The forest does not speak, yet it remembers everything.
I learned that long ago — before blood, before death, before I became something less than human.
My name… no, that name no longer matters.
The world I came from erased it.
I am eighteen years old.
And I am a former assassin.
Morning in the forest is always cold.
Not the kind of cold that bites the skin, but the kind that seeps into your bones and reminds you that you are alone. The mist crawled slowly between the trees, wrapping the forest in a quiet veil. Dew clung to the leaves, and somewhere in the distance, a lone bird cried — sharp, lonely, like a warning.
I opened my eyes before the sun could rise fully.
Habit.
Assassins do not sleep deeply. Even now, even after leaving that life, my body refuses peace.
I sat up slowly on the wooden platform I built between two massive trees. Below me, the forest floor was still dark, shadows thick and unmoving. My hand moved instinctively to my side — checking.
The dagger was still there.
Always.
A former assassin who loses his weapon does not live long enough to regret it.
I exhaled quietly and stood.
Another day of survival.
Another day of silence.
Another day… of not being hunted.
Or so I hoped.
Three years ago, I escaped.
No — escape is the wrong word.
I ran.
From the organization that raised me. From the people who turned a child into a weapon. From the endless missions, the endless blood, the endless orders whispered in the dark.
Kill.
Disappear.
Do not feel.
I followed those commands for fifteen years of my life.
Until the night I was ordered to kill someone… who smiled at me.
Not in fear.
Not in hatred.
But in pity.
That was the first time my hands trembled.
And the last time I obeyed.
So I ran into the only place where killers lose their advantage — the wild.
The forest became my refuge.
My prison.
My grave, perhaps.
I climbed down silently, landing without a sound. My bare feet touched the cold earth, senses spreading outward like invisible threads.
Smell — wet leaves, moss, distant water.
Sound — insects, branches shifting, wind breathing.
Movement — none.
Safe.
For now.
I walked toward the river to check the traps I set yesterday. Survival here is simple: hunt, eat, hide, repeat. No politics. No lies. No commands.
Just life and death.
The first trap was empty.
The second — broken.
My eyes narrowed.
Not broken by an animal.
Cut.
Clean.
Someone had been here.
My hand moved to my dagger instantly.
The forest… was no longer silent.
I crouched low, scanning the ground.
Footprints.
Light.
Careful.
Not a normal traveler.
Not a hunter.
Whoever this was… moved like me.
My heartbeat slowed — not from fear, but instinct. The part of me I tried to bury began to awaken.
Assassin.
There was only one group who could track me this deep into the wilderness.
The organization.
They found me.
After three years… they finally found me.
I should run.
That is what a survivor would do.
But my feet did not move.
Instead, I smiled faintly.
If they came to drag me back…
They would need to kill me first.
A faint sound behind me.
Too late.
I twisted instantly — dagger flashing toward the shadow.
CLANG.
Steel met steel.
Fast.
Very fast.
A masked figure stood before me, eyes cold, blade steady.
Not just any assassin.
An elite.
"So you are still alive," the figure said calmly.
A familiar voice.
Memory struck like lightning.
"You…" I whispered.
My former instructor.
The man who taught me how to kill.
The man who erased my childhood.
"The organization wants its weapon back," he continued. "Come quietly. You cannot survive the world outside forever."
I laughed softly.
Weapon?
No.
Not anymore.
"I am not your weapon," I said, lowering my stance. "I chose to live."
Silence fell between us.
Then—
He attacked.
The clash shook the forest.
Fast.
Precise.
Deadly.
Every movement calculated, every strike meant to kill.
But I was no longer the child he trained.
Three years of surviving alone… had changed me.
I no longer fought like an assassin.
I fought like a beast of the forest.
Unpredictable.
Wild.
Alive.
Steel flashed.
Blood fell.
Breath burned.
And for the first time in years…
I felt something.
Not fear.
Not obedience.
But freedom.
The battle ended in silence.
The masked man knelt, blade fallen.
Defeated.
He looked at me — not with anger, but with something else.
"…You changed," he said quietly.
"Yes," I replied.
"I became human."
The wind passed between us.
The forest watched.
Then he spoke one last time.
"They will send more."
I already knew.
This was only the beginning.
As the sun finally rose above the trees, I stood alone once more.
But everything had changed.
The world… had found me again.
And this time—
I would not run.