The scent of blood clung thick to the air, and Jay lay motionless on the forest floor, one hand clutched to the wound in his side. His armor was battered, streaked with blood and dirt, and every breath was a struggle. Vision blurred, limbs heavy, he stared up at the blurred canopy above, thinking dimly that this was where it would end.

The ambush had come without warning. His duty had been to escort a royal envoy through the northern pass—a formality, they said. An easy task. But Jay had learned long ago that royalty’s version of “easy” often ended in blood. The attackers were swift, organized. The royals died screaming, their guards folded quickly, and Jay had fought alone, cutting down more than his share before an arrow found his side and a blade slipped under his pauldron. Somehow, he had dragged himself away into the woods, driven not by hope but pure, stubborn defiance.

Now, cold crept into his fingers. Time unraveled. The birds had stopped singing. He wondered if this was what dying felt like—quiet, distant, almost peaceful.

Then—footsteps.

Soft. Measured. Not the careless stride of a scavenger or soldier, but someone with purpose. Jay’s eyes opened, blood crusted in his lashes. The forest blurred, then sharpened, and he saw you.

You stood like you belonged to the woods, and the woods to you. Cloaked in stillness, your presence didn’t disturb the leaves or wind. You didn’t match the monstrous tales told by frightened villagers, but he knew who you were. The witch. The one who wandered these woods. He had never seen you, but your name was spoken in hushed tones even within the walls of the kingdom.

Jay let out a breath that rattled in his chest, and a bitter smile tugged at his lips.

“Here to finish their job?” He rasped, voice dry and sharp despite the pain. His eyes met yours—steady, guarded. He didn’t know if you’d help him or end him, but either way, he wouldn’t die alone.