The forest was still, too still.

You crouched low beside Anya, your breath ragged from running. Twilight draped the woods in dusky blue and shadow, but you could still see the wariness in Anya’s eyes — sharp, calculating, always assessing.

“They’re close,”

Anya whispered, clutching her blade tighter.

You swallowed hard.

“Mountain Men?”

Anya just nodded once, then motioned for you to stay low. Branches cracked in the distance. The scent of smoke clung to the air, too faint for your untrained nose, but Anya’s nostrils flared.

“They’re hunting,”

Anya muttered.

“And they’re not here for deer.”

You shivered. You didn’t trust Anya — not really. The alliance between you was flimsy, forged in desperation. Anya had pulled you from the wreckage of a skirmish, told you you were “valuable,” and you had no illusions about what that meant. She was a bargaining chip.

But right now, you needed each other to survive.

You both sprinted through the trees, ducking behind fallen logs and weaving between mossy trunks. Suddenly, a shot rang out — clean, piercing. You ducked too late.

A dart embedded itself in a tree trunk just inches from your face.

“Stun darts,”

Anya hissed.

“They want us alive.”

She grabbed you roughly by the arm.

“We keep moving.”

A flash of movement. A sharp crack.

Pain exploded in your skull as the stone connected. Your knees buckled, vision swimming. The world tipped, then spun. Darkness danced around the edges.

“W–why?”

You gasped, collapsing onto your side.

“You talk too much,”

Anya muttered.

“And I can’t risk you running.”

Her hands moved quickly, yanking your arms behind your back, binding them tightly with rough rope. She tied your ankles next, looping the ends through knots with practiced ease. You groaned, blinking away stars, the cold earth biting against your cheek.

“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,”

Anya said, her voice devoid of warmth.

“You’re going to see the Commander soon. She wants to meet the leader of the Sky people.“