The wooden floor creaked softly under my boots as I descended the tavern steps.
The morning sun had risen fully now, casting harsh light across the street—illuminating every bruise, every stolen sack of grain, every trembling villager forced to their knees.
And the men laughed.
Five of them.
Well-fed.
Well-armed.
Their eyes predator-sharp.
They didn't notice me at first.
Until the wolf stepped beside me.
Then—silence fell like ash.
One of the gang turned.
He was taller than the rest, with a half-shaved scalp and a fur cloak over iron-spiked leather.
He squinted at me through the smoke of a stolen pipe.
"The hell is this? Local goat herder raise herself a pet demon?"
A few of the others chuckled.
Another—grinning, missing half his teeth—nodded toward the winged wolf.
"Must be circus folk. Or nobles slumming it."
I said nothing.
Just walked.
Deliberate.
Slow.
Until I stood a few paces from the tallest one, whose lip curled in amusement.
"Youlost, girl?" he asked.
My eyes stayed fixed on his.
"I suggest," I said softly, "you return what you've taken."
That made them laugh harder.
The man to his right spat at the dirt. "Oh, she's one of those brave ones. You know the type. Dressed like a runaway noble but soft in the middle."
"You want to pay the tax for these peasants?" the leader sneered. "Fine. We'll take it in coin. Or blood."
The winged wolf growled low beside me, its wings half-unfurled in warning.
I could feel the burn beginning to stir within my blood—the weight of old spells, the memory of ash and fire that lived in my locket.
But I kept my voice calm.
"You have one chance to walk away."
The leader's smile faded, just slightly.
Then returned with a crueler edge.
"And if I don't?"
I stepped closer—one step, then two—until I stood within striking distance.
"I won't kill you," I whispered. "I'll let the beast do it."
The wolf snarled, baring its fangs as its wings rose behind me like a shroud of shadow and starlight.
The laughter stopped.
The smallest of the gang took a nervous step back.
"…You're bluffing," another hissed. "She's bluffing."
But they didn't believe their own words.
Not really.
Not anymore.
I let the silence hang.
A moment. A breath. A warning.
The wolf stood beside me—still, but tense. Its silver eyes never blinked, never wavered.
The villagers were frozen, unsure whether to hope… or run.
I raised my voice just enough to be heard across the square.
"This is your final chance."
I looked each of them in the eyes.
"All of you. Leave what you took. Walk. Don't look back."
The leader's grin twitched.
He was weighing it.
Pride, greed, and stupidity all fighting behind his eyes.
But before he could speak—one of the younger thugs behind him snapped.
With a guttural yell, he lunged forward, blade drawn, aiming to slash across my shoulder.
The villagers gasped.
He never made it.
Because the moment he moved—
So did I.
I didn't strike.
I didn't scream.
I simply looked at him—
And let go of the first thread of the thing inside me.
A crushing weight exploded outward from my presence.
Not seen—but felt.
The air rippled like heat off stone. Dust shivered in the road. Windows moaned as if the wood itself feared what had awakened.
And every living thing in the square felt it.
That pressure.
That aura.
The ancient, suffocating presence of something predatory—
Blood-soaked.
Battle-hardened.
Vampiric.
The thug collapsed mid-strike, his weapon clattering uselessly as he dropped to his knees—trembling violently, unable to breathe, unable to move.
His eyes rolled back.
And he vomited from sheer terror.
The rest of the gang staggered backward, faces pale, their bravado melting like wax in flame.
The leader—now visibly sweating—looked at me, eyes wild.
"What… what are you?"
I didn't answer.
I didn't need to.
The wolf stepped forward now, growling low, a warning on my behalf.
"Go," I said, voice low, cold, and without mercy. "Take him. Leave the rest. And if I ever see your mark again…"
I took a single step forward.
They all flinched.
"I'll feed your bones to the trees."
They didn't argue.
They dragged their fallen companion up with shaking hands and fled—stumbling, tripping, dropping sacks of grain and coin in their haste.
Within moments, they were gone.
Dust in the road.
The villagers didn't cheer.
They didn't clap.
They only stood—quietly watching me.
In awe.
In fear.
In something they couldn't name.
I turned back toward the tavern.
The wolf followed silently.
And as I stepped past Mira, who stood with her arms crossed just inside the door, she gave a slow, approving nod.
"Guess you're not just chasing legends after all."
The dust had long settled.
The gang had vanished down the southern road, their footsteps swallowed by the wind.
And slowly, like sap thawing in spring, the silence in Graye Hollow began to shift.
A young girl peeked out from behind a barrel, her wide eyes full of awe.
An elder man stepped forward from the shadows of his stall, rubbing his hands together nervously before offering a hesitant nod.
Then—one by one—the villagers emerged.
Cautious, but no longer afraid.
They didn't run.
They didn't bow.
They just looked at me with something deeper than fear.
Recognition.
The baker I'd seen earlier, flour still dusting his sleeves, approached first. He held out a small cloth bundle.
"Warm bread," he said, voice a bit shaky. "Fresh. Take it."
I hesitated.
Then accepted it with both hands.
"Thank you," I said softly.
Behind him, a teenage boy stepped forward, offering a single polished stone.
"Lucky charm," he muttered. "I… you might need it more than me."
He darted away before I could speak.
Mira stood at the edge of the tavern porch, arms folded, watching the scene unfold with a rare softness in her eyes.
"Give people a chance," she murmured. "And they'll remember the shape of kindness—even if it comes wrapped in something terrifying."
A small group of women began picking up the spilled sacks and crates the gang had dropped.
No one asked me to help.
No one ordered me to leave.
The fear hadn't vanished.
But something else had bloomed quietly in its place:
Respect.
I stood in the center of it all, the winged wolf at my side, still watchful but calm.
This wasn't my kingdom.
These weren't my people.
But for a brief, fleeting moment…
I belonged.
The wind shifted—cool and clear—carrying with it the scent of pine and northern stone.
It was almost time to move on.
But not yet.
Not until dawn.
The dawn came gently.
Mist curled across the village rooftops. Dew clung to the grass. The warmth of the hearth still lingered in the fabric of my cloak.
I stepped downstairs, the winged wolf padding beside me, alert but quiet.
Mira was already waiting at a table near the door, a wrapped bundle of supplies set beside her and a wooden box cradled in her lap.
She looked up, offering a soft smile.
"Didn't think you'd sleep, but I'm glad you proved me wrong."
I nodded, my voice low. "The quiet helped."
She slid the bundle toward me—dried meats, hard bread, herbs, and a small flask of clean water.
Then, with slow, careful hands, she opened the wooden box.
Inside, resting in a velvet-lined cloth, was an old compass—silver, tarnished by time, but with faint etchings along its edge. Runes. Softly glowing, almost imperceptibly.
I leaned closer.
"Runes?"
She nodded.
"Passed down three generations. My great-grandmother said it was given to her ancestor by a wandering sage woman long, long ago. No name. Just a voice like rain on stone, and eyes that never blinked."
She met my gaze.
"She was looking for silence. And before she left, she offered this."
Mira pressed the compass into my hand. It was heavier than it looked—warm, almost alive.
"I don't know if it will point to your Sage," she continued. "But it doesn't point north. It points to truth. Wherever that may be."
I ran my fingers over the etched runes, one of which pulsed faintly under my touch.
"Why give this to me?"
She smiled softly, tiredly.
"Because you're not the first one to walk into this place with grief behind her and purpose ahead."
The winged wolf stepped forward, as if understanding something unspoken.
I tied the compass to my belt, careful and reverent.
Then bowed my head to her.
"I'll return it. One day."
She chuckled faintly.
"Don't make promises to old women, girl. We've already lived our endings."
As I stepped out into the chilled morning air, the village stirred again. Quiet waves. Nods. Eyes no longer filled with suspicion.
The road ahead curved northward, swallowed by forest mist.
But the compass pulsed faintly.
And this time… I had direction.