’t quite name: fear, pain, maybe something more. She opened her mouth, as if to say something, but the man in armor was quicker. He yanked the rope tied around her small wrists, dragging her to her feet before she could speak. 

"Move, all of you!" he barked, forcing the others forward once more. The girl stumbled back into line, her head lowered, the blood now caked into her once white hair. I watched her until the crowd swallowed her whole, and she disappeared among the many faces.

"What was that about?" I muttered, more to myself.

"That?" The old merchant beside me still had his eyes on the broken blade, his fingers tracing the jagged edge. He hardly glanced at the scene. "You must not be from around here if you have to ask." His voice was tired, indifferent. "Just another day in this godforsaken place."

I said nothing. The blade in the old man’s hands might have been broken, but so was everything else around me. I watched him rub his head, still pondering the shattered knife before him.

"I'm just passing through," I finally said, breaking the silence.

The old man scratched his chin, then looked around before leaning in close. His voice dropped to a whisper.
"Well…" He glanced over his shoulder, waving me in closer. "I can’t say it here, but if you really want to know…" He paused, eyes darting to the market. "There’s a bar, not too far from here. They might let you in on some things."

With a curt nod, I left the stand, walking deeper into the kingdom. The streets told the same story—filth and desperation at every turn. I passed a man huddled in an alley, wrapped in rags and gnawing on a stale piece of bread. His eyes flicked up as I passed, as if waiting for me to accuse him of theft. I didn’t. His problem wasn’t mine.

I rounded another corner, finding the bar the old man had mentioned. The door hung crookedly on its hinges, and the smell of stale beer and dust hit me the moment I stepped inside. Cobwebs draped from the ceiling like some forgotten decoration, and most of the tables were empty—save for two men sitting opposite one another, eyes locked on me the moment I entered.

I ignored them. I’d seen their type before—waiting for trouble, looking for it even. I made my way to the bar and pulled up a chair, the wood creaking under my weight.

"What’ll it be?" the bartender asked without looking up, his voice gravelly from years of shouting over drunken patrons.

"Rum, for now."

He nodded and turned to grab a bottle from the shelf. As he poured, his eyes flicked up, studying me.
"What brings you to this kingdom?" he asked, his tone casual, but the question felt deliberate.

I raised an eyebrow under my hood.
"Strange question. How’d you know I wasn’t from here?"

The bartender smirked slightly as he set the bottle down.
"I’ve been here for over 21 years," he said, sounding almost proud of it. "I know just about everyone in this kingdom."

I took a sip of the rum, its burn rolling down my throat as I studied him.
"So, you know what’s happening here then?" I asked, watching for his reaction.

The bartender stiffened ever so slightly, his movements slowing as he turned to face me again.
"I’m sorry?" he replied, his voice shaky now.

I leaned in closer, keeping my voice low but firm.
"The disappearances. What do you know about them?"

The bar fell deathly quiet. Even the two men across the room shifted, their gazes sharp as they glanced at each other. I saw them inching toward their weapons—slowly, deliberately—testing the air for tension.

The bartender swallowed hard, trying to cover his fear with a nervous chuckle.
"I don’t know what you’re talking about," he said, wiping down the counter though it was already clean.

I said nothing, just waited, my silence a weight on his shoulders. The air in the bar grew thick, and even the two men kept their hands near their blades, not daring to act… yet.

I sensed him before he even stood. The tension in the air shifted, a ripple in the stillness of the bar. One of the men, the bolder of the two, was behind me now. His hand clamped down on my shoulder, and I could hear the arrogance in his voice as he spoke.

"Listen, buddy," he sneered, leaning in close, his breath hot against my ear. "Why don’t you take a hike… before things get ugl—"

He never finished the sentence.

In one swift motion, my blade was out and buried deep in his skull. He didn’t even have time to react. His body jerked, his words cutting off in a strangled gasp. He tried to speak again, but all that came out was a garbled, confused noise.

"Wai—wha—"

The man crumpled to the floor in a heap, his eyes wide and vacant, blood streaming from the wound. I pulled the blade free with a sickening squelch, not even glancing down as his body twitched. Then, with a sudden twist, I crushed the man's skull beneath my boot, the wet crunch of bone and brain matter splattering across the floor.

The bar fell deathly silent. I wiped the blood from my blade and sheathed it once more. The other man across the room froze in place, his hand hovering near his weapon, eyes wide with fear. He knew better than to try his luck.

I turned my gaze back to the bartender, who stood pale and shaking behind the counter. He stammered for a moment, but no words came out. 

"Now," I said quietly, my voice calm as if nothing had happened. "Let’s try this again. The disappearances. What do you know?"

Bandit-

I stood frozen, my mind struggling to process what I’d just witnessed, seeing my comrades fall to the ground. The cloaked figure moved with chilling efficiency, and before I could react, with my  axe swung it overhead, slamming it down onto the bar counter. The blow sent dust and debris into the air, and then, in the blink of an eye, the man vanished.

Panic surged through me as I scanned the bar, trying to locate the threat. My instincts screamed at me to act, but I could barely move. I felt a sudden, icy presence behind me. My hand shot for my weapon, but as I spun around, my motion faltered.

"Why do I feel so light?" I muttered, confusion clouding my thoughts. My eyes locked on the cloaked figure, whose arm was extended in a casual yet menacing pose. I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

Then I looked down and felt a jolt of horror. My own body was crumpled on the floor, lifeless, without me, without my head.

"Oh," the realization dawning. "He’s holding me."

I was rooted behind the bar, my hands gripping the counter as if it could anchor me to reality. The cloaked figure casually tossed the severed head aside. It landed with a sickening thud and rolled across the floor, a grisly reminder of the danger I was in. My heart pounded in my chest as I struggled to comprehend the scene unfolding before me.

When I finally found my voice, it came out as a desperate question. “What are you?” I demanded, my voice quivering despite my efforts to sound firm.

The figure removed his hood, revealing a face that I could barely process. His eyes were unnerving—one was a piercing bloody red crimson, the other a deep emerald green. Black markings under his eyes gave him an even more sinister look, and the horns sprouting from his head were black as the night sky, resembling obsidian rather than any natural bone. The sight was so unnatural, so alien, that my fear intensified.

He looked at me with those unsettling eyes and spoke with a calm that was chilling in its contrast to the violence he’d just unleashed. “Now then, can I place an order?”

His tone was disturbingly nonchalant, as if the brutal act was just another part of his day. I could only stare, paralyzed by a mix of terror and disbelief.