A scream tore through the forest.
"Aaagh!"
Sam jolted awake, clutching his forearm — the mark burned like molten iron.
23 hours left. Sapphire Eyes.
"Nightmare again?" Albert yawned, rubbing his face.
"Yeah… same one."
"Then get ready. We move at dawn."
The bandit camp was only half a kilometer away.
The priest had given them clear directions.
Albert took the lead, his hammer slung over his back.
"Stay close. Keep quiet. When we get there — follow my lead."
Sam nodded.
But inside, his gut twisted.
If they catch me… if the mark activates…
He glanced at his arm.
22 hours.
I won't fail. I'll find Vic… And if that girl from the ambush is still alive — she won't die here.
Sam closed his eyes, focusing.
I need a new spell. Something wide. Something cold. Merciless.
"Ice Prison," he whispered.
Frost raced through his veins.
He was ready.
The scent of smoke and rot drifted between the trees.
Laughter echoed ahead.
Albert raised a hand.
"Scout from here."
They crouched low behind the bushes.
The camp sprawled near the ruins — eight men total.
Four sat around the fire.
One kept watch.
One near the cages.
Three slept.
Albert pointed.
"You take the guard and the ones at the fire.
I'll handle the sleepers and the cageman."
Sam nodded.
The first guard never even saw him coming.
"Wind Dagger."
A blade of compressed air sliced the man's throat cleanly.
He dropped without a sound.
Sam moved closer to the fire.
"Ice Prison."
The earth split open — spears of ice shot up, impaling the laughing men mid-sentence.
Screams. Blood. Silence.
Too easy…
A shout.
One last bandit rushed out from behind the cages.
Sam spun — too slow.
The blow knocked the air from his lungs.
He hit the dirt hard.
"Water Sphere!"
The magic burst against the bandit's face — blinding him — but he still barreled forward.
A fist crashed into Sam's jaw.
Sam gasped:
"Wind Dag—"
Another blow snapped his head back, cutting him off.
The knife gleamed, raised for the kill.
"Die, you bastard!"
A heavy, sickening crack answered.
Albert's hammer smashed the bandit's face into pulp.
Sam's world faded to black.
***
He woke staring at a broken sky through shattered branches.
Blood crusted his face.
A corpse pinned him to the ground.
With effort, he shoved it off.
I'm alive… barely.
The camp was deathly still.
Bodies scattered like garbage.
No relief.
No victory.
Just silence.
Sam staggered toward the cages.
The first.
The second.
Empty.
Torn rags. Footprints in the dirt.
Gone.
He gripped his hair.
"No…"
This was the point.
The whole reason.
And now — no one left to save.
He slammed his fists against the iron bars.
Pain flared, but he didn't care.
He stood, surrounded by blood and failure.
And for the first time—
he didn't know what to do.
Albert's hand settled on his shoulder.
"You killed monsters tonight," the old man said quietly.
"But salvation… isn't always loud."
Sam turned away.
Took a step.
And then — he saw it.
The last cage.
A shadow.
A frail body.
Silver hair — dirty, matted with blood — blending into the floor.
Thin. Almost skeletal.
But breathing.
Alive.
Sam stumbled forward.
Forced the cage door open.
Dropped to his knees.
He touched her shoulder gently.
"Hey…"
She flinched but didn't respond.
Still breathing.
Alive.
Sam clenched his teeth.
"I'm not too late."
Now he knew what he had to do.
***
At the farthest end of the cage, in the filth and darkness, lay a girl.
Silver hair stuck together with blood.
Clothes — torn rags.
A body terrifyingly fragile.
And long, pointed ears.
Not human.
Sam knelt closer.
"W-w…water…" she whispered hoarsely.
He conjured a water sphere, carefully lifting it to her lips.
She couldn't drink — until he supported her head.
One weak sip — and she fainted.
"Albert!" Sam shouted. "She's alive!"
The old man rushed over, feeling for a pulse.
"She's weak.
We need bandages, food, water — anything to keep her warm!"
Sam bolted through the wrecked camp.
Blood. Smoke. Ash.
He grabbed a cloak, some meat, a waterskin, a handful of herbs — and jewelry stolen from dead men's lives.
He sprinted back.
"Here!"
"Wrap her. Carry her. Let's go!"
The girl weighed almost nothing.
But she breathed.
She lived.
"Move it, boy!" Albert barked.
"E-easy for you to say…" Sam grunted, lifting her gently.
They hurried back to their camp.
Sam laid her down inside the tent.
Bruises. Chain marks. Cracked lips.
"Boil water," Albert ordered.
"I'll prep the meat."
Sam tried to conjure fire — but lost control.
The grass caught ablaze.
He quickly doused it with magic.
Albert sighed.
"Idiot. Almost burned the whole camp."
The old man stacked the firewood himself.
"Clean the bodies. She needs food."
Sam, still trembling from the magic backlash, nodded and got to work.
Later, Albert tossed him a pot and cloth.
"Wash her wounds. Change her."
Sam hesitated.
"Maybe… you should—"
"I'm cooking. You — move!"
Inside the tent, her breathing was faint.
Her skin was like parchment.
Sam carefully wiped the blood from her body.
She flinched — but didn't open her eyes.
When he reached the rags clinging to her frame, he froze.
Bruises. Scars.
He dressed her in a clean shirt and wrapped her in a blanket.
Later, returning to the fire, he said:
"All done."
Albert didn't look up.
"How is she?"
"Too thin."
Albert grunted.
"Get used to it.
That's the real face of Santius."
Sam lowered his head.
"Anything else I can do?"
"Yeah.
Cut the meat small.
She won't be able to chew."
They worked in silence.
Sam kept glancing at the tent.
Finally, he asked:
"She's not… human, right?"
"Elf," Albert said. "Plenty of them around here."
Sam thought for a moment.
"Anyone else? Besides humans and elves?"
Albert snorted.
"Beastkin in the southern forests.
Dwarves in the mountains.
Dark elves out in the wastelands.
Up north — orcs and goblins.
The worst of the lot."
"And all of them… outcasts?"
"Worse.
Cursed," Albert said grimly.
"That's what the Church claims.
Makes it easier to do whatever they want."
Sam clenched his fists.
Remembering the chains.
The stink.
The girl in the cage.
"You don't have to agree," Albert muttered, tossing more meat into the pot.
"But you'd better stay quiet."
"Or here, words aren't the only thing you'll lose."
Sam stared toward the tent.
The world he had landed in—
already reeked of rot.