Fear

That morning, after training, I went to fetch water from the well when I heard a scream. I rushed toward the sound, only to witness a horrifying sight that sent chills down my spine.

A group of bandits had ambushed a carriage, slaughtering its passengers without mercy. In the wreckage, a young girl—about my age—knelt beside the lifeless bodies of her parents, sobbing. The bandits circled her like vultures, their weapons gleaming in the dim light.

The old man had always warned me never to leave the forest, to stay out of trouble. "I'll tell you why the day you land a hit on me," he'd say, as if it was a possible task.

I should have turned back. I should have listened. But I couldn't ignore the girl's screams.