Six of them.

  Bandits. Or something like it. They were too organized to be random thugs I thought, too precise to be desperate. They moved with intent. Trained, maybe. Dangerous, definitely.

  Three guards held them off. One was already down, blood leaking from his side. That left two standing. Tight formations, steady grips. They didn’t flinch, but something held them back. Restraint..But it doesn't look like they feared them, no.

  Someone was in that carriage.

  Someone important.

  My stomach clenched again, nausea still licking the back of my throat. My hands wouldn’t stop trembling. My heartbeat thundered and it was trying to punch its way out of my ribs.

  This is insane.

  My first real fight. This isn't sparring. It isn't Ricusoss’ claws grazing skin. This was a real deal.

  And here I was—hiding behind a tree, clutching a wooden sword thinking it was going to save me, maybe it will.

  I should’ve run. I wanted to.

  My legs begged for it. My chest burned with every breath. My whole body screamed get out. But I stayed.

  And I watched.

  There—three of the bandits. Sloppy. Aggressive. They swung wide, overcommitted, reacted instead of thinking.. The other three—tighter, meaner, efficient. I didn’t want to deal with those.

  The guards were losing ground. Steady, but not enough. They were holding the line but not pushing it. They were stalling. Because whatever—or whoever—was in that carriage mattered more than winning.

  And one of the bandits... he was limping. Bleeding down his thigh. Still snarling, still swinging, but slower than the others.

  That’s my opening.

  I slid lower to the dirt, sword gripped tight, body humming with panic. Every muscle wanted to seize. Every thought screamed don’t. But I didn’t listen.

  I forced myself forward. Slow. Silent. Breathe low. Move small. Invisible.

  They hadn’t seen me..

  One step closer. Then another.

  My eyes locked on the limping one.

  If I hit fast enough, maybe he’d go down.

  Maybe.

  I raised the wooden blade, sweat trickling down my spine.

  A strike to the neck. Quick. Clean. Or as clean as this could ever be.

  My heart stuttered.

  And then I moved.

  The moment his sword twitched, I moved.

  There was no hesitation, not even a thought. It was instinct and fear wrapped in one violent twitch. My wooden blade cracked against his neck—

  Whack.

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  It sounded like something broke. Might’ve been his windpipe. Might’ve been my nerves.

  Either way, it didn’t feel good. It felt real. My heart spiked, loud and erratic, I could feel it was trying to escape my ribs once again.

  The bastard staggered, eyes locking with mine. He still tried to swing—one last wild swipe—before he collapsed. Out cold.

  One down.

  Five left.

  And now the forest had gone too quiet.

  That hit had made a sound. A real…loud sound. Everyone turned—bandits, guards. All eyes on me.

  A kid. Barefoot. Holding a stick.

  Perfect.

  I thought at that moment, let them underestimate me. Let them think I was just lucky. I'd play that role. Hell, I’d wear it like armor. But I couldn’t freeze.

  Stillness was death as ricusoss would say.

  The bandits exchanged looks. One of them muttered, “Who the fuck is that kid?”

  Great question, asshole. Maybe spend less time asking and more time not dying.

  I bolted.

  Not straight—crooked, weaving around the carriage, then into the trees. My lungs burned. My legs stung. But it didn’t matter.

  “Come on,” I hissed, not sure if I was talking to the guards or myself.

  One of the bandits took the bait.

  Of course it had to be one of the fast ones.

  “Lucky me,” I muttered.

  The bandit sneered. “This ain’t a playground, you little shit.”

  He had a shaved head so perfectly round he looked like walking middle finger.

  “Yeah, baldhead,” I said, staring him down. “Look around real good. This patch of dirt’s gonna remember your face.”

  He was the loud one from earlier. Full of piss, noise, and dumb bravado. Thought I could poke the beast a bit—make him sloppy.

  Worked.

  He roared, similar to a caveman and swung at me. Problem was, there was a whole-ass tree between us.

  You gonna chop it down first, lumberjack?

  I didn’t wait for the answer. Scooped up a handful of dirt and sand and flung it dead into his eyes.

  Direct hit.

  He screamed, clawing at his face. That was my cue.

  I moved.

  One fast lunge and I slammed my wooden blade down on his sword arm—thwack. The impact rattled through my bones. His blade didn’t drop, but my stick nearly snapped in half.

  Didn’t matter. It wasn’t done.

  I launched forward again and cracked him across the head. But just as the hit landed, I felt it—a gust of wrong behind me.

  Shit.

  Another one.

  I ducked low, felt the air whistle past as the second bandit’s swing missed by inches. I twisted, tried to counter—my blade skidded off his, hands slipping from the grip.

  Gone. The sword flew from my hands quickly.

  I lunged for the sword.

  Too slow. My arm wasn’t long enough, and if I reached any farther, the bastard behind me would take my head clean off.

  Panic flared. I scanned for anything—anything. My eyes landed on the bald bandit still writhing on the ground, blinking dirt and blood.

  His weapon.

  Shit. Could I even lift it?

  Didn’t matter.

  I dove for it.

  The bandit behind me surged forward, fast and heavy, boots thudding loudly.

  I didn’t hesitate. Kicked the bald one's ribs hard enough to fold him in half, then stomped on his head with everything I had.

  Crack.

  Muffled and wet. Either his nose or something worse.

  “Playtime’s over, twig,” the voice behind me growled.

  No time to think. I grabbed the sword.

  It was heavy. Real heavy. Like trying to lift a damn iron door. My arms screamed. My back flared. But I forced it up, because if I didn’t—I’d die.

  Clang!

  Steel slammed into steel. The blow shook my bones.

  He was right in front of me now, face inches from mine. His eyes were calm. Focused. Mine were wild. My arms trembled, legs buckling. It felt like wrestling a bear with a toothpick.

  I wasn’t winning.

  He didn’t even look winded. I was slipping. Cracking. My fingers screamed. Nails bending back. Sweat pouring into my eyes.

  How the hell was he this strong?

  Oh. Right.

  He was a grown man.

  I was a kid.

  But not in here. Not in my head. I’d died. Lived. Bled. I was grown too, dammit.

  Just as my knees started to fold, I heard it—a soft creak behind him.

  The carriage door.

  It opened slow. Silent. But I saw it.

  He didn’t.

  Because his back was turned.

  And stepping out of the carriage… was a girl?

  I barely registered her—just a flash of white hair and wide eyes frozen on me.

  Why was she just standing there? Run, idiot. Run. Get out of here. I can’t hold this much longer—

  My arms trembled, muscles screaming, fingers splintering one by one. Something in my hand snapped with a sickening pop—felt like a dislocated joint. Then another. And now my ribs were cracking under the pressure.

  I was breaking.

  And she just stood there. Her hand rose—shaking, delicate. What the hell was she doing? Praying? Now? Are you out of your—

  Suddenly, the pressure vanished. The weight on me disappeared in an instant, replaced by a shock of freezing cold. The bandit’s blade… it was iced over. Solid. From hilt to hand, frost bloomed across the metal.

  What. The. Hell.

  I blinked. She was gone.

  No—she’d collapsed in front of the carriage. Pale. Unmoving.

  A mage?

  I didn’t have time to process it.

  The bandit roared, trying to yank his weapon free, his hands stuck to the sword.

  “What the hell is this?!”

  “Ice, dumbass,” I spat.

  I dropped the real sword—it was dead weight in my hands—and reached for my wooden one.

  I swung. Hard.

  Crack.

  He went down.

  And then—

  Then the world spun.

  Something sharp tore through me. It was not a scratch, it wasn't a graze. A pierce. A sword rammed clean through my gut.

  The pain was… different.

  Spreading.

  A cold, numb agony that swallowed everything else. My breath hitched. Blood slid from my lips, thick and metallic.

  I looked down.

  Steel. Deep. Buried in me.

  My legs went slack. Arms too. The sword yanked back out in one brutal jerk, and I let out a sound I didn’t recognize—part scream, part whimper, part why.

  The guards were down. All of them. One bandit stood behind me, grinning. His eyes were cold. His mouth twisted in disgust.

  And I fell.

  On my back. On the dirt. Staring at the blood gushing from my stomach.

  It wouldn’t stop.

  It wouldn’t stop.

  The remaining bandits were laughing. Spitting. Fading in and out of view. My vision blurred, just like before. Just like—

  ...Dying.

  I was dying again.

  Gods.

  I didn’t even get to scream. Darkness hit me so suddenly. It dragged me down. And then—

  Cold.

  A different kind. A gentler one. A river water on bare skin.

  “Oi. You plannin’ to throw yourself in that river again?”

  A voice. I knew that voice.

  I blinked.

  Light flooded my vision.

  And there he was—Randall. Hauling two sacks of coal.

  My hands weren’t broken. My ribs weren’t shattered. No hole in my gut. Beneath me were two sacks of coal. Beside me, the river. And my body?

  Whole.

  Breathing.

  Alive.

  What the hell just happened?