Chapter 2: The Weight of Fate

Elias rode through the storm, the unconscious girl cradled in his arms. Bramble trudged forward with slow but steady steps, unfazed by the sheets of rain that lashed against them. Lightning flared across the sky, illuminating the jagged mountains in the distance—their destination, the town of Black Hollow.

Elias glanced down at the girl. Her breathing was shallow, her body limp. The silver pendant against her chest gleamed faintly even in the darkness. He had heard the legends, the warnings, but seeing the mark with his own eyes left a heavy weight in his gut.

"What in the abyss are you?" he muttered, but she gave no response.

By the time he reached Black Hollow, dawn was breaking. The town was small, perched on the edge of a dense forest, its streets still empty. Elias guided Bramble toward an inn near the entrance—a modest wooden structure called The Hollow Oak. He dismounted and carried the girl inside.

The innkeeper, a grizzled man with a scar across his cheek, raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Elias laid the girl on a bench by the fire.

"She sick?" he asked, eyeing her ragged state.

"Found her in the ruins," Elias replied, shaking the rain from his cloak. "She needs food and rest. I'll pay."

The innkeeper grunted and disappeared into the back. Elias turned his gaze back to the girl. Slowly, her eyelids fluttered, and a weak groan escaped her lips.

Then, her eyes opened—and Elias felt a chill run down his spine. They were a deep, unnatural violet, glowing faintly in the dim firelight.

Her lips parted, and she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.

"They're coming."

The door to the inn burst open with a crash.

A gust of cold air swept through the room as two figures stepped inside. Cloaked in dark garments, their faces obscured beneath heavy hoods, they moved with silent precision. Elias tensed, his hand drifting toward his sword. The girl let out a weak gasp, struggling to sit up, but she was still too weak to move.

The taller of the two figures stepped forward. When he spoke, his voice was smooth, practiced.

"We seek a traveler. A girl, to be precise."

Elias remained seated, his expression carefully neutral. "A lot of travelers pass through here."

The second figure, shorter but stockier, took a slow step forward. "Do not play games, sellsword. We know she is here."

Elias narrowed his eyes. These were not ordinary men. Their movements were too precise, their presence too unnerving. He recognized the way they carried themselves—hunters. And if they were after the girl, then she was in more danger than he had thought.

The girl clutched at her pendant, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Elias didn't know who she was or why they wanted her, but he had a sinking feeling that handing her over would be a mistake.

"Sorry," he said, standing slowly, his fingers tightening around the hilt of his sword. "Haven't seen anyone like that."

The taller man sighed, shaking his head. "A shame." Then, without warning, he moved—too fast for an ordinary man. A dagger flashed in his hand as he lunged toward Elias.

Elias barely had time to react. His sword was half-drawn when the blade whistled past his cheek. He twisted, deflecting the strike at the last second. The impact sent him stumbling back, knocking over a chair.

The innkeeper let out a curse and ducked behind the counter.

The stockier figure drew his weapon—a curved short sword—aiming for Elias' ribs. Elias dodged, countering with a swift strike of his own. Steel clashed against steel, the sound ringing through the small inn. The taller man advanced again, his dagger flickering like a serpent's fang. Elias parried, but he was outnumbered, forced on the defensive.

Then, the girl moved.

Still weak, she barely managed to lift her hand, but it was enough. The silver pendant around her neck pulsed with light. A wave of energy rippled through the air, knocking the attackers off their feet.

Elias took the chance. He lunged forward, his blade slashing through the taller man's cloak. A sharp cry of pain followed, and the man staggered back, clutching his side. The stockier one recovered faster, but Elias was ready. He drove his boot into the man's chest, sending him crashing into a table.

The taller one cursed, pressing a hand to his bleeding wound. "This isn't over." With a sharp whistle, he signaled his companion, and before Elias could land another blow, the two men turned and fled into the morning mist.

Elias exhaled, sword still raised. The inn was a mess—chairs overturned, a table broken, the fire sputtering from the wind that still lingered in the doorway.

He turned to the girl. She was breathing heavily, her fingers still curled around the pendant. There was no doubt now—she was dangerous.

Elias wiped the blood from his cheek and met her gaze. "Who are you?"

She swallowed hard, her violet eyes still glowing faintly. "I don't remember."

Elias cursed under his breath. Just his luck.