Nervousness began to rise like a heat trapped in my chest. No matter how hard I tried to maintain control, my body knew: this was my first real battle. Not a training session. Not an ordinary hunt. It was life or death. And I could feel it in the way my heart beat harder every second, as if it wanted to run away before I did.
I lowered my body, my knee touching the damp ground, and pulled another arrow from the quiver. My hands were shaking slightly, but the gesture was automatic. I'd done it hundreds of times before. Only now... now it was different. I held my breath and waited. My senses were stuck on that pulsating point ahead, that invisible fragment of presence that threatened everything around me.
It was moving. I could feel it. Each step came closer with the weight of something that didn't belong in this world. As the enemy came forward, I retreated, slipping between the trees like a shadow, one step at a time. Caution was everything.
Then my ears vibrated.
A sharp, instinctive pop pulled me out of my inertia. I rolled to the side, hiding behind another thick, weathered tree.
CHI. CHI. CHI.
Three black knives tore through the air and embedded themselves in the ground behind me. A perfect triangle. The pattern was calculated. Precise. Frightening.
"Almost..." I muttered to myself, swallowing.
Without wasting any time, I raised myself enough to draw my bow, took aim and released another arrow. The tip sliced through the air in a dry, precise hiss.
Chi!
The answer came from a distance. The red dot shuddered again - but this time it bled more. It was visible now, as if reality around it was bending and shaking. Its speed dropped. It was slower. More fragile. But also... angrier.
That's when everything changed.
The presence rushed forward with a burst of energy, shooting towards me like an enraged animal. It was no longer strategy - it was pure fury. And I didn't hesitate. My feet moved of their own accord.
I ran.
My steps were light, almost silent, dodging roots, stones and branches with the precision of someone who knew every inch of that forest. This was my territory. This was my ground. I had hunted for years in these trees, and now I was being hunted inside them.
"Come on then..." I muttered through my teeth as I ran, sweat beading on my brow. "Let's see who knows this labyrinth best."
***
Nigh was panicking.
The shock was still vibrating through his body - the pain was real, sharp, unbearable. The arrow had pierced straight through his chest, where his heart should be beating strongly... but now it was just bleeding. It was bleeding too fast. He barely felt the impact. Just the sound - that thin hiss cutting through the air - and then the dry crack of wood digging into flesh. He gasped, but the air no longer filled his lungs properly.
He was dead. He just hadn't fallen yet.
(No... not like this...)
His body staggered forward, driven by pure hatred and despair. He wanted, no - he needed - to kill that boy before he fell. The light of life slipped through his fingers like sand, and every heartbeat was a cruel reminder that time was running out.
The boy... how could he? How could a teenager, slight and silent, hit him with such precision, from over a hundred meters? Nigh wasn't prepared for that. He was the hunter, not the prey.
On an impulse, he locked his presence on the target and threw the knives - four sharp, black blades that flew through the air with a high-pitched squeal. Then he fired. His legs pushed the ground hard, his body moved forward like a distorted shadow, each step heavier than the last. He could feel death behind him, running along.
Then came another arrow.
It pierced his left shoulder, narrowly missing his neck. The pain made him scream and almost fall over. Instinctively, he jumped backwards and to the left. The arrow that would have cracked his skull passed close by, cutting through the air. For a moment, he thought he would survive long enough.
But he was only fifty meters from the boy when another arrow appeared from the bushes.
It struck his right knee.
The impact made him stumble, and the scream that came from his throat was more animal than human. A hoarse sound of fury, frustration and agony.
"I'm going..." he tried to say. He didn't know what. He could barely form the sounds.
CHI!
Another arrow sliced through the air - he didn't even see where it came from.
With his knee compromised, he couldn't dodge it. The arrow hit him straight in the forehead. A clean hit. Silent.
His body fell backwards, heavy as a rock. He didn't get within twenty meters of the boy. The ground welcomed him coldly.
In the end, he lay there: with an arrow in his chest, another in his shoulder, one in his knee... and the last one stuck in the middle of his forehead.
His eyes were still open, caught in the darkening sky between the treetops. There was confusion in them. And terror. And the complete absence of understanding.
How had it happened?
***
Inside the castle, the conference room.
I was sitting next to my father, Rillen, in one of the dark wooden armchairs in the conference room. The cold stone walls reflected the flickering light of the torches, casting wavering shadows across the floor and columns. The silence was absolute, broken only by the crackling of the distant fire. The weight of the corpse's presence in the center of the room pressed down on my chest like an invisible anchor.
I couldn't take my eyes off it.
The man - no, the thing - was lying on his back, his limbs splayed out as if he had been torn from the world in a single breath. There was an arrow stuck in his skull, right in the center of his forehead. One of mine. The blood had already started to darken, but there was still a damp sheen around the arrow. I remembered exactly when I fired.
It was the fourth shot. The last one. The one that sealed his fate.
My father was silent too, his elbows resting on the arms of his chair, his fingers interlaced in front of his mouth. He looked at the corpse as if he were analyzing an ancient equation, impossible to solve. But I knew that look - it wasn't doubt, it was contained rage.
"Black Emblem..." he said at last, in a low, serious voice. "Those bastards are shadows. Paid for with gold. And now they're here."
I stared at him, frowning.
"Who sent this one?"
He took something out of the corpse's pocket: a black card with a symbol engraved in red. It was simple, but menacing. A skull intertwined with thorns. And below it... my father's name.
My blood ran cold.
"They've marked my name, Zaatar. This is a contract execution. A sentence. Do you know how much such a service costs? Thousands of gold coins. Maybe tens of thousands, depending on the target. Our entire territory doesn't produce that in a year."
He laughed, but the sound was dry. No joy.