Seventeen Years Ago
The sky churned above him—swollen grey clouds pregnant with rain, sagging low as if mourning the earth below.
It was late autumn, but the wind cut sharper than any winter's blade. A man cloaked in weatherworn wool stood still at the edge of the forest, his breath fogging the air as he scanned his surroundings.
No movement. No shadows. Not yet.
Clutching the bundle tighter to his chest, he stepped deeper into the woods, each movement deliberate, cautious. The forest offered temporary shelter, its gnarled branches and undergrowth hiding his path from any would-be pursuers.
Three days' travel by the old road, maybe less if he pushed through the thickets—but the road was no longer safe. He couldn't risk being followed, not with this.
The bundle shifted against his chest, warm and fragile. He exhaled slowly and pressed on, guided not by sight but by instinct.
The others had left faint traces—breadcrumbs only someone like him could follow. His senses, honed like a tracking wolf's, had kept him ahead of the hunt for hours.
But now the light was dimming. The long shadows creeping between the trees marked the approach of dusk. The deeper he went, the heavier the air became.
And then came the rain.
It started as a soft whisper on the canopy but quickly escalated, slipping through the bare branches and soaking into his cloak. He moved faster—until everything came to a stop.
The mist descended like a shroud. Thick. Silent. Erasing scent, sight, and sound.
"Damn it," he muttered under his breath.
He ducked behind the widest tree he could find and crouched low, unwrapping the bundle just enough to check—still breathing. Still safe. He let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding.
The minutes dragged like hours. The rain, relentless, washed away the last of the scent trail. If the Retainers caught his path now, it wouldn't take long before they found him.
He leaned against the twisted roots, bone-tired, when a low growl snapped his senses back into sharpness.
He froze.
His hand slid silently to the dagger strapped beneath his belt.
Another growl. Closer.
He turned—ready to strike—and stopped.
A scraggly dog, ribs showing through its matted fur, stared at him from the underbrush. It stopped growling and met his gaze with unsettling focus, like it knew him.
Then it turned.
It walked a few steps, stopped, looked back, and growled again.
"Are you... leading me?" he muttered.
Curious and with no better options, he followed.
The dog led him beneath a tunnel of low branches, their crooked limbs twisting together like skeletal fingers.
As they passed through, the air shifted. No rain. No mist. The world behind him faded into something... other. He glanced back, but the path he'd come through was no longer there.
Just more woods, darker now.
The dog disappeared into the undergrowth.
He quickened his pace, breath fogging in the cooler air. Moments later, the trees opened into a small clearing. A narrow, aged cabin stood at its center, windows aglow with candlelight.
Finally. A sign of life.
He staggered toward the porch, each step heavier than the last. Before he could knock, the pine door creaked open. A woman stood there—young, sharp-eyed, and not at all surprised.
"Bane?" she said. "What are you doing here?"
He said nothing at first. Just removed his cloak and held out the bundle. His voice cracked like dry wood.
"I'm sorry, Stella... I'm so sorry."
Then his body gave out, collapsing face-first onto the floorboards, the warmth beneath him the only thing left anchoring him to the living world.
As the darkness took him, he heard soft cooing. Then—silence.
When dreams found him, they were cruel.
A silver-haired woman sat on a hollow log by a cold, violent sea. She was beautiful in the way pain is—hard to look at but harder to forget.
He tried to reach her, but his legs were stuck in the sand. He called to her, but no sound came out. Only the echo of a heartbeat—louder and louder—until it swallowed everything.
"Wait!" he cried.
She turned and walked away.
He bolted upright, gasping.
"Don't move," came Stella's voice from the fireplace. "You're lucky. Wounds were shallow. I stitched them myself."
"Lucky..." Bane echoed bitterly, pressing his hand over his eyes.
"You've been out a day. It's already night—"
"Where is it?" he asked, cutting her off.
She hesitated. Then disappeared into the back room. When she returned, she was holding the bundle, now wrapped in soft wool. She cradled it in her arms.
"It's not an 'it.' It's a she," Stella said gently.
The infant let out a soft gurgle, pressing her cheek into Stella's hand.
Bane's jaw clenched.
"Gared and Gilda passed through here two days ago. They said you were supposed to meet them and return to base. When you didn't show, they left a message and said they were heading to the Supreme Council to report."
He nodded slowly. The fire crackled. He spoke without looking at her.
"I found her... in a wardrobe. Everything else had been torn apart, but that... that place was untouched. I thought she was dead. She wasn't moving. But I—I couldn't leave her."
His voice broke. And then he broke with it.
Stella said nothing. The scent of death still clung to him. There would be time for questions later.
Days passed. The fire never died. And when Bane finally spoke again, his voice was distant, like it was still lost in that ruined house.
"It was supposed to be a routine visit," he said. "But the tire tracks said otherwise. Only the Retainers use that kind of transport."
He swallowed.
"Gregory was the first that I found. Or... what was left of him." His voice wavered. "I checked. The Brotherhood's brand was still on his back. His initials. The tattoos. I made sure."
He exhaled sharply through his nose, trying to push the images away.
"I kept going. I had to find Axa."
The name hit the air like a stone in a still pond. He looked away.
"She must have been planning to hurriedly escape with the babe because there were unpacked clothes beside an open knapsack on the bed.Those bastards pinned her to the wall opposite the wardrobe where I found the infant.."
"THOSE BASTARDS SKEWERED HER LIKE SOME KIND OF AN ANIMAL!THOSE FUCKING BASTARDS!"
He slammed his fist on the table. The baby woke, crying softly.
He took a deep breath, forcing the rage down.
"I escaped with the child. They caught up to me. I took down four of them—but not without cost."
Stella was pale. Hollow. Grief had crept into her ribs and taken root.
That night, as she rocked the child to sleep, she heard footsteps. Bane—dressed to travel again.
"You're leaving," she said quietly.
"I have to inform the Brotherhood. There's more. Much more."
He hesitated, then stepped forward.
"Stella... this child... she isn't just some orphan. She's something else. And the Retainers—if they find out she's still alive—"
He broke off, eyes locked on the child.
"She has to be trained. Hidden. Protected. When the time comes... she'll be hunted."
He held the child one last time. Tiny wisp of silver hair curled around his finger like silk.
Then—those eyes. One emerald green. One ruby red.
"She's... a miracle," Stella whispered.
Bane's expression was unreadable.
Grief. Wonder. Fear.
"I can't keep her safe. But you can."
He handed her back.
"When this place is no longer safe, run. Our people will help you. Teach her everything."
He stepped outside. And paused.
A low growl. The dog, or what once was, stood beside him, now a massive grey wolf.
"My familiar," Stella explained. "He can take many forms."
Bane gave the creature a nod.
"He brought us to you. May he bring her to safety someday."
And with that, he vanished into the trees, swallowed by the arch of twisted branches and the shadows beyond.
He looked back once, wondering if he'd ever see her again.
The child with death in her blood and fire in her veins.
The future for her would not be kind.