Half unconscious almost asleep Robert woke up
The scent of smoke brought him back.
Not the dream this time—real fire. Real danger.
Robert was already moving before his mind fully caught up. He slung his pack over one shoulder, sword in hand, breath steady despite the pounding in his chest. The faint glow beyond the broken chapel wall wasn't dawn.
It was torches.
They had found him.
He cursed under his breath and slipped through the back of the ruins, boots silent over shattered stone. The hunters were persistent these days. Probably bounty
Fools. All of them.
He climbed the slope behind the chapel, staying low. From the ridge, he spotted them—three riders, cloaked in red, moving through the ash. Their horses were armored, though tired. These men weren't just some Bounty hunters they were empires black orders hound. One dismounted and crouched beside the burned footprints Robert had left hours ago.
A tracker.
"He's close," the man said, voice sharp and certain.
Robert's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword. He could run deeper into the wastes, lose them in the Dead Ravine. But then again...
Something in his chest stirred. Not anger. Not fear.
Something colder.
Resolve.
He couldn't keep running forever.
Minutes later, the first hunter broke off from the others, likely to circle around. That was a mistake.
Robert waited in silence, hidden behind a cluster of jagged stones. As the man passed, Robert struck. A swift movement the blade cut through the neck like Butter his movements showed no hesitation pure instinct.
When he finally reached the edge of the high pass, the other two were still searching. One called out—"Markus?"—and received only the wind as answer.
Robert didn't linger.
He moved fast, ghost-like, leaving behind only a smear of blood and silence.
By midday, he was miles away, deep into the spires of the Black Hollow, a craggy terrain few dared cross. The creatures here didn't bother him—they only attacked the hopeful. And he had none left to give.
He set up camp under the shadows of jagged rocks, ignoring the growing ache in his leg where a fresh cut had begun to throb.
As he lit a small fire, something caught his eye—a symbol carved into the stone beside him. Fresh. An emblem.
His family's crest.
But it was inverted.
His blood ran cold.
That mark hadn't been there yesterday.
Someone else was in the wastes. Someone who knew who he truly was.
And worse—someone who wanted him to know they were coming.
Suddenly he heard a whistle not melodic but terrifying sounded like the whistle of death he had a hint who it could be
Wishing he is wrong he put out the fire and started walking tired and hungry he say a small settlement it was in the east he was heading south
His arrival will only bring chaos to settlement so he continued moving south but he knew someone was near looking at him like a predator looks at his prey
Robert went into the narrow path that provided him protection form the chaser's sight
He was not hiding but waiting
Thought not even 20% of his true strength he was still not weak plus the experience of 3 wars was his greatest treasure
Silent and calm his heart rate under his control he waited
Until he arrived
A man dressed in full black had a terrible scar on his face and empty black eyes he bore the mark of nether and his broken spear in his one arm and a dagger in another
He stood there...
Looking.