Lyonel POV
Lyonel Dondarrion ran as if the wind itself chased him. Branches slapped against his face, stones cut into his boots, and every breath felt like his chest was being squeezed by an iron gauntlet. The world blurred past him, trees, rocks, shadows, while the thundering of his pulse drowned out everything except the single thought screaming in his head
Run. Just run.
His legs burned with every stride, and his lungs begged for air he didn't have. He had always prided himself on his endurance, training, hunting, and riding, but this was different. This was fear. This was desperation.
Seven above… I can't keep going.
His pace faltered, each step heavier than the last. His mind kept replaying the moment that monstrous knight had come from nowhere, the way its black armour had glinted like a shard of the night sky, the way its presence alone had chilled Lyonel deeper than any winter wind.
That thing should not have been alive. No man should move like that or radiate such cold malice.
Yet it had. And it had nearly ended him.
If not for the lightning—
A crack of memory flashed through his thoughts, the sky splitting open, the blinding flash, the deafening roar, and the black-armoured giant collapsing as if the heavens themselves had struck him down.
Did the Seven save me? Or was it nothing more than fortune?
He didn't have time to wonder.
"STOP! YOU CUNT!"
The shout tore through the forest like an arrow. Lyonel's heart lurched. He stumbled, boots skidding on loose dirt, and before he could regain balance, his foot twisted beneath him.
He fell, hard. Face-first into the cold ground.
Pain shot through his nose. Dirt filled his mouth. He spat and scrambled up, but shadows loomed around him before he could reach for his sword.
Three men.Ragged armour. Cruel eyes.Bandits.
They circled him like wolves.
The tallest, lean, scarred, holding a chipped sword, smirked."Well, look at this, boys. A Dondarrion, a proud marcher knight, on his knees before the likes of us. Seems the Seven do laugh."
Lyonel's blood heated. His house, his oath, his honour, mocked by the filth of the Kingswood.
He forced himself to stand straighter, even with mud on his cheek and fear tightening his chest.
"I am a knight who serves the Seven," he said, voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. "You serve nothing but your own lust and greed. There is no likeness between men like me and men like you."
They laughed.
The scarred one stepped closer."Seven? Don't make me spit. Our leader is a knight. Got himself a title, a keepsake of vows long forgotten. And he serves no one, not lords, not gods, only what he desires."
Lyonel felt something inside him twist. A knight leading these criminals? That truth stung deeper than any insult.
Knighthood was supposed to mean something. It was supposed to stand for something.
"That man disgraces the oaths he took," Lyonel said quietly. "He disgraces all of us."
The bandit shrugged. "Maybe. But he's the one still breathing and eating well. And you—"
KREEEEEE!!!
A shriek split the trees, sharp and unnatural. The bandits froze.
Lyonel jerked his head upward just as a white blur dropped from the sky like a falling star.
A bird, bigger than any bird he'd seen, feathers bright as snow, struck the nearest bandit with its talons. The man shouted, stumbling back as the creature beat its powerful wings, forcing the others to shield their faces.
"What in, get it off! GET IT OFF!"
The bird's cry echoed again, a fierce, piercing sound that made Lyonel's spine tremble.
The world seemed to shift, just for a moment.
And then—
Run, boy. Run east, and you shall live.
The voice did not come from the bird. It did not come from any man. It came from everywhere and nowhere at once, deep, resonant, ancient.
Lyonel's breath caught in his throat. His eyes darted around the trees, trying to find the speaker, but there was no one. Only the white bird, wings spread, holding the bandits at bay.
The forest whispered around him, wind curling like fingers urging him onward.
Run, boy. Now.
He didn't think. He didn't question.
He obeyed.
He turned and sprinted east, crashing through underbrush, ignoring the shouts, the curses, the confusion behind him.
His legs screamed in protest, but he pushed harder.
The bird's cry rang out again, sharp and loud. The sound echoed behind him long after he could no longer see it.
And for the first time since he had fled that black-armoured monster, Lyonel felt a sliver of hope break through the fear clawing at his chest.
Someone, or something, wanted him alive.
And he dared not stop running until he knew why.
Alton POV
Alton crouched low in the bushes, the branches clawing at his face as he forced himself deeper into the thicket. Leaves trembled from how violently he was shaking. Sweat dripped down his brow, stinging his eyes, and he wiped it away with a trembling hand before forcing himself to slow his breathing.
Quiet… quiet… don't make a sound…
His chest rose and fell in tight, shallow breaths, the kind that hurt but didn't echo. He pressed a hand against his mouth just in case.
Then—
"AHHHHHHH!"
The scream tore through the forest like a blade. Alton jerked, heart lurching up into his throat. He clamped both hands over his mouth and froze.
Footsteps, stumbling, frantic, uneven, approached through the trees.
Alton parted a few leaves with trembling fingers and peeked through.
Varyn.
One of his own men.
The man burst into view, staggering like a drunk, except there was nothing drunken about the terror on his face. He clutched his shoulder with his remaining arm; his other arm was gone, torn away so cleanly it made Alton's stomach twist even to look at the absence.
"Seven Help Me!" Varyn gasped, but it wasn't a plea, just a sound of raw panic spilling from his throat.
He ran, or tried to. His steps faltered. His strength failed him.
And through the trees behind him came the shape Alton dreaded most.
The Black Devil.
Tall enough to look like a moving tower of iron, each step slow and deliberate, as if nothing in the world could hurry it. The black plates of its armour seemed to drink the light around them. The forest itself seemed to recoil as it approached.
Alton shoved a fist against his teeth to keep from crying out.
Varyn collapsed. He wasn't screaming anymore, just whimpering, dragging himself across the ground with the one arm he still had. The Black Devil stepped toward him without hesitation.
"Please—please—" Varyn croaked.
Alton shut his eyes.
He heard the sound of impact. A thud. A crack. The kind of sound that no living thing should make. The struggle didn't last long, just a few moments of desperate movement, then nothing but the heavy stomp of armoured boots.
Alton swallowed hard, nausea twisting inside him. He dared to open his eyes again.
The Black Devil stood over what was left of Varyn's form.
Then it turned.
Its helm shifted directly toward the bushes where Alton hid.
Two red lights glowed from within the darkness of its visor, eyes that didn't look like they belonged to anything human. The gaze pinned him in place, cold and merciless.
Alton felt his whole body go numb.It sees me.
The Black Devil took a step.
Alton ran.
He exploded out of the bushes with such force that branches scraped his arms and tore at his cloak. He didn't care. He ran blind, crashing through brush and tripping over roots. His breath came in sharp, painful bursts. His lungs burned, his legs burned, everything burned.
Behind him, metal slammed against earth.
The Black Devil was moving.
Alton pushed himself harder, sprinting downhill, stumbling, scraping his palms as he half-fell, half-ran. He could hear it gaining. The ground shook faintly beneath its armoured tread.
"Please… please no… please—"He wasn't even sure who he was begging.
He reached for his sword.
Steel. Familiar. Comforting.
He turned, slashing wildly as the towering shape broke through the branches behind him.
His blade met the Devil's gauntlet—
—and shattered.
The metal snapped like a twig. The pieces fell uselessly at his feet.
Alton stared, breathless.That was when he understood just how hopeless this was.
The Black Devil grabbed him, its grip like iron clamping around his arm, and hurled him.
Alton struck a tree with a force that sent stars exploding across his vision. His lungs emptied in a single choked gasp. He collapsed to the ground, coughing, barely able to raise his head.
The Black Devil approached, each step certain.
Alton tried to crawl away, but he couldn't feel his legs. His voice shook violently as he lifted trembling hands in front of him.
"Please… please don't… I'll do anything, just—just don't kill me—"
The Devil tilted its helm, as if studying him. Then it let out a sound—low, ugly, scraping. A noise that might have been laughter, if laughter could come from something with no soul.
"No… no, PLEASE—"
The Devil's gauntlet came down.
Alton didn't even have time to scream.