The Hunter’s Trap

The forest was eerily silent, as if the creatures lurking within knew what was about to unfold. Veins of moonlight stretched through the dense canopy, casting fragmented silver streaks onto the forest floor. A distant owl hooted, its cry swallowed by the oppressive weight of the night.

Kael moved like a phantom between the trees, his breathing steady, his senses heightened. Every step was calculated, every rustle of leaves analyzed. He had learned long ago that even the smallest noise could mean the difference between life and death. Still, fatigue crept into his limbs, a dull ache settling in his muscles. Three days of relentless pursuit, little rest, and fewer meals were starting to take their toll. He exhaled, pushing past it. He had no choice.

He had been tracking the bandits for three days now. These were no ordinary raiders. They were mercenaries under the command of his father, men who thrived in the shadows and lived by the blade. Each of them bore the crimson serpent insignia—a mark of their allegiance to his father's dark cause. Ruthless, disciplined, and highly skilled, they were not the type to be taken lightly. Kael had suspected that among them, there might be someone more dangerous—a leader or an elite enforcer. His father never left loose ends unguarded. That suspicion kept his guard raised.

Tonight, they would pay.

Kael crouched behind a fallen log, his sharp eyes scanning the clearing ahead. The bandits had set up a temporary camp, a circle of five tents surrounding a dim fire. Five of them sat around the flames, sharing stories in hushed voices, their laughter sharp in the still night.

Two more stood guard at the edge of the clearing, their hands resting on the hilts of their weapons. Their shoulders slumped slightly in the false sense of security the firelight provided.

Seven in total. He could handle this.

A soft breeze whispered through the trees, rustling the branches overhead. Kael remained motionless, listening. The night carried secrets, and he had learned to interpret them well. No reinforcements, no unexpected threats. It was time.

He reached into his satchel, retrieving a small pouch filled with a fine, shimmering powder. A tool he had prepared in anticipation of this hunt—Sleeping Moth Dust, harvested from rare nocturnal insects.

He had risked much to acquire it, bartering with a reclusive alchemist who lived deep in the mountains. The effects were quick, almost undetectable, and more importantly, left no trace of poison that could be linked to him.

With a swift motion, he flung the dust toward the fire. The shimmering particles danced in the air before settling onto the flames, and within moments, the bandits around the fire slumped forward, their bodies going limp. Their breathing remained steady, their chests rising and falling in slow rhythm. Alive, but unconscious.

One of the sentries turned, sensing something was amiss. Too late. Kael was already upon him. A swift blade to the throat silenced the first guard before he could cry out. The second one barely had time to unsheath his weapon before Kael's dagger plunged into his heart. He crumpled without a sound.

Kael exhaled slowly, surveying the now-silent camp. But his instincts screamed at him—something was wrong.

A rustle.

A shadow moved in the trees.

Kael spun just in time to dodge the strike. A figure emerged—a tall man clad in dark leather, his movements swift as a snake. Unlike the others, this man's insignia was marked in gold. A lieutenant. As Kael had feared, there was someone stronger among them.

"So, you're the one who's been hunting us," the man said, twirling his curved dagger. "You've made quite the mess, boy. But your hunt ends here."

Kael smirked, gripping his sword tighter. "We'll see about that."

The fight began in an instant. The lieutenant lunged, his blade aiming for Kael's throat. Kael sidestepped, countering with a rapid slash, but his opponent was just as quick. Their weapons clashed, sparks flying in the dim light. Kael could tell—the man was stronger, more experienced. His strikes were precise, his footwork impeccable. A trained killer, just like Kael himself.

But Kael wasn't fighting for himself. He was fighting for vengeance.

A memory flashed through his mind—his mother's gentle voice, teaching him the very stance he now used. Balance is key, my son. A blade is only as strong as the hands that wield it.

With a feint to the left, he baited the lieutenant into an overcommitment. In that split second, Kael twisted his body, bringing his dagger up in a reverse grip. The blade found its mark—straight into the man's ribcage.

The lieutenant gasped, eyes wide with shock. "You…"

Kael twisted the blade. "This is just the beginning."

As the body hit the ground, Kael wiped his blade clean. The camp was his now. And from the documents in the lieutenant's tent, he would find his next target.

His father's empire of darkness would crumble, one piece at a time.

Kael took a deep breath, scanning the bodies to make sure none of them stirred. He moved quickly, rifling through the lieutenant's belongings. A map, a set of coded messages, and a small insignia made of obsidian. He pocketed them all. Knowledge was just as much a weapon as steel.

A distant howl echoed through the forest, sending a chill down Kael's spine. Wolves. But not ordinary ones. The sound was unnatural, guttural. His father's influence ran deep, and he would not put it past the man to use more than just humans in his schemes.

Kael extinguished the fire, grabbed what supplies he could carry, and vanished into the night. He had what he needed. And he had no intention of being caught in whatever was coming.

The wind carried the scent of rain, a storm brewing on the horizon. He moved swiftly, guided by the moonlight. His next destination lay marked on the stolen map—a hidden fortress nestled within the Shadow Cliffs. If the documents were accurate, his father's right-hand enforcer, Lord Varis, was stationed there. A man just as cruel, if not worse, than the father who had betrayed him.

Kael's grip tightened on his dagger. Varis was more than just an enforcer—he had trained Kael's father in the art of war. His influence ran deep, and he had always been the lurking shadow behind every atrocity Kael's father committed. Some even whispered that Varis had been the one who first suggested the sacrifice of Kael's mother.

Kael clenched his teeth. If the rumors were true, then Varis was as much his enemy as his father. Perhaps even more.

Thunder rumbled in the distance. The storm was coming, and with it, the next step in his bloody path of vengeance.

He pressed forward, disappearing into the darkness, his shadow melting into the night.