chapter 9 First Sin

Daniel awoke to the sound of birds chirping outside the small wooden house. A soft breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh grass. It was peaceful—unnaturally so.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim morning light filtering through the thatched roof. For a moment, he almost forgot where he was. Then it all came rushing back—the police, the chase, the village.

Sitting up, he rubbed his face. He had gotten lucky. No police, no alarms, no modern world to interfere. This place was like a relic for him, a forgotten corner of the earth where time seemed to have stopped. No electricity, no technology, nothing but simple villagers living like it was the past century.

And no law.

He grinned to himself. That meant he could do whatever he wanted.

Stretching, he rose from the straw mattress and looked outside. The village was already alive with movement. Men carrying sacks of grain, women gathering water, children laughing as they played in the dirt. All of them were so simple, so… predictable.

He spotted the village chief sitting by the entrance of his home, waiting for him.

"Good morning, Daniel," the chief greeted, offering a small smile. "You said you'd leave today, so I assume you'll be on your way soon."

Daniel nodded. "Yeah. Just need some food before I go."

The chief gestured toward a wooden table where a simple meal had been laid out—some bread, a bowl of soup, and a jug of water. Daniel sat down and ate in silence.

As he chewed, his eyes flicked toward the far side of the house—where Elira was, the chief's daughter.

She was outside, sweeping the porch, her long dark hair cascading down her back. She was young, her features delicate, her figure striking. The kind of beauty that made men stop and stare. The kind of beauty Daniel wanted.

His grip on the wooden spoon tightened.

He was leaving today. There were no police. No rules.

So why not take what he wanted?

He finished his meal, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. His heart pounded with an almost excited rhythm. He had made up his mind.

The old man had to go first.

The opportunity came quite easily. The chief trusted him, didn't suspect a thing.

Daniel waited until no one was nearby. Then, in a swift motion, he wrapped his arm around the old man's throat, pulling him back into a room. The chief struggled, gasping for air, but Daniel was stronger. With his other hand, he reached for his knife—the same one he had used so many times before.

A quick, deep stab to the gut. Then another. And another.

The old man let out a choked gasp, his eyes wide with shock. Blood seeped from his mouth as he crumpled to the wooden floor. His wrinkled hands trembled before going still.

Daniel wiped the blade on the chief's tunic.

One down.

Now for her.

She was still outside, unaware, humming softly as she swept the porch.

Daniel crept behind her, covering her mouth before she could scream. She struggled, her body thrashing in panic. He dragged her inside, kicking the door shut behind him.

She fought, nails clawing at his arms, muffled cries escaping between his fingers.

But in the end, it didn't matter.

She was in his grip now.

And when it was over, when she lay there—broken, sobbing, staring at him with hatred and terror—he felt nothing. No guilt. No regret. Only satisfaction.

He left her alive, tied in the room. She wouldn't live with the pain for long anyway.

And he had no plans of staying.

Daniel stepped out of the house, his boots crunching against the dirt road. The early morning air was crisp, but he barely noticed. His pulse was still high from what he had done inside. His knife was stained, his clothes were ruffled, but none of that mattered. He had gotten what he wanted. The chief was dead. His daughter… well, she wouldn't be talking anytime soon.

The village was eerily quiet, just like the night before. People were starting their morning routines, carrying buckets of water from the well, feeding their livestock, speaking in low murmurs. No one suspected a thing.

He adjusted the strap of his bag, pulled his coat tighter around himself, and started walking. He had come from the forest—he'd just go back the same way.

And never return.

The trees swallowed him quickly, the thick canopy overhead blocking out the sun. The deeper he went, the more silent everything became. No birds. No insects. No wind rustling the leaves. Just the sound of his own footsteps on the damp earth.

The quickly he got away from that village, the better it would be.

After about twenty minutes, he should have been deep in the forest by now, but something felt… wrong. He slowed down, glancing around. The trees looked the same as they did before. He had been walking in a straight line, hadn't he? He looked ahead through the gaps to make sure, but—

His stomach dropped.

There. Just ahead. The village was.

Daniel froze.

No. That was impossible. He had walked straight. No turns. No distractions. So how is he back to the village.

But he quickly calmed down. He must have gotten turned around somehow. He cursed under his breath and walked again, stepping off the path and walking through the thick underbrush. He trudged forward, ignoring the sweat forming on his brow.

Ten minutes. Fifteen. Thirty.

And then—

The village. Right in front of him again.

Daniel stumbled back, his breathing uneven. He whipped around, looking for the path he had just taken, but it was gone.

"What the hell is this?" he muttered.

This was a trick. Maybe he was still half-asleep. Maybe he was dehydrated. He closed his eyes, shook his head, and took a deep breath.

Try again.

He turned completely around and walked in the opposite direction. Faster this time. He didn't care about the branches scratching at his arms or the way the forest seemed too still. He just needed to get out.

Forty minutes passed. The sun barely moved in the sky. He was sweating now, his breath ragged. The trees started looking familiar again, too familiar—

And then—

The village.

Daniel's body locked up. He clenched his fists. His jaw twitched.

"What the fuck is this?" he growled. His voice sounded too loud, too sharp against the unnatural silence of the forest.

This was impossible. It had to be a trick. Maybe he was losing his mind. But no—no, this was real. His body ached from the walking. He could feel the dampness in the air. He could smell the wood smoke from the village chimneys.

He had been moving. But somehow… he never left.

His breathing quickened, and for the first time in a long time, something cold slithered up his spine. He tried again. Another direction. Another forty minutes. His steps became more frantic, his hands gripping his knife like it could somehow cut through whatever this was.

And yet—

The village was there. Again.

Daniel stumbled forward, panting. His knees nearly buckled, his entire body trembling. He couldn't—he shouldn't—be back.

A dry chuckle left his throat, but there was no humor in it. His fingers twitched. His vision blurred for a second.

"No. No, no, no, no, no."

He ran this time. Sprinting through the trees. His legs burned, his lungs ached, but he didn't care. He ran until he couldn't anymore, until he collapsed against a tree, gasping for air. His hands gripped the dirt, his head spinning.

Slowly, he looked up.

And, the village was right there.

Daniel let out a strangled, panicked laugh. His whole body was shaking now. His breathing was erratic.

"No. No, this isn't real. It's not real!" He grabbed a rock and threw it at the nearest hut. It thudded against the wooden wall and rolled away like nothing had happened.

His pulse pounded in his ears.

He tried again. And again. Every time, the same thing happened. No matter what direction, no matter how far, he always came back.

The village wouldn't let him leave.

Evening came, and Daniel was still stuck.

He was exhausted. His body ached from running, but his mind—his mind—was breaking.

He had tried everything. He had run in every direction, even marked trees to make sure he wasn't going in circles. But none of it mattered.

He was trapped.

And then—

The villagers noticed him.

They gathered before him, whispering to one another, casting glances his way. Daniel straightened, gripping his knife. Something wasn't right. Their expressions had changed.

They knew.

Then, one of them pointed at him. Another nodded. Their murmurs grew louder.

His heart pounded. He took a step back.

Then—

They came for him.

A dozen men rushed forward. Daniel cursed, yanking his knife from his belt. The first one that got close, he slashed across the chest. The man stumbled back, groaning in pain. Another reached for him—Daniel kicked him away.

But there were just too many.

They tackled him, forcing his arms down. He struggled, growling, twisting, trying to cut his way free, but hands grabbed his wrists, his legs, his throat.

"Let me go, you bastards!" he spat.

They didn't. They held him down. Someone ripped the knife from his grip. Others bound his wrists with thick rope.

And then—

They dragged him to the center of the village.

The fire crackled, its orange glow flickering in Daniel's wide eyes.

The villagers spoke in hushed voices. Some looked at him with disgust. Others with pity.

"He must burn," one said.

"He cannot be forgiven," another muttered.

Daniel thrashed against the ropes. "You don't know what you're doing! Let me go!"

But no one listened.

They tied him to a thick wooden pole, and the fire roared beneath him.

The heat licked at his boots first. Then his legs. Then—

He screamed.

The flames crawled up his body, biting into his skin. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, searing, suffocating. The smoke filled his lungs, choking him, burning him from the inside out.

His flesh blistered. His vision swam. The screams tore from his throat until he could scream no more.

And then—

Everything went black.