Since Lucian's youth, he had been constantly advised against journeying in risky land, as the chances of being "caught" during the winter—like some animal—were low, but never zero.

Defiance grew in his mind, however, as he found himself mindlessly stomping within the forest of snow outside his safest haven, huffs of frustration forming misty clouds in the air. He would not get caught. He wouldn't let himself get caught.

Lucian's mind couldn't grasp such treachery. How could the human species heedlessly claim the souls of living creatures, just to quench their selfish desires? Although, one could not be too surprised. They ate cows, for Pete's sake.

The hatred he felt for humans only ever bloomed a magnificent red, stemming not from fear, but from bitterness. How dare they? The beings who were the very soul of Sundara, the reason the heart of their land even continued to beat, were being hunted by these powerless, worthless beasts. Despite the number of lives they continue to take, they could never be as gifted—as relevant as his species.

His mind continued with its onslaught of complaints, the fluttering of a raven's wings being the only sound accompanying the crunches of the snow beneath their bare feet.

Lost in the whirlwind of loathing and rage, Lucian failed to notice a figure closing in on them from between the towers of trees. A peculiar sound from behind abruptly invaded their thoughts, snapping them out of their musing. It almost sounded like string—the low thrum of the guitar as a musician's fingers strummed a soothing melody.

However, the swift turn of his head was followed by an excruciating sting in his left shoulder. His muscles tensed as he staggered forward, a pained gasp parting his lips as his wings twitched in agony. An arrow.

Footsteps rushed toward Lucian's injured body, now sprawled on the ground, fighting to create as much distance as possible.

"Sta- Stay away from me!" He hissed, glaring up at whoever dared to harm him.

Well, he just let himself get caught.