First Blood

Chapter 3: First Blood

The forest was eerily silent as Lucian made his way deeper into the shadows. The trees towered over him, their gnarled branches twisting in the moonlight like skeletal hands reaching for him. The path ahead was barely visible, the thick underbrush and dense foliage making it hard to see where he was going, but he didn't care. His mind was too consumed by everything that had happened.

His family had cast him out. The village feared him. The prophecy had marked him as a villain. Every part of his life had been turned upside down in a matter of hours, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. The weight of it all pressed down on him like a crushing force, but he refused to let it break him. He wouldn't let them win. He wouldn't become their villain—not unless he chose to be.

But as the minutes stretched into hours, his resolve began to waver. The darkness of the forest, the isolation, the uncertainty of what lay ahead—it all began to gnaw at him, wearing him down bit by bit. He was alone. Completely, utterly alone.

And that terrified him more than he wanted to admit.

After what felt like an eternity of wandering, Lucian finally stopped at the edge of a small clearing. The moonlight filtered through the trees, casting long shadows on the ground. He could hear the distant sound of water—maybe a stream or a river—but otherwise, the world was still. Too still.

Lucian sank down onto a fallen log, his hands trembling as he ran them through his hair. His breath came in shallow bursts, and for the first time since leaving the village, he allowed himself to feel the full weight of his fear. What was he supposed to do now? Where was he supposed to go? He had no plan, no idea of how to escape the fate that had been thrust upon him.

"Lucian."

The voice was soft, barely a whisper on the wind, but it was enough to make his blood run cold. He shot to his feet, eyes darting around the clearing, but there was no one there. The trees stood silent, their twisted branches motionless in the moonlight.

"Lucian," the voice came again, this time more insistent.

Lucian's heart pounded in his chest. He had heard that voice before—it was familiar, achingly so. And then it hit him. "Elise?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

A figure stepped out of the shadows, her pale face illuminated by the faint light of the moon. Elise stood there, her eyes wide and filled with tears, her hands trembling at her sides.

"Elise, what are you doing here?" Lucian asked, taking a step toward her, his heart racing with confusion and relief. He hadn't expected to see her again—not like this, not here in the middle of the forest.

"I… I followed you," she stammered, her voice shaking. "I heard you leave. I couldn't just let you go, not like that."

Lucian's chest tightened with a mixture of emotions—relief, guilt, fear. Elise was the one person who had always believed in him, the one person who had never treated him like the outcast everyone else saw. But now, standing before him, she looked scared—scared of him.

"I didn't want to leave," Lucian said quietly, his voice barely audible. "But I had no choice. They… they didn't want me there."

Elise shook her head, her tears falling freely now. "They were wrong. You're not a villain, Lucian. You're not."

He wanted to believe her. He wanted to cling to that small glimmer of hope, but deep down, he knew it wasn't that simple. The world had already decided who he was. And the longer he fought it, the harder it became to deny.

"You should go home," Lucian said after a moment, his voice strained. "It's not safe out here. You shouldn't be here."

Elise hesitated, her eyes pleading. "I don't care about the danger. I care about you."

Lucian's throat tightened. He wanted to protect her, to keep her safe from the darkness that seemed to follow him wherever he went. But the longer she stayed with him, the more likely she was to get hurt.

"I'll be fine," he lied, his voice cracking slightly. "I just… need some time."

Elise took a step toward him, her hands outstretched. "Please, don't push me away."

Lucian's heart ached as he looked at her, his only ally in a world that had already turned against him. But before he could respond, a rustling sound came from the trees behind her.

He froze.

"Elise, get back."

But it was too late.

A shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, its movements silent and swift. Lucian barely had time to react before the figure lunged toward Elise, a glint of steel catching the moonlight.

A knife.

Lucian's world slowed to a crawl. His heart slammed in his chest as the realization hit him like a punch to the gut. This was no coincidence. This was an attack. And Elise was the target.

Without thinking, Lucian threw himself forward, his body moving on instinct. The next few moments blurred together—shouts, the sound of metal clashing, the weight of another body slamming into him. And then, the pain.

A sharp, searing pain shot through his chest, just below his collarbone, right where the mark had been since birth. It burned like fire, causing him to stumble. His hand flew to the spot, his fingers brushing over the fabric of his shirt, but there was no time to think. The attacker was still coming.

Lucian's mind snapped into focus, and his body moved before his thoughts could catch up. He grabbed a fallen branch, swinging it with desperate force. The wood cracked against the man's arm, but it wasn't enough. The attacker recovered, his blade flashing toward Lucian again.

Another surge of pain erupted from his chest, even sharper this time, but instead of slowing him down, it drove him forward. In one swift movement, he tackled the man, wrestling him to the ground. His hands found the attacker's throat, squeezing tightly, and then—darkness.

Lucian lay on the ground, his chest heaving, his hands stained with blood. The figure lay motionless beside him, their face obscured by the darkness. Elise stood frozen, her eyes wide with shock, her body trembling as if she were rooted in place. The silence of the forest was deafening, broken only by the ragged sound of Lucian's breath.

"Elise," Lucian croaked, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to sit up, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on him like a physical force. "Elise, I—"

But she didn't respond. Her wide eyes flicked from Lucian's face to the blood on his hands, her expression one of disbelief and horror. Her body trembled violently, her breath coming in sharp gasps, as if her mind couldn't comprehend what she had just witnessed.

Lucian's heart clenched at the sight of her—his younger sister, the one person in the world who had believed in him, the one person who hadn't turned away. Now, even she was looking at him with fear.

"Elise, please," he rasped, his voice desperate as he tried to explain, tried to find the right words. "I didn't mean for this to happen. He… he came after us. I had no choice."

Still, she said nothing. Her lips trembled, and she took a small, stumbling step back, her arms wrapping around herself as if trying to ward off the cold, or maybe the reality of what had just happened.

Lucian slowly rose to his feet, feeling every muscle in his body ache, his mind reeling from the shock of the moment. He wanted to reach out to her, to comfort her, to explain everything. But the distance between them felt insurmountable, like an invisible wall had formed the moment his hands had been stained with blood.

"Elise," he said again, but this time his voice cracked with desperation. "Please… I didn't want this. I swear."

But she shook her head, the tears finally spilling down her cheeks as she whispered, "You… you killed him, Lucian."

Her words hit him harder than any blade. Lucian's heart pounded painfully in his chest as the weight of the truth pressed down on him. He had killed someone—another life, another stain on his hands. It didn't matter that it had been in self-defense, that he had been protecting her. The blood was still there, and nothing could wash it away.

He took a step toward her, his hands reaching out, but Elise flinched, retreating further into the darkness of the forest.

"No, no," she stammered, her voice barely audible, full of fear. "Don't… don't come closer."

Lucian froze, his outstretched hands falling to his sides. The sight of her recoiling from him, her brother, the one who had always protected her, was more than he could bear.

"Elise," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I—"

"I have to go," she cut him off, her voice trembling. "I… I can't stay here. I… I'm sorry."

She turned on her heel and ran, her footsteps fading into the distance as she disappeared into the trees, leaving Lucian standing alone in the clearing.

For a moment, Lucian couldn't move. His entire body felt numb, his mind reeling from everything that had just happened. Elise was gone. The only person who had still believed in him, the only one who had stayed by his side, had run from him. And worse, she had every reason to.

He glanced down at the lifeless body of the man who had attacked them, his heart sinking into a pit of despair. The blood that stained his hands felt heavier now, as if it carried the weight of every whispered accusation, every fearful glance that had been cast his way since the prophecy had been spoken.

They were right, weren't they? He was dangerous. The prophecy had marked him for a reason. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, fate was pushing him toward the path of the villain.

Lucian's gaze fell to his chest, where the sharp pain still throbbed. Slowly, he unbuttoned his shirt and pulled the fabric aside, revealing the mark beneath. It glowed faintly in the moonlight, a twisted, jagged symbol etched into his skin just below his collarbone. The same mark he had been born with, the one that had never meant anything until now.

He stared at it, his mind racing. The mark had always been there, hidden beneath his clothes, a strange quirk of fate that no one had ever paid attention to. But now… now it had revealed itself, a searing pain accompanying its awakening as if fate itself was branding him, confirming the prophecy. This was his destiny, wasn't it? To carry this mark, to bear the weight of what it meant.

With trembling hands, Lucian reached up to his chest, wincing as the sharp pain from the mark pulsed through him. His fingers fumbled as he rebuttoned his shirt, but the movement felt mechanical—hollow, like he wasn't fully in control. He wanted to hide the mark, pretend it wasn't there, but the burn of its presence lingered beneath his skin. He couldn't erase it. He couldn't erase any of this.

His thoughts spun wildly, crashing into one another in a chaotic mess. Blood—his hands were covered in it. The man was dead. Dead. He had never killed anyone before. He had never even hurt anyone. How had it come to this? How had everything unraveled so quickly?

"I didn't want this," he whispered to the trees, his voice shaking. "I didn't want any of this…"

But no one was listening. Not anymore. Elise was gone, the village had turned its back on him, and now… now there was a body at his feet. He took a shaky breath, but it caught in his throat, his chest tightening with a panic that refused to let go.

The weight of it all—the prophecy, the mark, the blood—was crushing him. He sank to his knees beside the body, his hands still trembling, his breath coming in ragged gasps. What had he done? How could he ever go back? I killed him. The words looped endlessly in his mind, but they didn't make sense. None of this made sense. He was just a farm boy. He wasn't meant for this.

"I didn't… I didn't want to…" he muttered, his voice breaking as his vision blurred with unshed tears. The man's lifeless eyes stared up at him, and Lucian's chest clenched with a pain so deep it felt like it would swallow him whole. His mind was fracturing under the weight of it, splitting into jagged, incoherent thoughts. He deserved it… No, no one deserves to die. But it was him or me. Why did it have to be me?

Lucian pressed his hands to his head, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to block out the spinning thoughts. The world felt unreal, like he was trapped in some horrible nightmare, but he couldn't wake up. He couldn't escape.

His chest burned, and in the back of his mind, he felt the mark throbbing, pulsing with a heat that radiated through him. It was alive—somehow alive—and it wanted something. It was pulling him toward something darker, something… wrong. But he didn't understand it. He didn't understand anything.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to kill him," he whispered again, his voice hoarse. But the words felt hollow, empty. They didn't change the truth. The blood was still there.