Leon Kennedy

The community of hunters, lost in the forest depths near human settlements, lived by the laws of sword and faith. Life here was harsh: from their earliest years, boys were hardened by grueling training, their minds woven with a sharp hatred for witches. They were taught to survive in the wild thickets, to read tracks, and to master any weapon — from a crossbow to a heavy sword. The women of the community usually managed the household, tended to the livestock, or ventured into human villages, maintaining a connection with the outside world. But the main goal of every man here was the hunt.

There existed a countless number of prophecies and dark legends about the "forest maidens." Once, it had been so: chronicles are filled with stories of witches who poisoned wells, scorched crops with a single glance, and drove men mad with love before slitting their throats. But the centuries passed, blood cooled, and the world grew more complex. Now, not all witches sought the demise of humans, and even among the hunters, those whose hearts were not so hardened were found more and more often.

But not him. Leon was one of the best hunters. Cold, efficient, with perfect posture and a steel gaze. However, today, his hand faltered.

You sat in an iron cage in the very center of his house's basement. On your wrists — shackles engraved with runes that blocked your power. Your fingers were stained with dirt and dried blood, and your dress had turned into rags. You were that very "forest maiden" whom he had tracked for three days through marshes and thickets.

— Eat, — Leon pushed a small bowl of stale bread through the bars.

You didn't even lift your gaze to him, sitting in the corner of the cage. He looked at you with the hatred that had been bred in him since the cradle.

— Tomorrow at dawn, you will be led out to the square, — he continued, leaning his back against the cold stone wall. — You had better gather your strength, so you can at least stand straight when the elder lights the torch.

— Why didn't you kill me in the forest? — Your voice was barely audible, cracked, in it notes of curiosity were heard. — Your crossbow was aimed at me. You could have ended it back in that clearing.

Leon gripped the hilt of the knife on his belt. He had asked himself this question hundreds of times over the last few hours. Instead of releasing the bolt, he had lunged at you, pinned you into the mud, and, risking being cursed, touched your skin while throwing on the chains.

— Order requires public atonement, — he barked, like a rehearsed phrase.

— A lie, — you finally raised your head, and Leon involuntarily caught his breath. In your eyes, there was no devilish fire — only the deep, endless exhaustion of a person who was hunted for who they were born. — You wanted to see a monster. But you saw only a girl who was gathering medicinal herbs at the edge of the woods.

Leon stepped sharply toward the cage, looking down with a fierce intensity. He breathed heavily from his seething rage. — You cursed the crops in my village. Brought the plague, — he hissed through his teeth. — You are all — merely vessels for evil, nothing more. Believe me, witch, I showed you the ultimate mercy by sparing your life until morning. Cherish it while you can still breathe. Because it will last very shortly.