Chapter 5 The Stranger in Shadows

The wind off the cliff screamed in my ears, sharp and merciless, as if the very night wanted me gone. My chest heaved, lungs raw from smoke and blood, each breath a rasp that tasted of iron. My body was broken bruised ribs, legs trembling, vision doubled from the blows I had taken. Still, I clutched the rifle like a lifeline, its wood slick with sweat and blood.

The assassins closed in, blades catching stray shards of moonlight. They gleamed like wolves' teeth, hungry and unrelenting. Their leader stepped forward, his crimson blade raised, his masked eyes glinting with cruel certainty.

"It's over, boy," he said, his voice muffled but steady, full of smug finality. "The curse dies with you or it lives with us."

My palm burned. The sigil writhed, alive with its own violent hunger, shadows spilling like snakes twisting beneath my skin. My head throbbed as the cursed voice hissed louder, swelling until it drowned the wind itself.

"Yes... yes!" it snarled. "Now! Let me out. Let me show them what they fear!"

I ground my teeth until I tasted blood, forcing myself to resist. Not here. Not now. If I gave in, the slaughter would not end with them.

The crimson sword rose higher. The moon caught its edge like a promise of death. My grip faltered. My body begged to collapse. And then.

The forest shifted.

A blur detached itself from the treeline, silent as a phantom, moving with speed that made my heart stutter. The assassins stiffened. Their practiced formation cracked, hesitation rippling through their ranks.

One heartbeat darkness. The next a whisper of steel and blood.

The first assassin dropped soundlessly, throat opened in a neat, merciless line. Another spun, blade flashing, only for a curved streak of steel to split his chest. He crumpled to his knees, choking, disbelief in his eyes even as life fled him.

The leader barked an order, his tone still commanding but tinged now with unease. "Hold formation!"

And then he demanded, louder: "Who dares interfere?"

The figure stood at the circle's edge, cloak rippling in the cliffside gale. A hood veiled most of her face, shadows clinging stubbornly to her features. In her right hand gleamed a slender, curved blade, its edge inscribed with faint violet runes that pulsed like a heartbeat.

Her voice slid through the chaos-cold, smooth, carrying like steel dragged across glass.

"So... the Cursed Heir truly breathes. I wondered when the stories would find flesh."

The words weren't for the assassins. They were for me.

The killers hesitated, their gazes flicking between their masked leader and this stranger. One, braver or more desperate than the rest, lunged. His strike was sharp, his stance flawless.

She moved faster.

Her saber carved a clean arc, fluid, beautiful in its precision. Steel met steel-and his weapon shattered in two. The second stroke opened his throat before he could even scream. He dropped in a sprawl of limbs, blood darkening the soil.

The circle faltered.

The leader hissed behind his mask. "Kill them both!"

They surged together.

Chaos swallowed the cliffside.

I staggered backward, half-dazed, watching as she moved among them. Not like a soldier, nor a wild berserker. She was something else-something honed. Her blade whispered through the air, never wasted, never uncertain. A tendon severed here, a gap in armor pierced there, each cut surgical, merciless.

An assassin tried to flank her. She didn't even glance his way. Her foot pivoted, cloak swirling as her saber curved back in a blind strike. The man's throat split open, his eyes wide as he fell into silence.

Another broke for me. My body screamed protest, but I forced myself forward, swinging the rifle like a club. The stock cracked against his face with a crunch. He collapsed, stunned, but others pressed close.

The curse howled inside me, furious. "Weak! You'll die cowering while she feeds on their fear! Let me end this!"

I clung desperately to memory-my father's voice, rough but steady: Endure. Don't consume.

My hands shook, but I refused.

The leader finally entered the fray, crimson blade crashing against her curved saber. Sparks scattered, the runes on both weapons flaring. The clash of curses made the air itself vibrate.

"Who are you?" he demanded, pressing his weight forward.

She leaned closer, her hood hiding her face. "Not your ally."

With a twist, she slipped free, blade sliding like water. She struck low, fast, her saber cutting into the seam of his armor. Blood spattered. He staggered but snarled, rallying with a brutal counter. His cursed blade blazed red, cleaving through the night in savage arcs. She danced back, unshaken, as if the fight was a rhythm she had already learned.

I couldn't stay. My legs wobbled, blood dripping into my eyes. If I collapsed, I'd never rise again.

And then she was beside me, her hand like iron clamping around my arm.

"On your feet," she ordered.

Before I could protest, she hauled me upright. Pain flared through my ribs, but she ignored my gasp. With a single slash, she carved space between us and the assassins.

"Move."

She dragged me toward the treeline, half-carrying me despite my weight. Behind us, the leader roared in fury, crimson blade raised as he ordered pursuit.

The last image I saw before the forest swallowed us was his masked face twisted in rage, crimson steel burning against the night.

We didn't stop running until the pursuit faded into silence.

The forest here was darker, heavier, its branches clawing at the sky. Every breath set fire to my lungs, every step made my legs tremble as if they might splinter beneath me. At last, she shoved me against the trunk of an ancient tree. I collapsed, clutching my side, while she stood like a sentinel, blade still drawn, scanning the gloom.

Only when she was certain no shadows lingered did she lower her weapon.

I sagged against the bark, sweat and blood matting my face. My voice cracked when I managed to speak. "Who... who the hell are you?"

She turned, her hood still shadowing her face. But in the dark, her eyes glowed faintly-violet, cold, unsettling.

"Names are currency," she said smoothly. "You haven't earned mine yet."

Anger flickered through the exhaustion. "You drag me out of there, kill half a squad, and expect me to just... follow you blind?"

Her gaze cut through me. "You're alive because I decided you were useful. Don't mistake that for choice."

The certainty in her voice left no space for argument.

She crouched by a patch of moss, drawing a cloth to wipe her blade. The runes pulsed faintly with each stroke before dimming again. I couldn't look away.

"That weapon..." I muttered, half to myself. "It drained them. I felt it."

Her lips curved-too sharp to be a smile, too fleeting to be kindness. "You're not as dull as you look. Yes, the Thornblade takes what it touches. The curse you carry... is no different."

My hand tightened over my palm. The sigil pulsed faintly, as if it knew it was being spoken of.

"You know about it," I said, harsher than I intended.

Her eyes flicked to my hand. "Of course. Only a fool wouldn't."

She leaned closer, her voice dropping, colder than the forest night.

"That thing inside you is no gift. It's a noose. One day, it will tighten, and when it does, you'll beg for death."

My jaw clenched. "I won't let it control me."

Her laugh was low, sharp, and cruel. "You say that now. They all do."

Silence pressed between us, thick with the weight of her words. I shifted, unease gnawing at me, but her gaze never wavered.

Finally, I forced the question that burned in me. "Why save me, then?"

For a long moment, she said nothing. Her hand hovered over her blade, thoughtful. Then she rose in a smooth motion, sliding the weapon back into its sheath.

"Don't mistake this for kindness."

She stepped closer. I saw the faint scar tracing her jaw, the cold gleam in her violet eyes. Her words were a whisper, but they struck like steel.

"I didn't save you. I saved the curse. And when you can't control it anymore..."

Her hand brushed the hilt of her blade.

"...I'll take it."

The forest loomed, silent and watchful. My body trembled with pain, but her words carved deeper than any wound.

I wasn't saved for who I was. I was spared only for the thing I carried.

The sigil pulsed in my palm, mocking, whispering its laughter through my veins.

And for the first time, I wondered which of us was more dangerous-

the assassins who hunted me...

or the woman who had just claimed me.