For a long moment, neither of them moved.
The forest was too quiet now the kind of quiet that makes your ears ring. Ethan's breath fogged faintly in the cool air. The girl was still kneeling, her fingers curled against the moss, head tilted just enough to keep him in sight without seeming openly hostile.
"You're probably not from here… with your unique attire." Her voice was steadier now, but there was still an edge to it.
Ethan glanced down at himself black running shorts, a sleeveless tee soaked through with sweat, lightweight sneakers dusted with dirt. A far cry from her thick wool tunic, leather belt, and the crude stitching at the hems.
Ethan exhaled, trying to process the fact that she looked like she'd stepped out of a medieval fair and he looked like a misplaced jogger. "Yeah, I came from a very far place and, well… where I'm from, it's normal."
Her gaze roamed him not with interest, but with the keen scrutiny of someone trying to decide what he even was.
"Your clothes are so thin and bright. It's so different. And… your shoes how do they stay on?"
He looked at his sneakers. "Laces. You… don't have laces?"
"Not like that," she said, frowning. "At the very least, would you tell me your name?"
"Ethan. Ethan Cross."
"I'm Talia Cromwell."
"Talia," he repeated, nodding. "So, do you have any clue what just happened back there?"
Her lips pressed into a thin line. She glanced at her still-bloodied hands, flexing them slowly as if they belonged to someone else. "When I accidentally hit you, I tasted some blood… then all of a sudden I..." She swallowed, remembering. "I felt it. A surge. Strength flooding my entire body. It's… incredible. Like I'm a completely new person."
Ethan's brow furrowed. "So it's my blood? That's what did it?"
"Seems so," she said simply.
His curiosity sharpened. "And before that, with the man..." He gestured toward the sprawled body a few feet away.
Her eyes flicked toward the corpse sprawled in the dirt. Her voice dropped.
"He was a friend of my father and my neighbor. I knew him since I was little. After my father died during the hunt… he started visiting more. Bringing food. Pretending to help me and my sister. Then he asked me to meet him in the forest. He said that someone in the village is the one that actually killed my father and he was going to give me something in secret, something about his death. After that… you found us here." She trailed off, jaw tightening.
"If you hadn't come…" She stopped, but her meaning was clear.
"I'm sorry," he said quietly.
"It's fine. It ended well anyway. I managed to kill the scumbag thanks to you." Her tone was flat.
Her lips twitched almost, but not quite, a smile.
Then Ethan's attention drifted to the man's body.
It wasn't the sight that pulled at him. It wasn't guilt, or fear. It was something else something that coiled low in his gut, urging him forward. His eyes fixed on the dark smear of blood pooling against the moss where the man's head rested.
The urge hit suddenly sharp and alien like a thirst rooted deeper than his throat. His legs moved before his mind caught up.
"Ethan?" Talia's voice was both curious and confused.
He crouched beside the corpse. The blood was drying at the edges but still wet in the center. The rich, metallic scent filled his lungs. His hand moved almost without permission, dipping two fingers into the thick red.
Warmth spread across his skin.
He stared at it. He could stop here wipe it away, pretend nothing happened.
Instead, he raised his fingers to his mouth.
The first taste was metallic, almost bitter, but underneath… something stirred. A faint ripple rolling through him, subtle but undeniable. His pulse quickened. His shoulders squared.
Talia's breath caught.
Ethan licked the rest from his fingers, chasing that pulse. But it was too little gone before he could hold onto it.
He dipped his whole hand this time, dragging it through the wet patch until his palm and fingers were coated. He brought it to his lips again, slower now, letting the warmth coat his tongue. The sensation was clearer not raw strength, but a deep warmth radiating from his chest.
When he looked up, Talia was watching not horrified, not disgusted. Curious.
"Did you feel it?" he asked quietly.
She nodded once. "Just a little. Like… when you gave me your strength before, but weaker."
Ethan stared at his stained hand. The thought came unbidden.
If I can make her stronger… maybe I can share in it longer too.
He glanced at her again. "Would you drink human blood if it made you stronger?"
Her eyes narrowed. She hesitated but then thought of her neighbor's attack.
"It's just blood. A small price to not be helpless."
He held her gaze for a moment longer, then turned back to the corpse.
The hand-licking wasn't enough. Not for the gnawing in his gut.
His eyes found the man's dagger, sheathed at his belt. The handle was smooth from years of use.
Ethan pulled it free. The blade was clean.
He set the point against the man's neck, just below the jaw. For a moment, he couldn't move. This wasn't an accident this was deliberate.
He swallowed, then drew the blade across.
Blood welled instantly, hot and dark. His stomach twisted not with disgust, but anticipation. He lowered his mouth to the wound.
The first swallow was like drinking fire. It spread fast up his neck, down his chest, curling through his core. His grip on the corpse tightened.
He drank again, deeper. The taste grew sharper, almost electric. His chest swelled with each breath.
But soon the warmth turned heavy. At the tenth swallow half a liter, maybe his body rebelled. His throat tightened, gut threatening to heave. He pulled back, wiping his mouth, panting.
It felt strange like a surge of power had filled him, only to fade just as quickly. He could feel it leaving him… flowing toward Talia.
Maybe the more I give her strength, the longer I can hold on to it myself.
"Well?" he asked, still catching his breath. "Did you feel it?"
She tilted her head. "Definitely. I'd say I'm a bit stronger now. And… thank you for this opportunity. Even though you… became like that."
"It's fine," he said. "Since we're bonded now, maybe you should protect me. I'm still weak."
Talia's lips curved faintly. "Logical. You could kill me anytime, but… I'm still thankful. And I'm ready to serve and protect you."
"Well," he said quietly, eyes locked on hers, "I'm incredibly thankful for that."
Talia's lips twitched, almost like she wanted to smile but wasn't sure if it was safe. Then she shifted, adjusting the belt at her waist as if the conversation hadn't just been about killing and drinking from a dead man.
"Well," she said, her voice steady, "wanna go to my house? My sister should be waiting, and the village is incredibly close by."
Ethan hesitated. The thought of a village people tightened his chest. But Talia was already walking, eyes scanning the trees.
"It's safer there," she added. "You don't want to be in these woods after dark."
He glanced at the body. "And him?"
"I'll say it was a hunting accident. No one will question me. And… the night could take care of it."
The bluntness in her voice sent a faint chill through him. Whatever world he'd stumbled into, it didn't seem like it had the same rules he was used to.
He gave the corpse one last glance, then followed her.
The forest closed around them thick trunks, damp earth, the whisper of leaves. His legs already felt weak.
"You said… your sister?" he asked after a while.
"Yes," she said without looking at him. "Her name is Mira. She's eighteen, and she doesn't need to know about the death of Rey."
"So that's his name." Ethan didn't press.
The trees thinned. Smoke and the scent of cooking drifted in the air. A worn dirt path led to low wooden buildings and thatched roofs.
His heart picked up not from exertion, but anticipation.
"You'll be fine," Talia said, glancing at him. "Let me talk first. Don't say or do anything stupid."
He huffed. "You make it sound like that's my specialty."
Her eyes flickered almost amused. "It might be is."
They stepped out of the trees, the village opening before them.