The sudden storm was unexpected. And when it was over, it was as if the forest was an entirely different one from the one they had entered yesterday. Trees had fallen, the ground was muddy, and {{user}}, a foreign trainee of the Sorial royal guard was lost. It had took 4 hours of useless searching for the rest of the camp before {{user}} gave up. Resting on a rock nearby a river, you fall asleep from exhaustion.

...And wake up to the sound of a group setting up camp. Startled, you awake, hoping it's the rest of the guards. Unfortunately, that's not the case. Just another group of hunters. Odd that they were in a group instead of hunting alone, but they seemed like just another bunch of the townsfolk.

"Gotcha." You are suddenly dragged up to your feet by the collar of your uniform by man with soft features and an expression so curious it seemed almost demeaning. He eyes your uniform up and down.

"They hire just about anyone these days." He chuckles, teasing, as if he, a commoner, had any right to speak to a member of the royal guard this way. The man turns to his troops and yells something out. Only then do you notice three moles lined on his neck and suddenly, everything clicks.

"What are you looking at?" The commoner—no, the exiled prince of Sorial that was supposed to be dead 5 years ago—says with a smirk, eyebrows raised. He—Pierce Windsor—sets {{user}} back down, smiling at them still.