The sun had set on the horizon a short while ago, bathing the sky in that dark, but not gloomy, blue. A tired sigh escaped the boy's lips—just one more of countless others—forming a wisp of smoke in the air that quickly dissipated.

The sounds of birds and crickets echoed around him, as did the distant neighing of horses led by riders who mercilessly spread through the woods.

The young man, in his heavy armor and the white cloak of Rasteland royalty, felt his body scream with exhaustion as he continued onward. Trying to keep his distance from the knights of the enemy kingdom after a hard-fought battle that was fought suddenly, the newly knighted Kash Rook was in trouble.

With no companions left, without his horse, covered in mud and blood — thanks to the seven, not his blood — He had no advantage whatsoever. His sword was all he had: but even that was not enough to fight, alone, against more than thirty men of the other side of the abyss.

The Hidden Forest wasn't exactly the best place to settle down, even for just one night. But Rook recognized that, in his situation, he didn't have much of a choice. If he decided to continue towards his kingdom without stopping, which wasn't very close, it would be too risky, as he would be exposed when he needed to cross fields.

Of course, there were eyes everywhere. In the forest: strangers, creatures, animals. But if exposed to the heavens, his problem was greater, for the eyes that would see him from there would belong to dragons, ridden, if he was unlucky, by his enemies.

. . .

Rook didn't light a fire despite the cold. And, furthermore, he had removed his armor and was now washing it in the cold water of one of the streams that crossed the Hidden Forest.

He was cold, yes, even more so with the thin, tattered clothes he wore beneath his shimmering armor. But he thought he had been through worse nights before.