The Hero Who Wasn't
The road west was dusty and empty. Marion had left the village behind; its ruins faded like a shadow in the morning mist. He carried little with him — a few coins, a coat, nothing more.
But his heart carried a new weight: the suspicion that something slumbered within him. A spark of fire. It was ridiculously small, yes — but it existed. And he clung to it as if it were proof that he was no longer just a nobody.
He marched for hours until the sun began to set.
Then he heard it: shouting. Steel clashing against steel. Horses whinnying in panic.
Marion ducked and crawled up a slope. Through the trees he saw a carriage on the road, surrounded by men with axes and knives. The guards already lay motionless on the ground.
A finely dressed woman was dragged brutally from the carriage. She screamed and struggled, but two bandits forced her down.
Beside her, another figure stumbled out of the carriage: a young fox-woman, a collar around her neck.
The bandits laughed.
The fox-woman staggered into the forest. No one paid her any attention. All eyes were on the noblewoman.
Marion stared at the scene, heart pounding.
This is it. This is my chance. If I step in now… I'll be a hero. My magic will awaken!
He imagined it clearly: flames bursting from his hands, the bandits falling burning to the ground, the woman staring at him — not as a nobody, but as a savior.
"Now or never," he muttered and leapt down the slope.
"Let her go!" he shouted, arms outstretched. His voice cracked, sounding more like a boy's wail than a hero's command.
The bandits turned. For a moment they stared in surprise — then burst into laughter.
"What's this? A farm boy?"
"Careful, he might blow on us!"
Marion gritted his teeth, clenching his fists.
Fire. Come on. Now!
He focused, sweat running down his forehead. Inside himself he searched for the spark that had flared in the village.
Please! Just this once!
Nothing happened.
Only heat in his fingers, a faint tingling. No light. No flame.
The bandits grinned. One stepped forward and slammed the pommel of his sword into Marion's stomach. The air fled his lungs; he collapsed.
"Heroics end early," the man sneered.
Another grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the ground. Blows rained down — fists, boots. Marion screamed, gasped for air, tasted blood.
"Little fool," one mocked. "Thought he'd impress someone."
Marion lay curled in the dust, face bloody, ribs burning. Above him the men laughed while the noblewoman whimpered in terror.
Why… why doesn't it work? he thought desperately. This was my moment. I was supposed to—
A boot crushed down on his chest, forcing the air from him. He heard something crack, felt a stabbing pain —
—and then darkness.
When he opened his eyes again, he lay at the roadside. The carriage was gone. The bandits were gone. Only streaks of blood remained in the dust.
His body was unharmed.
But he remembered everything — the blows, the breaking ribs, the pain of dying.
Marion stared at the sky.
"Again…" he whispered. "I'm just an idiot."
The wind carried the bandits' laughter away, but inside him it echoed on.
The Encounter in the Shadows
Marion left the dusty site of the ambush behind. His legs were heavy; his body felt as if made of glass. Every movement reminded him of the beating, though no wounds remained.
He now crept through the trees parallel to the road, as unseen as possible.
Never again… he thought. Never again rushing forward like that.
The bandits' laughter still rang in his ears. He saw the noblewoman being dragged away, and his own pathetic figure lying in the dust.
He clenched his teeth.
Never again. I'll be more careful.
The sun sank, casting long shadows between the trunks. Birds fell silent; only the rustling of small creatures remained. Marion wrapped the coat tighter around himself.
Then he heard it.
A soft whimper.
Not an animal. Not a bird.
Human. Female.
He followed the sound carefully and ducked behind a bush.
There she was — the fox-woman from the carriage.
She lay collapsed in the grass, hands clutching her collar. It glowed faintly, as if burning from within. Each breath came in ragged gasps, her eyes watering from pain.
"Please…" she rasped. "It… it's choking me…"
Marion froze.
Images shot through his mind: the wolf-girl, her smile — and then her claws in his chest.
His heart pounded wildly.
Another beastwoman. Another collar. Those same pleading eyes.
He stepped back.
No. Not again. I know how this ends.
But her weak, trembling voice pulled at him.
"Please… the seal… you must break it… I… I'm dying…"
She tried to reach for his hand. Her fingers trembled and fell back helplessly into the grass.
Marion stared at her. Everything inside him was torn apart. One part wanted to run, to leave her behind as he had sworn. Never again so naïve. Never again trust a beastfolk.
But another voice whispered:
Can't you see she's suffering? Will you just watch again?
His stomach twisted. He pressed his hands against his temples.
If I help her, she'll kill me. If I don't, she might truly die.
He cautiously knelt beside her. Her eyes opened, full of pain. She looked at him as if he were her last salvation.
"Please…" she breathed. "I'll serve you… anything you want… just… don't let me die…"
His breath caught.
Her promise sounded like poison and honey at once.
He stood there in the twilight of the forest, the chain before him, the memory of claws and blood still burning in his chest — and felt the weight of the decision.
Leaving Her Behind
Marion crouched beside her. The trembling of her hands, the ragged sound of her breathing — every sound gnawed at him, tugging at the spark of pity that still stirred within him despite everything.
"Please…" she whispered again, weak fingers clutching at his coat. "I… I want to live…"
He swallowed, feeling his stomach knot. Everything inside him screamed to lift her up, to help her.
But then he saw claws again. Saw blood. Saw the wolf-girl laughing before she tore him apart.
His heart hardened.
He tore his coat from her fingers.
"No," he whispered. "Not again."
She stared at him as if she didn't understand. Her lips formed words that barely came out.
"No," he said again, louder now, almost barking. "I'm not your savior."
Her eyes filled with tears. She gasped; the collar glowed brighter, and she writhed in pain.
Marion stood and stepped back. Each step felt like betrayal — and at the same time like liberation.
He turned away.
Her whimpering followed him, echoing between the trees, growing weaker and weaker — until it finally fell silent.
He stopped and leaned against a tree, gasping for air. Sweat ran down his face; his heart hammered wildly.
"I'm sorry…" he whispered. "But… I can't. I can't be that stupid again."
He pressed his hands over his face, feeling guilt like a crushing weight. But stronger than guilt was fear — the terror of being betrayed, killed again.
Marion continued on his way in silence, step by step.
The forest gave way to fields. In the distance rose a gray shimmer: walls, towers, smoke — a city.
His heart tightened.
Parzipazio.
The city travelers had once spoken of. A place full of merchants. Full of life.
Marion pulled the coat tighter around his shoulders. His feet hurt; his body felt hollow.
He stepped onto the road that led down toward the fields. Slaves carried heavy loads — beastfolk with lowered gazes.
No one paid them attention. No one saw them as people.
He drew a deep breath.
"I'm alone," he murmured. "And that's better."
With that thought, he continued toward the city.