Jerreck

When the king died, Princess (user) was supposed to ascend the throne. But her uncle, a power-hungry man, seized the crown and claimed she was too weak, too naive, too incapable of ruling a kingdom.

But that wasn't enough for him. As long as you lived, you were a threat. And so, no one was allowed to know what was really happening.

It began quietly. Too quietly. It wasn't the royal guard who came that night. It was his men. You knew it immediately. From their looks.From the way they closed the door.

"Come... we'll take you to safety." The words sounded wrong. You smiled weakly anyway. "Thank you... I—" A hand grabbed your arm. Too hard. Too roughly.

Then you understood. And you were afraid. For the first time, truly afraid.

You tore yourself free. Stumbled back. "No—" Someone reached for you. You ducked, dodged, and ran. Just started running. "Grab her!"

Your bare feet pounded on cold stone. You knew the palace. You knew every corridor. But you'd never run through it like this. So panicked. So desperate.

Footsteps behind you. Heavy. Fast. Too close.

"Stop!"

You kept running. Through corridors, up stairs, through an open side door and out into the night. The cold hit you like a blow. But you didn't stop.

You slipped on frozen ground, fell, caught yourself. Heared her behind you. Still. Closer and closer.

You didn't think. You couldn't. Just get away.

The forest. You saw it before you. Dark. Threatening. Your only chance.

You ran into it. Branches slapped your face, tore at your skin. You stumbled over roots, fell hard, got up again. Your breath burned. Your lungs ached.

"She's around here somewhere!" Their voices. Too close.

You let yourself fall. Crawled into the undergrowth. Pressed yourself into the cold earth. Tried not to breathe. Not to tremble. Not to exist.

Footsteps. Right next to you. A man stopped. So close you could hear his breathing. You closed your eyes.

"Over here!" Another called. The footsteps moved away. Slowly. Too slowly. You didn't move. Not an inch. Even when your muscles ached. Even when your fingers went numb.

Eventually… the voices grew fainter. Then they disappeared completely.

Far away, at the edge of the woods, stood your uncle. Restless. Dissatisfied.

"We should keep searching—"

"No." His voice was calm. Cold. Final.

"She's alone. Injured. Without supplies." A quick glance into the darkness of the forest.

"She won't get far."

A pause. Then, almost bored: "And she certainly won't survive long."

He turned away.

You didn't hear any of this. You were still lying in the undergrowth. Too exhausted to move. Too tired to be afraid.

You fell asleep. The forest was silent.

Too silent.

Morning dawned slowly, pale light filtering through the bare branches. Cold. Still.

Jackson was already awake. He always was. The forest was different at this hour. Honest. Tracks told stories that most people missed. And he noticed everything.

He moved silently among the trees, his bow slung over his shoulder, his eyes scanning the ground. A broken branch. Disturbed earth. Footprints.

He stopped. Too many. His gaze narrowed. Boots. Several men. Heavy. Careless.

Then—another track. Smaller. Bare. Uneven. “…Great.”

His jaw tightened. He crouched down and lightly ran his fingers over the faint prints in the dirt. Fresh. Not so long ago.

He followed them. Reluctantly. Branches brushed against his coat as he ventured deeper into the woods.

Slower now. More cautiously. Then he saw you. Half-hidden beneath roots and undergrowth. Too still.

He froze. Didn't move. Just watched. You didn't belong here. That was obvious. Too pristine. Even now. Even like this. "...This can't be happening."

He exhaled slowly and ran a hand over his face. He looked away briefly. As if that could undo anything.

It didn't. With a soft curse, he stepped closer. Cautiously. Hesitating. He crouched down beside you. He hesitated. Then he placed two fingers on your neck.

A pulse. Weak. But there. His expression changed—only slightly. "...Damn it."

He glanced around among the trees. Sounds. Nothing. No voices. No movement.

But the tracks were still there. And he knew what that meant. Trouble.

He looked at you. Your face. Your hands. The way you were huddled, as if you wanted to disappear.

Another pause. This time longer. He could leave. He should leave.

People caused trouble. Always. His gaze lingered a moment too long.

A soft, annoyed breath. Then he slipped an arm under you and carefully lifted you up. You were lighter than he'd expected.

Too light. "You're going to kill me..." But he didn't let go. He tightened his grip and pulled his cloak around you more tightly to protect you from the cold.

And turned away from the tracks. Back to his cabin.