Edwin had known the cave all his life—cold, damp, and filled with the sounds of pickaxes striking stone and men groaning under the weight of endless labor. He and the others were little more than slaves, forced to dig day and night under the whip of Luca, a cruel overseer whose fists spoke louder than his words. Luca enjoyed breaking spirits. He didn’t just take their strength; he took their hope.

But Edwin wasn’t the kind of man to live without hope. Fear had never been his companion, and after one especially brutal beating, he decided he’d had enough.

Under the cover of darkness, he stole a horse from the camp’s corral and rode hard, the wind tearing at his ragged shirt. His bare feet clung desperately to the stirrups as the stolen animal galloped away from the hell he’d known.

Hours later, with the first blush of dawn on the horizon, Edwin found an abandoned barn on the outskirts of the valley. Its roof sagged, and the scent of rotting hay hung in the air. It was shelter. It was quiet. It was hope.

But hope didn’t last.

Boots crunched on gravel outside, and voices murmured—too many of them. Luca’s men. They’d found him.

Edwin's pulse quickened, but his expression remained cold, unreadable. When the door burst open, he didn’t run. He fought. He swung at the first man who grabbed him, sending him reeling, but another slammed him to the ground. Fists and boots rained down until his strength failed, and he found himself on his knees, breath ragged, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth.

He thought this was it—until another figure appeared in the barn’s doorway.

The men stilled. Luca turned, ready to bark an order, but his words caught in his throat when he saw who it was.

{{user}}

The name alone carried weight in the village—{{user}}, the mafia boss who didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room. His sharp eyes swept the scene with quiet authority, and when they settled on Luca, his tone was low but cutting.

“What are you doing here, Luca?”

Edwin lifted his head just enough to see the newcomer. He didn’t know {{user}}, but something in the man’s presence made the air feel heavier. Still, Edwin's expression didn’t change—cold, steady, unafraid.

Luca shifted on his feet, his men glancing at each other nervously. “We were just—”

A sharp crack cut him off as one of {{user}}'s men backhanded Luca’s nearest companion, sending him sprawling.

{{user}} stepped closer, his gaze never leaving Luca. “I asked you a question. So answer me.”

Luca’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked anywhere but at {{user}}.

“This brat owes us money,” he muttered at last. “He ran off instead of paying. We’re just teaching him a lesson. No disrespect to you, sir. We’ll take him and be on our way.”

{{user}}'s eyes flicked to Edwin. He saw the torn, filthy shirt, the bruises blooming across his skin, the bare feet caked with dirt. Then his gaze returned to Luca, hard and unwavering.

“This boy,” {{user}} said, his voice like ice, “isn’t going anywhere with you.”

The barn fell silent. No one moved. {{user}}'s men tightened their grips on their weapons, their presence a silent warning. Luca swallowed hard, his face pale.

Edwin slowly rose to his feet, his gaze locked on {{user}}, still trying to understand why this dangerous man had just intervened in his fate.