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  The autumn morning greeted the travelers with a fog that clung to the river like the grey spirits of the past. The earth steamed after the night’s rain. The air was thick with the scent of damp bark and decaying leaves that crunched softly underfoot. Sunlight struggled through the canopy, casting dappled light across the cloaks and faces of the wanderers.

  Violetta walked among the party, staying close to the rescued captives being escorted to Sibetmonia. Her gait was hesitant, her gaze downcast. Inside, however, a predatory alertness seethed: too many eyes, too close. She felt every breath of the strangers, every sudden movement. The mask of helplessness kept their curiosity at bay, giving her a sliver of peace. The Sphere, meanwhile, kept its distance, hovering nearly invisible among the branches.

  Leading the way was Odd—a dark-haired man with twin daggers strapped to his chest and a recurve bow on his back. He wasted no breath on words; even greetings were met with a curt nod. Beside him was Brenn, a burly Dwarf with a face like a slab of scorched leather and a perpetual smirk.

  “Well, at least it’s not pouring,” he grunted, glancing at the sky. “Seems our souls haven’t rotted through just yet if fate’s given us a dry road.”

  “Fate has nothing to do with it. It’s a standard atmospheric moisture cycle,” interrupted Tillo, a young mage with a tin-capped staff and disheveled hair. “I read about it in Arkelius’s treatises.”

  “Listen, lad, if you say the word ‘treatise’ one more time, I’ll shove that staff exactly where your ego lives,” Brenn chuckled.

  Bringing up the rear was Irellis—a tall, silent Elf in black whose eyes never stopped moving. She had looked at Violetta once, and that night the girl had struggled to sleep. It wasn't fear; it was the sensation of being stripped down to the marrow by a single glance.

  “ENVIRONMENTAL ANALYSIS: FAINT PUTRID ODOR DETECTED. PROBABILITY: HIGH CONCENTRATION OF SOFT ORGANICS. PRIORITY: CAUTION,” the Sphere reminded her.

  Violetta only half-listened to their chatter. These people seemed so... vivid. Simple. She wasn't used to it after a year of solitary survival.

  Suddenly, Violetta’s lips tightened. She felt it. The earth wasn't trembling from the wind. Far off, a branch snapped—not by accident, but with unnatural force.

  “WARNING: THERMAL SIGNATURES DETECTED. RANGE: 150 METERS. CLOSING RAPIDLY.”

  “Wait,” she said, her voice quiet but piercing. “Something is coming. Something big.”

  Odd stopped instantly. He knelt, touching the ground, catching the vibration Violetta already knew.

  “Running. A dozen... maybe more. Tall, heavy.”

  “Orcs?” Brenn asked. “In these woods?”

  “Aye, and they aren't just lost. They’re following the scent of blood. Ours.”

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  Before he could finish, the first Orc—bulging eyes and a scarred, peeling face—leaped from behind the trees. Then a second. Then more. The forest erupted with guttural roars. The chaos of combat took hold.

  Irellis moved like a wraith—her blades flashed, her body gliding like a shadow. Odd fought like a cornered wolf. Tillo gasped, casting flickering bolts of fire. Brenn was already shouting, parrying blows with his sword, ordering the captives to fall back.

  Then, a massive Orc with a warhammer broke through the line. He raised his weapon over Irellis, who had slipped on a root and couldn't recover in time.

  Violetta reacted like a coiled spring.

  The air hissed—sharp, like an arrow born from the void. Beside her palm, light bled from the shadows: the thin lines of a geometric spell-circle formed a pattern no one present could have replicated. The air nearby distorted as if gripped by invisible fingers.

  The stone projectile didn't just fly; it broke the sound barrier instantly. A sharp crack echoed through the woods like a whip-strike. The Orc had no time to scream—his head snapped back, obliterated in a spray of crimson mist.

  Irellis flinched at the spray but was on her feet in a heartbeat, daggers ready. Her gaze, sharp as a razor, flicked toward Violetta—a brief, calculating assessment.

  “COMBAT UNIT ACTIVATION RECORDED. IDENTIFICATION PROBABILITY: INCREASED. RISK: HIGH. SITUATION: UNDER CONTROL,” the Sphere’s flat, soulless voice echoed in her mind.

  For a second, the forest was silent. Almost unnaturally so. Then the screams, the thud of blows, and the heavy panting of the Orcs returned, drowning the party in a wave of chaos. But what had happened had been witnessed.

  Violetta felt their eyes sliding over her, like fingers testing the strength of a fabric.

  The fight died down minutes later. The Orcs lay where they fell—heavy bodies, the smell of wet fur and steaming blood filling the cold air. The forest began to reclaim its balance, though the birds were not yet brave enough to sing.

  Irellis approached first. Her face was calm, though her fingertips still twitched from the adrenaline.

  “Thank you,” she said softly. Not with warmth—but acknowledging the fact: without Violetta, she wouldn't have stood up.

  Brenn followed. His voice lacked its usual jest. “You’ve got magic in you, little one?”

  Violetta nodded slowly. She didn't look away.

  “And you were hiding it?”

  “You didn't ask.”

  Brenn snorted, then let out a short, raspy laugh. “I like that answer!”

  Odd silently surveyed the battlefield, then turned to Violetta. There was no judgment in his sigh—only the acceptance of a new variable. “A mage... well, that’s another thing to worry about.”

  Tillo, conversely, was beaming with excitement. He lunged forward, grabbing her hand—a move so sudden the Sphere nearly triggered a threat-alert.

  “That was... incredible! I’ve never been able to stabilize spherical flows to sixteen! How do you do it?”

  His fingers touched her skin, and Violetta recoiled. She yanked her hand back instinctively, as if burned.

  “I... I don't know...” she whispered, hiding her face beneath her hood.

  Odd threw a stern, weary look at the mage. “Tillo. Not now.”

  “Sorry,” he muttered. “I just... got carried away.”

  Violetta nodded. Brief. Emotionless. But inside, her heart was hammering. She hadn't hated attention this much in a long time.

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  Night fell over the camp like a cold shroud. The captives slept apart, their fear palpable even from a distance. The adventurers sat around the campfire, dry branches crackling, casting flickering, grotesque shadows across their faces.

  Brenn, warming his hands over the flames, spoke calmly:

  “If you want to join us—we won't stop you. You aren't obligated. But we see you aren't just a common girl.”

  She sat with her knees hugged to her chest, staring into the fire. The light reflected in her eyes, and the Sphere whispered in her mind:

  “PROBABILITY OF TREACHERY: LOW. UTILITY POTENTIAL: HIGH.”

  Violetta exhaled slowly. “I'll think about it.”

  She pulled her cloak tight and lay down

  nearby. Close, but still alone.

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