Later that night, we made a camp by the lake. The wind had stilled. No monsters in the air – at least, not the kind I could fight.
While the others pitched tents and prepared food, I walked to the water's edge. Far enough that the fire couldn't reach me. Just close enough watch to flicker.
I needed air.
Footsteps approached behind me. Steady. Familiar.
I didn't turn. I already knew.
"Earlier…" Gideon said, voice low. "Milo didn't mean it. The thing about the baron's son."
"It's fine," I answered.
He didn't speak again for a moment. The lake stretched out ahead, black and calm. Only a faint trace of stars moved across its surface – blurred by thin clouds, scattered by ripples.
"If you want to disappear," he said gently, "no trail, no name… we can help."
My finger curled slightly at my sides. The instinct to run was always there – but this was different. Not a threat. An offer.
"Why?" I asked. "You don't even know who I am."
"No," he said. "But I've seen eyes like yours before."
A pause.
"People don't fake that kind of pain. Not for this long."
I didn't answer. Not right away.
The girl who once lived in this body might have cried.
But I just stood still.
"Thanks," I said finally, voice flat. It was the only word I could manage.
He gave a quiet nod and walked back toward the fire. I listened as the light from behind flickered and grew. The others had started laughing again. Milo's voice rose above the rest.
The air carried the scent of roasted meat and smoke.
It was warm.
I didn't join them.
Instead, I stayed by the lake.
It had been a long time since I felt this… peaceful.
But peace don't last.
It never did.
"Alice?"
I turned.
Milo stood a few steps back, holding a bowl with both hands like it might spill.
"For you," he said.
His voice was quiet. Careful. Guilt hung off him like mist that hadn't burned off.
I took the bowl. "Thanks."
He didn't move. Just shifted his weight, chewing at his lower lip.
"About earlier…" he tried. "I didn't mean to say that. The manor. I didn't think –"
He cut himself off.
I looked down at the bowl. "It's fine. I understand"
"But it wasn't –"
His voice cracked. He rubbed at his face, but tears slipped past anyway.
I froze.
I didn't know what to do with this. I could snap a monster's spine clean through. But this – this was harder.
Awkwardly, I raised my head.
Let it rest on his head.
A clumsy pat.
"You didn't do anything wrong," I said. "It's just the past. That's all."
Milo sniffed and gave a small nod, still hunched.
A memory stirred –
A boy I'd saved from the rubble during the monster raid. He'd cried like this too.
I wonder if he was still alive.
I left my hand where it was. Milo stayed quiet, then sat beside me, knees pulled up to his chest.
"Thanks," he mumbled.
I glanced sideways.
"For not yelling. Or walking off."
I didn't answer.
"I know I said something I shouldn't have."
"It's fine," I said again.
A pause.
"You're not mad?"
"No"
"You're still scary though," he muttered.
That made me pause.
"But like… cool scary. Not bad scary."
I said nothing. Just picked up the spoon and started eating.
Milo stayed beside me, watching the lake.
Behind us, the fire cracked soft and steady. Someone laughed. The quiet settled again – not heavy, just… still.
Night had fallen deep. Everyone was asleep. Except me.
Sleeping under the open sky stirred habits I couldn't shake. My senses stayed sharp – too sharp. Waiting for the snap of twig, the sudden rush of breath. A raid. A scream. The crack of bone under the claw.
The air buzzed with pnevma. Faint, natural – but dense.
Milo and Gideon slept undisturbed in their tent.
I stood and stepped into the dark.
Silas sat near the low fire, half-shadowed, sword resting across his knees. He looked up as I approached and gave a small nod.
I returned it and sat across from him.
The flames shifted quietly between us.
"You…" he said. "Are you a Redborn?"
I raised an eyebrow. "Redborn?"
"I sensed a strong Rava near the manor. And… you were injured."
Redborn. Was that what they called awakened here? The Hunters?
And Rava – that must be this world's word for pnevma.
I studied him for a bit longer. Not accusing. Not careless. Just watching.
"Are you?" I asked.
He nodded once. "I can channel Rava through my blade."
Silence settled between us again.
Then –
Snap.
My head turned.
Twigs. Snapping. Not loud, but deliberate. Too light for a person. Too many feet.
Silas was already standing.
I scanned the dark.
One… no, five.
They moved like a pack. Fast. Coordinated. Their pnevma was faint but sharp – erratic.
Monsters.
"Wake them," Silas said, drawing his sword. His voice stayed calm, but something in it cut clean.
I moved.
Reached the tent, shook them hard.
"Monsters?" Milo's voice cracked.
They scrambled out, half-asleep, stumbling toward the wagon. I saw Gideon drag Milo down behind the crates, his hand already on a short blade.
I tried to summon my scythe.
Nothing.
Tried the sword.
Still nothing.
No answer from the core. My pnevma reserves were still too low.
I scanned the camp.
There – by the barrel.
A long metal rod, dull but solid.
I grabbed it.
"Hiding won't help if they reach us," I said, meeting Gideon's eyes. "I'll help him."
The air shifted. Denser now. Not from sound, but from pressure.
Pnevma. Not human.
Then the sound followed.
A rasping grind – bone dragged across gravel.
The first creature stepped out of the treeline.
Too many limbs. Knotted spine. Eyes that didn't blink.
I knew them.
Spinehounds.
That's what we called them in the guild –
Beast twisted by corrupted pnevma. Pack-bound. Fast. Always hunting.
Worse than wolves. Smarter than they should be.
I've fought them before.
That memory wasn't from this world.
But my body remembered.
The first one crept closer. Its jaws scraped along the dirt, drooling sludge, the bone plates on its back twitching with each step. Its spine curled unnaturally, barbs like fractured wings jutting from its back. Another one emerged from the bush – faster, leaner, with glowing red sockets where eyes should be.
I exhaled. Tightened my grip on the rod.
No pnevma. Just instinct.
"Looks like they're coordinating," Silas said.
I nodded. "They hunt like wolves," I said. "But worse. They don't scare easily. And they don't stop unless you break the skull."
The first one lunged.
I didn't flinch.
Stepped left. Swung low.
The rod met its jaw mid-snap. Bone cracked. The head twisted sideways from the impact. It yelped – gurgling wheeze – and crumpled.
The second charge before I could reset my stance.
I shifted my weight, turned with it, and struck mid-lunge – slammed the rod against its temple, then pivoted and drove the blunt end down into the base of its spine.
It twitched.
Then went still.
In my past life, these things gutted rookies before they even drew their weapons.
Not this time.
Not me.
Silas had already moved through the third and fourth – clean, fast, controlled. His blade sliced through with surgical precision. No wasted steps. No hesitation. The bodies collapsed before their claws hit the dirt.
Only one left.
It bolted toward me, jaws wide, pnevma flaring wild behind its ribs.
I feinted left – baited it.
It lunged.
I ducked, drove the rod straight up under its jaw, then twisted behind it. My foot struck the back of its leg, forcing it down. I slammed the rod once – twice – at the spine base.
It convulsed.
Then dropped.
I stood over the body, panting once. Just once.
Blood and pnevma smoke clung to the air. The night had gone still again.
[3rd POV]
Gideon watched from the wagon as Alice and Silas moved through the clearing, their silhouettes flashing in and out of the firelight.
She shouldn't be able to fight like that – not so soon after her injury. And yet, she didn't flinch. Not once.
Silas, he is expected. The man was born for combat. But Alice –
She was small. Frail-looking. The kind of figure nobles pitied or overlooked. But now, she moved like water guided by steel. Clean striked. Quick footwork. No hesitation.
Not just instinct.
Training.
He'd suspected she was Redborn the moment they found her. The marks on her arms, the condition of her body. The Church would've called it divine punishment.
He knew better.
Beside him, Milo watched with wide eyes. "I didn't know Alice was that strong," he whispered. "I wish our president would recruit her."
Gideon didn't respond.
His thoughts drifted to him – the man they called their president. The kind of people he trusted. The kind of lives he tried to save. Survivors. Fighters. The broken, the unwanted.
People like Alice.
It had been two years since the Red Sky.
Five days of red, the heaven bled crimson. Clouds burned from within, casting the land in a sickly light that never faded, not even the night. Birds stopped flying. Animals turned feral. Priests said it was a trial from the heavens. Scholars said it was the end of all known balance.
But when the sky finally cleared, something had changed.
The air felt heavier. And people – ordinary people – began to awaken. Power once reserves for the divine surged through common blood. Some called it a gift. Most called it a curse.
The Redborn, they were named. Marked by strange powers. Feared. Hunted.
Scattered across the world like wild sparks from a storm. Most didn't survive. Some hid. A few fought back.
And one of them had just taken down three monsters with a metal rod.
Gideon looked at her again – focused, fast, efficient. That wasn't just survival. That was an experience.
The question tugged at him again – one he already knew the answer to.
Should he bring her in?
Or let her disappear, far from the hands that would try to own her?
He watched her finish the last monster, dust settling around her in the still night air.
She wasn't made for peace.
But maybe, just maybe –
She could find purpose.
And this time, no one would take it from her.