Red sprinted through the dense forest, her breath ragged and her heart raced. She could feel the hunter’s presence looming behind her, a relentless pursuer in the shadows of the trees.

  “Dave, where are you?”

  Her voice echoed through the silent woods, a desperate plea swallowed by the oppressive darkness.

  A sudden stab of agony pierced her chest, causing her to stumble for a moment. Gasping for air, she fought through the pain, driven by a frantic determination to find him, to save him.

  She had to find Dave. She needed to mend his wounds, to salvage what was left of their shattered hope. Only then could they save Joaquin, the key to their salvation dangling just out of reach. He will give them the map. They will break the curse. Dave will be free and she —

  As a faint light flickered in the distance, Red’s heart leaped with hope. Soon, the outline of a small hut emerged from the gloom, nestled like a sinister secret within the heart of the woods—a place of refuge tainted by the horrors lurking within. A place familiar to her heart.

  With trembling hands, she pushed open the creaking door and stepped inside, the musty scent of decay assaulting her senses. The air was thick with the fragrance of blood, coating her tongue with its sickening sweetness.

  The scene that greeted her was a nightmare incarnate. Furniture lay shattered and splintered, the walls smeared with fresh crimson stains. In the corner, the bed held her grandmother’s torn-up body, a mockery of life.

  Red sank to her knees amidst the carnage, tears mingling with the blood that stained her cheeks. She wrapped her arms around herself, seeking solace in the folds of her cape, a feeble shield against the horrors that surrounded her.

  A low, guttural growl rumbled through the room, sending shivers down her spine. She raised her gaze to meet the piercing stare of a wolf, its eyes like icy amber shards of malice glinting in the dim light.

  “I’m sorry…”

  Her voice quivered, barely a whisper in the suffocating silence that enveloped them. But the wolf showed no mercy, its predatory instincts stirring as it prepared to strike.

  With trembling hands, Red shed her cape. It rustled against her skin as it slid down her curves, revealing the vulnerability that lay beneath. Naked and exposed, showing her neck, she offered herself up to the beast, a sacrifice to atone for the sins that had brought them to this brink of despair.

  “I’m so sorry, Dave,” she murmured, her words lost in the primal roar of the wolf’s hunger before it leaped towards her.

  And as its jaws closed around her throat, sealing her fate, Red knew that redemption would come at a cost too steep to bear.

  ???

  Jalut halted his horse with a gentle tug of the reins, the animal’s hooves stirring up a cloud of dust as they came to a standstill. Leaning forward, he pressed a reassuring pat onto the sleek, muscular neck of his steed.

  “Good boy, you deserve a moment’s respite.”

  Dismounting with practiced ease, Jalut’s boots hit the earth with a soft thud, his gaze drawn to the figure of the bard slumbering peacefully atop the horse. The potions he had administered would soon lose their potency, rousing the prisoner from his drug-induced slumber.

  With a deft hand, Jalut lifted him from his perch, cradling him in his arms before laying him down on the cool, dew-kissed grass below.

  The horse bag yielded a bounty of provisions, and Jalut wasted no time in offering Goliath a well-deserved treat, the crunch of vegetables mingling with the gentle trickle of the nearby stream.

  As the morning light bathed the clearing in its golden glow, Jalut turned his attention to his own injuries. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. With trembling hands, he set to work, concocting a mixture of herbs and potions to combat infection and promote healing.

  Memories of the encounter with that girl flooded his mind, each moment etched with vivid clarity.

  He had charged towards her with a ferocity born of desperation, his muscles tense with anticipation, unaware of what to expect. How might a young woman with a garden knife harm him? As he closed the distance, uncertainty gnawed at the edges of his resolve, casting doubt upon his intentions.

  With a swift, elegant motion, she turned to face him, her movements fluid and deliberate. In that instant, a searing pain ripped through his side, slicing through layers of protection as if they were mere paper. The sensation, sharp, and piercing, sent shockwaves of agony coursing through his body, leaving him momentarily paralyzed.

  Summoning every ounce of strength, he unleashed a flurry of strikes, aiming to rend her apart with the force of his blades. Yet, to his bewilderment, they met an impenetrable barrier—that cursed cape she wore repelling his every blow with uncanny resilience.

  As her hood slipped, a shrill whistle pierced the air close to his ear. His eyes met with hers and the emptiness that devoured him reminded him of the old pain of the past. He had seen those eyes before. Twice. Only one thing stares back like this.

  Death.

  As panic gripped his heart in a vise-like grip, a warm trickle of blood traced a path down his neck, a crimson reminder of his mortality.

  In a reflex born of survival, his hand moved with instinctive precision, severing the thread of life that bound her to this world. With a thud, her lifeless body crumpled to the ground, the silence deafening in its finality.

  His fingers sought the wound on his neck, tracing the path of the unseen blade with trembling urgency. A mere millimeter spared him from the abyss of death, a narrow escape from the jaws of fate that left him reeling with disbelief.

  With a heavy breath, he cast a quick stare at her body. What he saw froze him in horror.

  Her dead body moved. Her chest moved up and down, taking shallow breaths. And the cut on her neck was bloodless. Not a single drop.

  Driven by a primal instinct to survive, he scooped up the unconscious bard, his steps quickening with the weight of impending doom.

  As he returned to his horse and secured the bard, a wave of dizziness swept over him, a disorienting sensation that seemed to blur the edges of his vision. A bitter taste flooded his mouth, leaving an unpleasant sensation as he comprehended the gravity of his situation. It was his own poison coursing through his veins.

  With trembling hands, he hastily removed his armor, the weight of it pressing upon his weary frame. His fingers fumbled with the clasps, his movements erratic as he struggled to free himself from its suffocating embrace.

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  As he peeled away the last blood-soaked layers of fabric, a sickening realization dawned upon him. The arrow, a lethal harbinger of his own making, protruded from his side like a twisted accusation. The sight of it shook him to his core, the jagged edges glinting ominously in the sun.

  Shocked and disoriented, he reached for the poisoned shaft, his fingers closing around it with a trembling grip. With a sharp intake of breath, he pulled it free, the searing pain radiating through his body like wildfire. His vision swam before him, the world tilting dangerously on its axis as he struggled to maintain his composure.

  He forced himself to focus, his gaze darting anxiously to the surrounding shadows. He knew she was out there. The realization of her still being alive filled him with a sense of dread, a primal instinct urging him to flee.

  Despite the overwhelming sense of fear that threatened to consume him, he pressed on, his movements fueled by sheer determination. He had applied medicine to the wound and tightly bandaged it up.

  With a last glance over his shoulder, he mounted Goliath’s back, the steed beneath him trembling with anticipation. They surged forward into the heart of the forest, hooves pounding against the earth like a steady pulse of defiance against the encroaching darkness.

  As Jalut applied the soothing medicine to the wound, he inadvertently disturbed the crust of dried blood, causing it to fissure and trickle anew with crimson vitality. With a swift and practiced hand, he reached for a fresh bandage, the fabric crisp and clean against his fingertips, wrapping it around the wound.

  How had she managed to do this?

  The moment Jalut’s armor encased him, Joaquin’s groans pierced the stillness. In the wake of his drugged slumber, a surge of confusion and unrest seized him, his limbs convulsing in a desperate bid for freedom.

  “Easy now. Drink this,” Jalut said, his voice a calm anchor amidst Joaquin’s rising panic, as he knelt beside him, offering him a leather flask.

  “Where are they? Did you kill them?”

  Joaquin’s words hissed through clenched teeth, each syllable laden with apprehension and fear.

  Jalut sighed wearily, pressing the flask to Joaquin’s lips, his movements firm yet gentle, ensuring compliance as he blocked his nose to prompt swallowing.

  “Where are they?”

  Joaquin demanded after taking a few forceful sips of fresh, cold water.

  “Far away. For both your sake and mine, let us hope we won’t meet them again,” Jalut replied solemnly, taking an apple from the provisions stashed within the horse bag.

  “Are they dead?”

  Joaquin persisted, his despair palpable in the quiver of his voice. Dizziness and a gnawing ache twisted within him, his unease amplified by the uncertainty of his true identity being revealed. But even more profound was his concern for his newfound companions.

  When Jalut offered the apple, Joaquin’s eyes narrowed.

  “How am I supposed to eat while all tied up? What have you done to them?”

  With a roll of his eyes, Jalut squatted, locking eyes with Joaquin in a moment of shared understanding.

  “Listen, music boy. Your hands may be bound, but you can easily eat. Trust me, you want to eat. Soon, the effects of the drug will lull you back into slumber.”

  With insistence, he pressed the apple into Joaquin’s hand.

  “And as for your companions, forget them. I suspect you do not know who they are. You are safer in my company.”

  Joaquin took a hesitant bite, the crisp sweetness a fleeting reprieve from the turmoil within. Yet Jalut’s cryptic warnings lingered, casting shadows of doubt upon his already troubled mind.

  Dave’s swift entry into the fight. His effortless handling of Joaquin and Red left unanswered questions in his mind. Despite all these suspicions, he found himself inclined to trust them over the enigmatic figure before him.

  “Where are you taking me? And what do you know about my friends?”

  As Jalut rose, he stretched his weary muscles, his movements fluid yet burdened by unseen weights.

  “I cannot tell. I’m a professional. But I’ll tell you this. That man, he is a beast. But he, too, fades in comparison to that girl…”

  Red? How can Red be more dangerous than Dave?

  Joaquin finished the apple, left with unanswered questions that lingered like specters in the haze. His captor’s cryptic allusions to Red stirred a deeper unease within him. With each passing moment, weariness descended upon him like a heavy blanket, dragging him into the depths of slumber.

  Jalut waited, the silence broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of nature. Two more minutes passed before he hoisted the slumbering bard onto the horse’s back, his movements swift yet deliberate.

  With fluid grace, he mounted the steed, his senses attuned to the whispering winds that carried echoes of impending danger. Though the original plan was to deliver the goods in three days, Jalut resolved to hasten their journey, spurred on by the gnawing uncertainty of that girl’s survival and the specter of her vengeance trailing close behind.

  ???

  Red jolted from her slumber, drenched in sweat, the gentle night breeze feeling more like a cold gust against her skin. She rubbed her eyes, shivering slightly from the lingering chill in the air.

  A weak, deep voice shattered the silence, prompting her to turn towards him.

  “Another nightmare?”

  He sat on the ground, propped against a tree covered by her cape.

  “Or are you just cold because you’ve wrapped me up like a child?”

  He winced, his face contorted in pain as he attempted to move.

  “Don’t move, you idiot,” she said, yet her sharp tone carried a hint of relief. “You almost died.”

  She moved closer to adjust the cape and properly cover him.

  “You mean we both nearly died. Did he take Joaquin?”

  Red, now sitting beside him, locked eyes with him. She understood his motive. It wasn’t concern for Joaquin’s life, but desperation for a solution to their curse.

  “Yes,” she said in a low voice, her gaze fixed on Dave’s sharp features illuminated by the moonlight. “We almost died. And yes, he took him. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Red. We survived. Thanks to you. I’ll track him down.”

  He attempted to move again, accompanied by a painful grunt.

  “Damn it, what kind of poison was that?”

  “I told you not to move, you moron,” Red scolded him again. “It was ionized silver in high concentration with an additional substance to enhance its effects. It literally made your blood boil, causing internal organ bleeding. Patching you up wasn’t easy.”

  “Did you only use herbs, or did you resort to magic?”

  As soon as he asked, Red averted her gaze.

  Was he really going to scold her for using magic again? She saved his life, fainting three times in the process. She understood the risks, but she had to save him. The amulet she wore likely played a crucial role, allowing her to wield magic despite its near-forgotten status in their world. Over the years, they had already discovered some of its effects. She couldn’t die, and she could tap into higher magic at a significant cost to her energy, potentially fatal. The source of her life force remained a mystery, possibly linked to Dave since she could feel his injuries mirrored on her body as a tingling rash. However, they had yet to uncover the amulet’s true nature and how to break the curse. Her grandmother had never mentioned Claddagh to her when she was alive, and their searches in her old home had yielded no written records. Joaquin and the map he promised were their hope for answers.

  “I had to…”

  Red’s voice trailed off, her tone low.

  “Herbs wouldn’t have saved you; your injuries were severe. And I—”

  “Thank you,” he interrupted, “but you could’ve let us die. It would’ve solved all our problems, right?”

  She glanced back at him as he rested his head against the tree with closed eyes. She adjusted the cape once more to cover him.

  “I couldn’t,” she said, her voice wavering on the edge of tears. “We have to save Joaquin. I don’t understand why the hunter was after him. But I know Joaquin is a good person. He might help us find some clues. And you want to kill the last witch, remember?”

  He didn’t respond, but she knew he was listening. She lay down beside him, her eyes damp.

  It took her some time, but she eventually found solace in feeling his chest rise and fall, in the warmth he radiated, and she drifted off to sleep.

  Meanwhile, Dave’s thoughts raged like a storm. There were moments when Red irked him, but he saw other sides of her. She was intelligent, kind, and, despite his reluctance to admit it, innocent.

  Despite his past actions, she selflessly aided him in breaking the curse, knowing it might cause her own demise. She was well aware of his animosity towards her, which mirrored his feelings towards all witches. She had witnessed the horrifying moment when he mercilessly took the life of her grandmother, and later, he had attempted her own life. No. He hadn’t attempted. He killed her. But the amulet had brought her back.

  She had too many reasons to hate him back. But here she was, lying next to him, her voice laced with genuine concern for his well-being.

  Kill the last witch.

  But how could he? She was immortal. Her death would mean his own. The process of breaking the curse could span centuries. His deep-seated hate towards witches was real, driven by personal vendettas. But Red was different.

  He spent more time with her than with anyone else. Somehow, she navigated his volatile temperament, earning his respect and protection. With each passing day, her presence became a source of unexpected comfort, her scent reminiscent of a garden teeming with life. She was no ordinary witch. She was his witch. His Red.

  I won’t fuck up next time, I promise.