James knew the risks—but leaving empty-handed wasn't an option.
With a quick glance to ensure no one was watching, he reached into the crate, fingers brushing against the rough fabric concealing the monster cores. Their energy pulsed faintly, warm against his skin. He didn't have time to analyze them—he just needed proof.
Carefully, he slipped two of the cores into his pouch, tightening the strap as he moved to shut the crate.
A sharp click behind him.
James barely had time to react before a voice cut through the air.
"You there—what do you think you're doing?"
His instincts screamed— run.
He turned sharply, but the guard was faster, lunging toward him with a drawn blade. The steel sliced across his upper arm, a deep gash tearing through his sleeve. Pain flared, but James didn't stop.
Ignoring the blood dripping down his arm, he kicked off the cart, using the momentum to throw himself backward into the shadows. The guard shouted, alerting the others—footsteps thundered behind him, closing in fast.
James bolted into the forest, weaving between trees as arrows whistled past his ears. His grip tightened around his pouch—the cores were still there, secured. He had them. He just had to escape.
The terrain worked against him—roots clawing at his boots, loose rocks threatening his balance—but he pushed forward, every muscle burning as he forced his way deeper into the underbrush.
The raiders weren't giving up. Three, maybe four pursuers. More if they called for backup.
James clenched his jaw. If he couldn't lose them in the terrain, he'd have to force a confrontation or find cover before he collapsed from blood loss.
His options were narrowing—and fast.
---
James pushed himself harder, his breath coming in sharp bursts as he darted through the dense undergrowth. The forest was closing in around him, branches tearing at his cloak, roots threatening to trip him at every step—but he couldn't stop now.
Behind him, the raiders weren't slowing down. Their shouts cut through the night air, their footfalls gaining ground as they twisted between the trees with practiced ease. These weren't just common thieves—they were professionals, trained and disciplined.
James clenched his jaw, forcing himself forward. He needed an escape route, something that would guarantee survival but leave enough uncertainty behind—something that would make them question whether anything had gone missing at all.
And then—his chance.
Ahead, the forest sloped sharply downward, a tangled mess of rocks and unstable footing, leading into a narrow ravine. If he could make it down without breaking something, he'd vanish from their sight—at least long enough to force them to regroup.
But the moment he changed direction, the nearest raider lunged.
James barely twisted in time—a blade whistled past his ribs, grazing his side, pain flaring hot as the edge tore through his coat. He stumbled but kept his momentum, using the terrain to force his attacker off-balance.
The raider cursed behind him, momentarily losing ground, but James couldn't afford another close call.
Without hesitation, he plunged down the ravine.
The world tilted—rocks slipping beneath his boots, branches snapping as he crashed through the undergrowth. His arms shielded his face from the worst of the impact, though thorns and jagged roots tore at his exposed skin, leaving deep scratches.
Then—silence.
James tensed, pressing himself against the ravine's jagged walls, forcing his breath to steady. Above, voices barked orders, but hesitation flickered in their tone.
They had lost him.
The raiders lingered at the edge, scanning the darkness below, their frustration evident. But the ravine was too steep, the ground too unstable for them to follow without risking serious injury.
James watched from the shadows, blood dripping from his wounds, but the pouch at his hip remained intact.
James pressed himself deeper into the rocky crevice, his breaths measured as he assessed the damage. His arm throbbed, the gash across his upper bicep a raw, pulsing reminder of his near capture. His side ached, where the raider's blade had grazed him—not deep, but enough to slow him down if he didn't manage it properly.
He couldn't afford to be reckless. Blood loss, fatigue, and pain—each worked against him if he didn't act now.
With painstaking care, he unfastened a small leather pouch at his belt—his personal emergency kit. Most hunters carried one, but he had only a handful of herbs, a cloth wrap, and a small vial of salve. It wasn't ideal, but it would keep infection at bay.
James grimaced as he poured a few drops of the salve over his wound. The sting burned deep, but he clenched his jaw, forcing himself to work fast. He pressed the cloth against the gash, securing it tightly with a strip of torn fabric from his cloak. Not perfect, but better than bleeding out.
Time stretched in uneasy silence as he remained hidden, the sky shifting as evening crept in. Above the ravine, occasional voices still echoed, though more distant now. The raiders hadn't fully left—but they were losing patience. The hunt wasn't worth the risk anymore.
------------------------------------
James kept his body still, pressing himself against the damp stone as voices drifted down from the ridge above.
"He's as good as dead."
The words cut through the quiet, spoken with a certainty that sent a chill down James's spine.
"Even if he survived the fall, he won't last past nightfall. This place isn't forgiving."
Another voice scoffed. "You saw the blood, right? Won't take much for something to sniff him out."
The conversation continued, growing fainter as the group slowly pulled away.
"Forget it. We wait here any longer, we'll be the ones getting hunted."
Laughter followed—harsh, dismissive—as their presence faded into the distance.
James exhaled, his pulse steady despite the weight of their words. They weren't wrong—once darkness fully settled, the creatures of the wild would stir. And here, in the depths of the ravine, he was exposed, wounded, and trapped between survival and the unknown.
His grip tightened around the pouch at his hip, where the stolen monster cores rested. He had the proof—but now he had to get out alive.
The night was coming. And with it, things far worse than raiders.
---
James steadied his breath, forcing himself to ignore the sting in his wounds. The raiders had retreated, but their words lingered—if he didn't move soon, he'd be trapped in the ravine when the creatures began their nightly hunt. That wasn't an option.
Gritting his teeth, he forced himself up, testing his balance before scanning his surroundings. The terrain was unforgiving—loose rock, damp moss, and an uneven slope—but beyond the immediate dangers, something caught his eye.
A cluster of wild-growing herbs, their small leaves dusted with moonlight filtering through the trees. He recognized the bitter scent of bloodroot and the delicate white petals of aether bloom—both known for their healing properties if applied correctly.
With careful hands, he plucked a few sprigs of each, chewing the bloodroot first—the taste was awful, earthy and sharp, but the pain in his arm began to fade ever so slightly. The aether bloom, crushed against his wound, slowed the bleeding further, leaving him just strong enough to move.
With the last remnants of daylight, he scanned for the best escape route, tracking the ridges that sloped upward toward safer ground. He spotted a narrow passage between two rock formations, one that, if navigated properly, could lead him out unseen.
James took a deep breath—this was his chance.
With practiced, careful steps, he began his ascent, ignoring the throbbing pulse of his injuries. Every movement had to be precise, deliberate. And with each step, the forest darkened, warning him that time was running out.
---