The road was empty. Snow had started again, soft flakes falling over my coat and boots. My breath came out in short clouds. The cold didn't bother me anymore; it barely registered. My mind was focused on one thing: survive.
I had been walking for hours, trying to put distance between me and the inn. That man from yesterday, the one who had been watching me, hadn't appeared again. That didn't mean I was safe.
I kept thinking about what he said: "Everyone thinks you're the Right Hand. Dangerous. Skilled. Smart."
I wasn't any of those things. I had just given water to a dying man.
Still… the world had already decided my role. And that role was dangerous.
I turned into a narrow alley to rest for a moment. The walls were close on either side, and the snow was lighter here. I leaned against the stone and closed my eyes, just for a second.
"Don't stop moving." A voice said from behind.
I opened my eyes.
A man was standing at the end of the alley. Broad shoulders, dark boots, a hood over his head. He held a short sword in one hand. The way he moved… confident. Calm. Like he had been trained for this moment.
I swallowed. My hand went to the knife in my coat.
"You," he said. "You're the one they call the Right Hand, aren't you?"
"I… I think you're mistaken," I said carefully.
He took a step closer. "Mistaken?" His voice was low, almost amused. "Everyone says you helped the Dark Lord's man escape. That you're powerful. That you're dangerous. That you're…" He paused, eyes sharp, "ruthless."
I shook my head. "I'm none of those things. I only—"
"Save your excuses." He smiled, showing just a hint of teeth. "I don't care if you're innocent. The law doesn't."
I tightened my grip on my knife.
He raised the sword slightly. "Step aside. I don't want to hurt you. But if you force my hand…"
I weighed my options. There was no escape down the alley. Running back would put me in his line of sight. Fighting him wasn't an option; I wasn't strong enough.
I took a slow breath.
"Then we do this carefully," I said. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."
He tilted his head. "Careful?"
"Yes." I forced myself to stay calm. My mind raced. There had to be a way out. I scanned the alley. A pile of old crates was stacked near the wall. I could use them to block him—or at least slow him down.
He stepped closer. His boots crunched on the snow. "Time's up."
I kicked one of the crates toward him. It hit his side, but barely moved him. He didn't flinch.
I cursed under my breath. There was no fighting him. Only trickery.
I took a step backward and jumped to the side, narrowly avoiding his sword. The blade scraped against the wall. Sparks flew.
"Hey!" he shouted, stepping forward. "Stop running!"
I ran, faster than I had in days. My heart pounded. Every step, every breath was a calculation. Where could I go? I had no allies, no weapons, no plan.
Then I saw it. A ladder leading to the rooftops. Old, rickety, probably unsafe. But it was better than staying in the alley.
I grabbed the first rung and pulled myself up. The wood groaned under my weight, but held. I climbed faster, ignoring the sting in my arms.
The man followed, slower this time. He didn't seem surprised. Not angry. Just… amused.
"You think hiding will help?" he called. "You can't run from a reputation."
I paused on the rooftop for a second. My chest heaving, snow melting on my hair. I looked down at the alley. He was climbing after me, steady, calm, relentless.
I started moving along the rooftops, jumping over chimneys and broken tiles. My boots slipped once or twice, and I almost fell, but I caught myself.
The man followed each step. He wasn't fast like me, but he didn't stop. He didn't hesitate.
I realized something. He wasn't just here to capture me. He wanted to see me in action. To test me.
I clenched my fists.
If everyone thought I was the Right Hand… maybe I could use it.
I stopped near a narrow chimney and yelled down. "You really want to fight me?"
He looked up, smiling faintly. "Not fight. Just… see if you're really worth the stories."
I jumped from the rooftop, landing on a small pile of snow near the alley. My legs burned, but I didn't fall.
He followed, and that was when I ran straight into the crowd of the morning market. People shouted and moved out of my way. I weaved between carts and stalls, kicking over a crate or two to slow him down.
The man hesitated for a second, then pressed forward anyway. Calm. Methodical.
I ducked into a narrow shop and hid behind the counter. My heart was pounding, sweat running down my face.
He appeared at the door seconds later. He looked around slowly. Calm. Patient. Like he already knew I was there.
"You can't hide forever," he said.
I didn't answer. I stayed as still as I could, holding my knife ready.
The market started to wake up. People came out, talking, selling, moving. Some glanced at us, curious, but no one interfered. They probably thought it was some petty argument.
The man stepped closer. "You're clever," he said. "I'll give you that. But clever doesn't save you from reputation. Or skill."
I swallowed.
Maybe he was right. Maybe my life was already set by what people thought of me.
I clenched the knife tighter. "If you want me, you'll have to do better than that," I said.
He smiled faintly. "We'll see."
And with that, he turned and left the shop, disappearing into the crowd as if he had never been there.
I stayed behind the counter for a long time, trying to calm my breathing. My hands shook, my legs felt weak, but I was alive.
Alive. For now.
And I knew one thing clearly:
This was only the beginning.
The world already thought I was the Right Hand.
Now… someone wanted to make sure it was true.