Anna was silent.
"I tried to stop him," Gorin continued. "l told him it was too dangerous to go looking for them. He's just a boy. I hit him… I didn't mean to" His voice cracked. "But I panicked. I didn't want to lose him either." Anna turned away, hand covering her mouth. Unexpectedly, Lana had been standing just outside the hallway. She had heard everything. Her expression was like she had seen her dead parents bodies. Rain pelted the rooftops like nails from the sky. Lana burst into the storm, her cloak flapping behind her like wings in the wind. Thunder cracked above her head.
"Sorin!" she screamed into the night. "Sorin, where are you?!" The village paths were nearly empty, drenched in black water and shadow. Her boots splashed through the muddy road as she ran, eyes wide, scanning every alley, every opening. Tears mixed with the rain as she shouted again, "Please don't go! Don't do this alone!" The wind howled louder. But Lana didn't stop running. Not now. Not after what she had just learned.
Sorin had barely made it halfway through the outskirts of the village. The night was thick with rain, masking the rapid footsteps behind him. He turned too late. One moment he was running, the next something slammed into his side. A rough cloth bag was yanked over his head. Thick hands bound his wrists, and a sharp knee crushed him from his back into the mud. His mouth opened to yell but a damp rag muffled the sound. "Easy," someone growled. "Don't bruise him too much. Buyers like 'em clean."
"He's stronger than he looks," another muttered, grunting as Sorin kicked wildly beneath them. "Apprentice of Gorin the Ironfist. That boy's worth more than half this dirt-stained village." Slave traders. The words echoed like thunder through Sorin's mind. They'd been watching. Waiting. For weeks. And now they had him. He was thrown into a wooden cage barely tall enough to kneel in. The interior smelled of mold and blood. Crude etchings marked the walls, signs of others who had been trapped before him. The door shut behind him and locked tight.
Outside, the sound of hooves splashing through mud blended with low voices. Somewhere, a man chuckled. Another counted coins. Sorin sat motionless, soaked and shivering, his wrists bound tightly in leather straps. His head leaned back against the wagon's wall. "I was going to see them again," he whispered. "I was going to find out the truth",Gorin's voice echoed in his head: "You're being careless, Sorin. They didn't abandon you they went south. And they never came back."
South. Toward the demon lands.
To die?
No… Sorin clenched his fists. Not until he knew for sure.
Then he remembered, "the hidden daggers".
Small. Lightweight. Forged by his own hands. One tucked in each boot sole, a trick Gorin had once taught him but never knew Sorin had mastered. He twisted his ankle. The blade fell neatly into his palm. Time slowed. A single breath. One heartbeat. Then action. Sorin rolled sideways, jamming the blade upward between the wagon slats. The brittle wood cracked. He sliced his wrist straps free, ignoring the sting of blood. The door burst open and Sorin exploded from the wagon like a released storm. His shoulder slammed into one man's gut, toppling him. Another reached for a whip Sorin's blade flew into his thigh. He didn't look back. He ran blind. Trees tore at his clothes. Roots tried to trip him. But he kept running, breathing hard, lungs burning. Behind him, the dogs howled.
"What, dogs…! " he muttered between gasps. "They're really going to hunt me down." Thunder rumbled. The path darkened. He crossed the village boundary line then deeper still into the Forest, The Forbidden Forest. The elders warned of ghosts, beasts, and worse. A cursed place, they called it. But to Sorin? It was freedom. Or at least, a chance at it.
The forest didn't welcome him. It devoured him. Thorns cut his cheeks. Briars tangled his boots. Branches struck him like whips across his face and back. But worse than the forest were the hounds. Big, trained beasts. Claws sharp enough to shred bark. Their howls echoed through the dark, haunting and hungry. One leapt through the underbrush. Sorin turned mid-stride and slammed a dagger into its side. The creature rolled, then went still. Another bit his arm. He screamed and stabbed wildly until it too dropped. He was bleeding. Panting. His legs barely holding. Still, he ran.
"Where do I even go?" he whispered aloud. "I don't even know which way the village is anymore…" His thoughts blurred. The trees all looked the same. Shadows twisted around him. The cold rain fell heavier now soaking through every fiber of his clothing. Mud swallowed his steps. "I can't," he wheezed. "I can't keep" His foot slipped.
• THE EDGE
Sorin stumbled forward and suddenly, the world dropped away beneath him. He grabbed wildly at the cliff's edge, his fingers finding a root to grab on, soft, and tearing from the weight. Below him was only darkness, forest mist, and the sound of rushing wind. His heart pounded as his grip weakened. "No," he groaned. "Not like this… not now…" The root snapped. The wind screamed louder than the storm as Sorin tumbled through the air. Rain lashed at his skin. His dagger slipped from his hand. His limbs no longer moved with purpose. They flailed uselessly as the cold took over. Every breath he'd fought for every wound he'd earned, every dream he'd clung to…
…they all slipped through his fingers. His body was battered, cut, torn, and numb. His eyelids fluttered once, twice. His last thought was of a warm corner in the inn.
Of Gorin hammering steel.
Of Lana's voice asking, "Do you want to learn how to read?"
Of the life he had barely begun to live. Then Silence. And Sorin, the boy who never stopped fighting, breathed his last…
…before the ground even caught him.