The Light's Last Stand

Scene 1: A Clash in the Dark

Elliotte's heart pounded as he caught sight of Anther's face on the wanted poster, his old friend's piercing eyes staring back at him from the rough parchment. A swirl of regret and urgency overwhelmed him. This could be my last chance to apologize... to explain what happened that night. Determined, he turned to the guards, asking in a rushed voice, "Where can I find him?"

One guard pointed to the dense woods. "He's believed to be hiding in this very forest."

Without a second thought, Elliotte spun on his heel and made for the door, intent on finding Anther. But as he stepped into the forest's shadowy perimeter, a figure blocked his path—Mark.

"Sir Elliotte," Mark said, his voice steady but with an edge of warning. "Where do you think you're going at this hour?"

Elliotte tried to brush past him. "It's a personal matter. I need to go now."

Mark's eyes narrowed. "I'm afraid I can't allow that."

Elliotte's jaw clenched. "Well, I'm going anyway."

In an instant, Mark's dagger was at Elliotte's neck, his voice calm and cold. "I'm just following orders."

Elliotte stiffened. "And what orders are those?"

Mark's expression remained impassive. "King Aric has waited long enough for you to begin this quest. He's not willing to wait any longer for distractions. If you don't intend to follow through, I'm under orders to kill you—so the next ring wielder can be chosen without delay."

The weight of Mark's words settled over Elliotte like a suffocating fog. So the king doesn't trust me. He thinks I'm expendable. Fighting back his shock, he kept his voice steady. "It's a quick detour. It won't take long."

Mark shook his head. "I won't allow it. If you want to live, come back to the inn now and we shall leave in the morning as planned."

Elliotte glanced toward the forest's darkened depths, his resolve hardening. He looked back at Mark. "Fine, then. I guess I don't have any choice."

In a flash, his ring transformed into Exilibur. He swung with precise force, the blade cutting through the night air with a blinding gleam. Mark dodged the strike effortlessly, stepping back with a smug smile.

"Is that the best you've got?" Mark taunted, shifting his stance with the grace of a seasoned fighter.

Elliotte gritted his teeth, launching another series of strikes. Each slash was blocked or evaded with ease. Mark danced around him, deflecting blows with a practiced finesse that made Elliotte feel like he was fighting a ghost. Sparks flew as Exilibur met Mark's dagger, casting brief flashes of light across the shadowed trees.

Elliotte felt frustration gnawing at him; Mark wasn't even trying. The assassin deflected Elliotte's attacks with a cold calm, barely breaking a sweat, and there was an ease to his movements that came only from countless battles. Suddenly, Mark countered, slashing toward Elliotte in a blur. Elliotte parried just in time, but the force knocked him off balance, sending him stumbling backward.

"Come on, now, sir," Mark taunted, stepping closer. "This is pathetic."

Realizing he couldn't overpower Mark head-on, Elliotte made a split-second decision. He turned and darted into the forest, his heart pounding as he weaved between trees, pushing deeper into the tangled darkness. Branches scratched his arms and face, and his breaths came in ragged gasps as he tried to put as much distance as possible between himself and his relentless pursuer.

But Mark was close behind, his voice ringing out. "Running won't save you, Elliotte!"

Elliotte ducked behind a tree, barely daring to breathe. His body ached, and exhaustion tugged at him, but he steadied himself, listening for Mark's footsteps. Just when he thought he had lost him, a shadow moved in the darkness, and Mark appeared, smirking.

"Let's end this cat-and-mouse game, shall we?" Mark sneered, raising his blade. "Just die in peace, Elliotte."

He swung his sword down, but before the blade could strike, a figure shot out of nowhere, landing a powerful kick to Mark's face. Mark went flying back, crashing into a tree with a muffled groan.

Elliotte's vision blurred as he tried to process what had just happened, but exhaustion overtook him, and his knees buckled. The world around him spun, and as darkness claimed him, he glimpsed a shadowy figure standing over him—a figure with an aura of quiet strength.

Then everything went black.

Scene 2: A Fateful Confrontation

Elliotte's senses slowly stirred. He felt the cool earth beneath him, and the soft rustling of leaves above. As he opened his eyes, he found himself at the base of a large tree, the dim light of dawn filtering through the forest canopy. His body ached from the recent fight, and a dull throb pulsed in his head as he tried to sit up.

Once his vision cleared, he noticed a figure crouched beside him—a young man, lean and athletic, dressed in a rugged outfit of dark leather with a bear's hide draped over his shoulders, giving him a wild, untamed look. In his hand was a Katar, a wide-bladed dagger with a handle that let him punch through armor or beast alike. The young man's eyes were intense yet calm, holding a quiet confidence as though he was perpetually ready for the unexpected.

"You're awake. Good," the stranger said, his voice low but steady.

Elliotte blinked, his mind racing with questions, but he focused on the most immediate. "Uh… who are you?"

The young man's lips curved into a playful smile. "I'm Christopher Cane. And you are...?"

"Elliotte Lancaster."

Christopher nodded, leaning back a bit. "Nice to meet you, Elliotte.

Elliotte asks, So...it was you who saved me, Christopher?

Christopher grinned, "Yup that was me."

Elliotte's brow furrowed in confusion. "But… why?"

Christopher shrugged. "I just felt like it. Besides, that guy was getting on my nerves."

At that, memories of Mark flooded back to Elliotte—the cold warning, the dagger against his throat, and the deadly intent in his eyes. "Wait… where is Mark?"

"Oh, him?" Christopher tilted his head with a wicked grin. "I fed him to the Emberfang Hounds. They roam these woods at night."

Elliotte sat up straighter, his stomach dropping. "Very funny, Christopher. But… seriously, where is he?"

Christopher's expression remained unbothered. "Not kidding. The Emberfangs probably finished him by now."

Elliotte's eyes widened, feeling a tinge of horror and disbelief. "You… you can't just… do that. You can't just kill someone and act so casual about it."

Christopher raised an eyebrow, unphased. "Why not? The way I see it, I did you a favor. That man was about to kill you. Not exactly a good guy, right?"

Elliotte paused, unable to argue. Christopher wasn't entirely wrong.

After a beat of silence, Christopher broke the tension. "So, what's got you running through the woods at night anyway?"

"It's… personal," Elliotte said, shifting slightly.

Christopher raised his hands, smirking. "Fair enough. But you're a terrible liar, just so you know."

Elliotte ignored the jab and started to stand, brushing himself off. "Thanks for… saving me, Christopher. I should be going."

Christopher watched him with an amused expression. "Where are you headed?"

Elliotte paused. "I'm… looking for someone. An old friend."

"Well then," Christopher said, his grin widening. "I'll help you out."

Elliotte looked at him, skeptical. "Why would you want to help me? We've only just met."

Christopher chuckled. "I've never left this forest. Been here my whole life, actually. It's pretty boring now, so a little adventure sounds like fun, don't you think?"

Elliotte tilted his head, curious. "Wait, your whole life? What do you mean?"

With a glint of pride in his eyes, Christopher replied, "I was raised by a pack of Alpha Wolves. They took me in since I was a baby."

Elliotte couldn't hide his surprise. "Raised… by wolves?"

Christopher just shrugged as though it were the most ordinary thing in the world. "They're the best family I could've asked for."

Elliotte felt the urge to ask more, but sensing Christopher's indifference, he decided to change the topic. "Well, Christopher, I'd be glad for the help."

Christopher gave a small nod, his eyes gleaming with excitement. As they set off together, the forest began to feel less ominous, the early morning light casting long shadows as if the trees themselves were watching over the two unlikely allies.

The two walked in silence for a moment, the distant call of the Emberfang Hounds echoing through the trees. Christopher seemed at ease, his senses honed to every rustle and shift in the forest. Elliotte realized that, in this stranger's presence, he might finally be safe—perhaps even a bit lucky.