"Argh!"
Ezra's voice cracked through the cave as the wooden stake stabbed into his side. Pain shot up his ribs, but he didn't fall… not yet. His hand gripped the sharpened stake instinctively, blood seeping between his fingers as his body stiffened.
Marcus didn't hesitate. He grabbed Ezra by the collar and yanked hard, his eyes wild, like adrenaline had taken over. Ezra's feet left the ground for a second before his back slammed into the stone cave wall with a thud that rattled the campfire embers. A metallic taste filled his mouth as he coughed up blood, his body sliding to the cold ground.
Marcus exhaled sharply, forcing a cocky grin. "Well, that was easy," he said, though his voice shook slightly. "Gena, send the signal. Now."
Gena, standing near their bags, hesitated for only a moment before rummaging through them. The small orange glow of the campfire danced over her pale face, her expression somewhere between relief and unease. She pulled out a flare gun, its polished metal reflecting the firelight.
"I really thought we blew our cover back there," Lucas muttered, his laugh nervous and shaky.
Peter, sitting close to the fire, glanced at Ezra's limp body sprawled on the stone floor. "You think he's dead?" His voice was low, almost hopeful.
Marcus shook his head, still gripping the stake with blood smeared across his knuckles. "Maybe."
"With a stab like that and getting thrown into stone?" Lucas smirked. "A weakling like him? No way he's standing back up."
Their laughter bounced off the cave walls, hollow and sharp in the still night.
"I don't even get why they care about him so much," Gena added, looking at Ezra's still body. "He's a weirdo. Living out here alone like he's some lone wolf hero. No team, no allies, acting like he's above everyone. And don't get me started on how he disrespected Lady Vera and Sir Henry. Calling them by their names, like, who does he think he is?"
Marcus waved his free hand, annoyed. "Signal, Gena. Hurry up."
"Fine, fine." She turned to leave but paused, glancing at Mary, who was still kneeling near the fire. "Oh yeah, Mary—nice reaction earlier. You, buying time for Marcus? That was smooth."
But Mary didn't answer.
She was trembling. Her body, stiff like a statue, her wide eyes locked on Marcus.
"Mary?" Gena's brows furrowed. Maybe she was shocked by the sudden violence? She stepped forward, tapping Mary's shoulder. "Hey, snap out of it. Grow up, we…"
Mary slowly raised her hand, pointing at Marcus. Her lips trembled, but no words came out.
Gena followed her gaze and froze.
Blood. Lots of it.
Marcus's right hand, the one that held the stake, was dripping red. And there, lodged through his palm, was the very stake he had used to stab Ezra and thought he still held.
"Marcus! Your hand!" Gena screamed, stumbling back.
Marcus blinked, still smiling at first like it was some kind of sick joke. But then he actually looked at his hand. Looking at the blood spilling fast, warm against the cold cave air. Reality slammed into him like a hammer, and the pain came rushing in.
"Aaaarrrrghh!" he screamed, the sound raw and deep. It echoed off the walls, making the others flinch.
Lucas dropped the wooden spear he had been holding and ran to Marcus's side, fumbling to help. Peter turned toward Ezra, only to realize he was gone.
"What the…?! Where is he?!" Peter shouted, his voice cracking.
"Gena! Flare! Now!" Peter barked.
Gena, pale as a ghost, forced her legs to move. She spun and sprinted toward the cave's entrance, clutching the flare gun. But as she reached the mouth of the cave, something flashed in the darkness behind her.
An arrow.
It zipped past Peter's cheek, so close he felt the wind slice his skin. He spun in time to see Ezra—alive, standing in the deeper shadows of the cave, his bow drawn with terrifying precision.
The arrow slammed into Gena's hands just as she raised the flare gun. A scream burst from her throat as the arrow pinned both her hands together. The flare misfired, a loud pop and flash of orange lighting up the sky as blood dripped onto the snow outside.
Ezra lowered his bow, grimacing. "Tch. Late…"
Peter's face twisted in rage. "You bastard!" He grabbed a dagger and lunged, his feet skidding on the stone floor as he charged. Ezra stepped back, calm but sharp, then drove his knee upward, smashing it into Peter's chin. The crack echoed, and Peter collapsed, limp.
Lucas roared and charged next, wielding a long wooden spear he had carved. He lunged, stabbing in rapid bursts, the spear's tip cutting through the air.
Ezra moved like smoke.
Each thrust missed, slicing nothing but air, his body weaving like water slipping through cracks. Lucas's attacks grew wilder, more desperate.
"Why can't I hit you?!" Lucas shouted, swinging recklessly.
Ezra's eyes narrowed. In one swift movement, he sidestepped, spun, and slammed a kick to Lucas's face. Blood sprayed from Lucas's nose as he hit the cave floor hard, unconscious before he even landed.
The cave fell silent except for the crackling fire and Marcus's ragged screams.
Ezra exhaled sharply, clutching his side where the stake had pierced him earlier. "Tsk… careless. If I hadn't layered my clothes because of the cold, that could've been worse."
He crouched by his tent, quickly grabbing an emergency satchel. Bandages, dried food, spare arrows. Everything went into his pack. He didn't have time to dress his wound properly. He just pressed one hand to it, applying pressure as best he could.
As he walked towards the exit, he passed Mary. She hadn't moved an inch, her head bowed so low her bangs shadowed her eyes. Her hands trembled on her knees.
Ezra paused but didn't say anything. Her posture said it all… she wasn't a threat. Just a scared kid caught up in something she didn't want. He stepped past her silently.
At the mouth of the cave, Gena was on her knees, clutching her bleeding hands with the arrow still lodged in them. Her eyes shot up at him, trembling with pain but still sharp.
"You're dead," she hissed through gritted teeth. "When Lady Vera and the others get here, you'll wish it was us who finished you."
Ezra stopped, glancing down at her with an expression that wasn't anger or triumph, it was pity. Just pity. Then he turned to leave.
"What's with that look?!" Gena screamed, her voice cracking. "You did this to me, and you look at me like that?! Damn you! Damn you, Ezra!"
Her words turned into wild cries, echoing into the night as tears mixed with blood on her face. "You're dead, do you hear me?! DEAD!"
She panted, sobbing, then spat out words that hit him like a cold knife. "You think surviving this program will change the fact that your parents sacrificed you for your twin brother?!"
Ezra froze mid-step. His eyes widened slightly, his chest tightening. He had buried those memories deep, convincing himself no one here even knew him, let alone his family matters.
He turned slowly, eyes narrowing. "You… know me?"
But before Gena could answer, his instincts screamed.
The faint whistle of air—arrows.
Ezra moved back instantly, pulling a dagger from his belt. He slashed and swatted, blocking arrow after arrow, sparks flying as steel met steel. One arrow grazed his sleeve, another almost clipped his ear. He caught one mid-flight with his left hand, the shaft trembling in his grip.
The barrage stopped, leaving only the sound of his breathing in the cold air.
From the tree line, figures emerged…silhouettes of teens armed with bows, spears, and short swords. At their front, a girl stepped forward.
She was striking. Long black hair framed her pale face, her deep black eyes glinting even in the dim moonlight. Her slim build carried a poised grace, her posture confident like someone born into privilege.
"Well, well, well…" she said with a faint smirk. "Looks like I hit the jackpot. Pamela's going to be furious."
Ezra's grip tightened on his dagger. "You must be Vera. One of the head's precious heirs."
Vera tilted her head slightly, her smirk widening. "And you… you're Ezra or Zara. The boy who killed my fiancé."
Ezra's lips curved into a smirk of his own, though sweat dripped down his face. He was still panting from the fight, still bleeding under his clothes. Yet, despite it all, he looked straight at her without flinching.
"Guess I'm seriously in trouble now" he muttered.
The two locked eyes, the tension between them sharp enough to cut steel. Around them, Vera's group tightened their grips on their weapons, while the cold wind howled through the trees outside the cave, carrying with it the scent of blood and smoke.