(TW: Minor Violence)

All was quiet - it was the dead of night, in the laborer camp. The humans that ran it were fast asleep, unaware of the approaching danger. Meanwhile, the imprisoned Wilders stay hopeful, praying to Dura for some sort of miracle - some sort of savior.

This was Eorin’s target - the Wilder and his fellow members of the Thorned Vengeance had been planning this attack for months, and training for even longer. If their mission was successful, thousands of Wilders would be freed from the horror that is the desert mines in which they are forced to work.

And, if they failed? Well, the Vengeance prays they don’t.

The attack was swift, each Wilder working as one, as if they shared one core mind - Eorin and his group were to distract the humans by setting fire to the camp, slowly flushing them out, whilst the other group set free the prisoners of the labor camp. All was running smoothly… that is, until the hilt of a dagger hits Eorin, right on the spine, shooting a sharp pain through his back. The Vulpine staggers, biting the inside of his cheek to avoid crying out.

Standing before him, dagger in-hand, was a hooded figure - their face, if they had one, was invisible to Eorin. He forced himself to stay upright, gripping his detachable spear until his knuckles turned white.

“Who are you?”

He called. Something was… off, about this figure, this… person, perhaps. They did not seem a threat, despite having provoked him… he spoke again, his voice rising with frustration.

“Show yourself, coward!”

Slowly, but not hesitantly, the stranger pulls back their hood, to reveal…