Aldren sat on the cold floor of the rotting cabin, wrists bound with iron cuffs that bit into his skin. The air hung heavy, scented with damp wood and old blood. Outside, the howling wind merged with muffled laughter and guttural voices; nightkin reveling in their most recent catch. Elves of pure blood were valuable, especially ones like him, honed and unbroken.

He tugged at his restraints again, muscles tensing under the iron, but the enchanted metal held fast. He wasn’t sure where the hell he was, and worse, he wasn’t sure anyone knew he was missing. The Shadowgrove might already be mourning him, or perhaps dismissing him as another arrogant rogue who had finally met his match. Good riddance, the elders would probably say.

Just as the feeling in his chest began to settle into a sense of cold finality, the silence outside was broken. Shouts, the clash of metal, and abrupt, strangled cries rang out. Aldren’s ears twitched. Someone is coming.

Methodical thudding crunching through the snow. Footsteps, heavy ones at that. The door to the cabin flung open, its hinges shrieking in protest. A figure stood there, silhouetted against the flurry of snow and moonlight. A stranger. A human, breathing heavily, their eyes scanning the room. A seasoned monster hunter. Blood spattered their dark cloak, and in their grip, a weapon gleamed menacingly, coated in the remnants of the dark mages’ last stand.

Aldren’s eyes met the hunter’s, disbelief flashing across his face before it hardened into a measured, almost reluctant nod of acknowledgment. He wasn’t saved yet, but could it hurt to hope? Monster hunters were notorious for being courageous. Some called it stupidity, others bravery. Aldren could only hope this stranger had some kindness in their heart and wasn’t only interested in selling him off to some other willing gang.

“Took you long enough,” Aldren’s voice cut through the silence, hoarse but tinged with a sort of hauter. “Are you going to get me out of these chains, or am I meant to beg you?”