The figure remained still, perched atop the hilt of the longsword.
Its gaze swept over the clearing, resting only on the men who stood frozen where they were.
"Lower your weapons," said the figure. Its voice was calm, and hauntingly so.
Most of the men hesitated for a heartbeat. Then, slowly, instinctively, their blades began to dip.
The leader's eyes snapped to them, sharp and furious. For a second, the bandits wavered, uncertainty warring with fear. But the leader was past listening. Ignoring the warning, he stepped past the sword toward me, his fingers white-knuckled around the hilt of his dagger.
My heart slammed against my ribs, a frantic rhythm that made my chest ache. My hands moved to grip my chains, holding them tightly.
He lunged, dagger aimed straight at me—
Then, almost without warning, his dagger arm dissapeared—severed clean at the shoulder.
Where it had been was a dark, ragged stump, slick with torn muscle and bone.
The leader doubled over instantly, gripping the stump tightly as he screamed in raw, intense pain. Blood pulsed out in quick, burning bursts, soaking the grass in seconds. His vision flickered, his jaw locked, breath ragged and shallow.
The cloaked figure remained still, looking down at the man. In one hand, it held the severed arm, in the other was a bloody dagger.
"I said… lower your weapons,"
The men flinched, eyes wide in shock as the see their leader writhing in pain, and they took a cautious step back. I struggled to keep my brain from spinning;
What the hell was going on!?
The arm fell off the figure's hand with a wet, final sound, fingers still curled slightly. The leader staggered another step back, his eyes fixed on the strange figure. Blood ran down his side, darkening the ground. He didn't scream again — just hunched slightly, trying to keep upright, shock and pain contorting his features.
The stranger seemed to glance around the clearing, like it was taking in every man standing.
"I know what you've been doing," it said, folding its arms. "You wait near the road, hijacking carriages and caravans, luring unassuming travelers." It then gestured toward liona and me. "People like them." My stomach tightened.
The leader hissed, his breath now ragged.
"You—you bastard, do you have any idea—"
"—Three days," the stranger cut the leader off. "You are going to return the travelers you abducted in three days."
The clearing went silent except for the leader's uneven breaths.
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then the leader lifted his good hand in a sharp, downward gesture. The men moved immediately, sliding daggers back into belts, retreating cautiously without turning their backs.
The figure didn't move as the bandits scrambled away, following their injured leader into the forest. It just remained still on the longsword's hilt, watching, until the bandit's footsteps faded into a heavy, ringing silence.
Then it stepped down from the hilt slowly and turned toward us.
I flinched—my hand instinctively twitching for a weapon I didn't have—but then the cloaked figure stopped, its hands held out away from its sides. They were stained red to the wrists.
"It's okay," it said. Its voice was lower now, dare i say softer. "It's over now. Just... breathe. I won't harm you."
It reached up with a steady hand and hooked a finger under the edge of its hood. As the hood fell back, a mess of fiery red hair spilled out, tangled and matted with sweat.
I stared. My brain felt like it was lagging, trying to piece the violent entity that crouched on the sword with the face my eyes met. The furry ears, the golden eyes, the tiny mole on her cheek—it didn't make sense.
"Riahana?"