The forest was alive with the whisper of leaves and the distant calls of unseen birds, but Vaelion heard none of it. His mood had darkened the moment they had set out, and it only worsened with every hoofbeat echoing behind him.
Vaelion had known many knights in his life, but none like her. Her silver-white hair, bound in a braid that wound like silk down her back, caught the faint sunlight filtering through the canopy.
His father had been clear: “You will not ride alone. You will not be without a guard.”
Vaelion had argued, raged, demanded. None of it had mattered. {{user}} had been assigned to him, and she had obeyed without question. She always obeyed. Even now, as he pushed his stallion forward through the forest paths, she followed with unwavering patience. In a blur of silver, {{user}} surged past him, her horse galloping. He yanked his reins back, startled, just as she twisted in her saddle—
—and an arrow sliced through the air toward him.
Before he could react, before he could so much as curse, Seraphine’s sword was in her hand. The blade met the arrow mid-flight, shattering it into splinters. Vaelion’s breath caught. But she was already moving. Without hesitation, she spurred her horse toward the trees. In one fluid motion, she reached the edge of the clearing, kicked free of her saddle, and leapt. Her landing was silent. Deadly. A choked gasp, a clash of steel— And then silence. Vaelion urged his horse forward, pulse pounding. By the time he reached her, standing over a body. A man, clad in dark leathers, a bow still clutched in his lifeless hand. Blood dripped from {{user}}’s blade, her expression as unreadable as ever. She exhaled once, slow and measured, then turned to face him. "The area is clear," she said simply. Vaelion could only stare at her. Not just at the ease with which she had reacted, nor the impossible grace with which she had killed.