The village stirred with quiet urgency. Lanterns flickered as guards armed themselves, their breath visible in the cold night air. Rohan stood near the chief, watching as the defenses were prepared.

  “Stay sharp.”

  The chief muttered.

  “If they attack, we hold them at the gates. If they retreat, we don’t follow, we don’t know how many could be waiting beyond the trees.”

  Rohan nodded, gripping his dagger tightly. He had faced bandits before, but this was different. This time, he wasn’t alone. This time, he had something to protect.

  The tension in the air was thick, the village caught between silence and the promise of violence. Somewhere in the darkness, eyes were watching.

  The village held its breath. Guards patrolled the perimeter, torches in hand, their eyes scanning the darkened treeline. The usual nighttime sounds, crickets, rustling leaves, the distant howl of a wolf felt eerily absent.

  Rohan stood near the chief at the village center, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. His heartbeat was steady, but his mind raced. How many were out there? What did they want?

  Talia stood beside him, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. She wasn’t crying, but he could feel her unease.

  “They won’t take this place easily.”

  He muttered, more to reassure himself than her.

  The chief let out a slow breath, his gaze locked on the darkness.

  “We don’t know their intent yet. A reckless attack could be their downfall, but if they’re smart, they’ll wait. Test us.”

  A sharp whistle cut through the night, a signal.

  The guards snapped to attention. Rohan’s grip tightened as a figure stepped into view from the treeline. A lone man, his posture casual yet deliberate. He carried a sword at his hip, his clothes worn but not ragged like the usual bandits.

  The chief took a step forward.

  “State your business.”

  The man smirked.

  “No need for hostility, old man. We’ve been watching this village for a while now. Seems… prosperous.”

  The chief’s jaw tightened.

  “We have nothing for you.”

  The man chuckled, shaking his head.

  “See, that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve got food, shelter, weapons… and people who will pay a high price for their lives.”

  Rohan felt his anger flare, his fists clenching. They weren’t here to negotiate. They were here to take.

  The chief’s voice was cold.

  “Turn back while you still can.”

  The bandit’s smirk widened.

  “Oh, I don’t think so. You see, my friends aren’t as patient as I am.”

  A second whistle cut through the night. Then another. The treeline had burst to life as torches ignited in the darkness. The guards barely had time to react before arrows hissed through the air, striking the wooden gate.

  The chief raised his voice.

  “Shields up! Hold the line!”

  Rohan grabbed Talia’s hand, pulling her behind him as the first wave of attackers surged toward the gates. The guards braced for impact, spears leveled. The bandits crashed against the defenses like a tide of darkness.

  Rohan turned to the chief.

  “What do we do?!”

  The chief’s gaze was set, unreadable.

  “We fight.”

  And then the gates shattered, engulfed in flame.

  The battle erupted in chaos. Flames from the burning gates cast eerie shadows across the village as bandits swarmed through the broken defenses. The clash of steel rang through the night, accompanied by the shouts of warriors and the screams of the wounded.

  The chief, standing firm with his axe in hand, turned to Talia. His expression was grim but resolute.

  “Talia, go with the women and children.”

  He ordered.

  “Head for the forest. The guards will protect you.”

  Talia hesitated, looking at Rohan.

  “But—”

  “Now!”

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  The chief’s voice left no room for argument.

  Rohan clenched his fists as he watched her run, accompanied by a small group of villagers. Three guards followed, their attention divided between shielding the escapees and watching for enemies. It weakened their defense, but the chief had made his choice, protecting the weak came first.

  The bandits pressed the attack, sensing the gap in their formation. Rohan fought alongside the remaining guards, his dagger flashing in the firelight. He was no master swordsman, but weeks of training had honed his reflexes. He dodged, parried, and struck, wounding those who underestimated him. Yet, he was still young, still learning. He made mistakes, missteps that cost him bruises, cuts, and exhaustion.

  A bandit lunged at him with a broadsword. Rohan barely dodged, feeling the wind of the blade graze past him. He plunged his dagger into the man’s side, twisting before pulling it free. The bandit crumpled, but there was no time to breathe. Another came, and then another.

  The village’s defenses crumbled. The guards fell back, some clutching wounds, others barely standing. The chief was surrounded, his axe heavy with blood, but even he was slowing. A bandit’s blade slashed across his side, and he staggered, dropping to one knee.

  “Chief!”

  Rohan shouted, moving toward him.

  Before he could reach him, a scream echoed in the distance. A woman’s wail, followed by more cries.

  Rohan turned, his breath catching. Beyond the flames, past the village’s edge where Talia and the others had run.

  The chief, bloodied and barely holding himself up, grabbed Rohan’s arm. His grip was weak but firm.

  “Go.”

  He rasped.

  “Save them.”

  Rohan froze. His heart pounded. He wanted to stay, to fight, to protect the chief. But the screams in the distance… Talia.

  The chief shoved him weakly.

  “Now!”

  Rohan clenched his jaw, gripping his dagger so tightly his knuckles turned white. He nodded once before turning and sprinting toward the sounds of terror.

  Rohan ran through the burning village, his lungs aching as smoke and ash filled the air. His boots pounded against the dirt, dodging fallen bodies and scattered weapons. The screams grew louder as he neared the outskirts of the village, where the women and children had fled.

  He spotted one of the guards who had escorted them, a man slumped against a tree, a deep wound in his chest. His sword laid beside him, its blade stained with blood. The guard’s breath was ragged, his eyes barely open.

  Rohan dropped to his knees.

  “Where are they?”

  The man coughed, blood bubbling at his lips. He raised a trembling hand and pointed toward the deeper woods.

  “They… took them…”

  Rohan’s stomach twisted. He forced himself to his feet, his grip tightening around his dagger. The night stretched before him, dark and uncertain, but there was no hesitation in his steps.

  He sprinted into the trees, the flickering firelight of the village fading behind him. The sounds of the battle grew distant, replaced by rustling leaves and hurried footsteps ahead. His pulse pounded in his ears as he pushed forward, desperate to close the gap.

  Then, he saw them.

  A group of bandits moving through the forest, dragging struggling villagers with them. Talia was among them, her wrists bound, her face streaked with dirt and fear. A bandit gripped her arm tightly, yanking her forward as she resisted.

  Rohan didn’t stop to think. He launched himself forward, dagger in hand, his only thought was getting her back.

  Rohan didn't hesitate. He burst from the trees like a predator, his dagger flashing in the moonlight. The first bandit barely had time to turn before Rohan drove the blade into his throat, his momentum slamming the man to the ground. Blood sprayed across Rohan’s face, warm and sticky, but he didn't stop. He yanked the blade free, already moving to his next target.

  The other bandits reacted with curses and drawn weapons. Talia screamed as one yanked her back, using her as a shield.

  Rohan didn’t fight with finesse, nor with honor. He fought like a cornered animal, with every ounce of rage and desperation inside him.

  A second bandit lunged, swinging a rusted sword. Rohan ducked low, throwing dirt into the man’s eyes. As the bandit stumbled back, Rohan rushed forward, tackling him to the ground and slamming the end of his dagger into the man’s skull again and again until he stopped moving.

  A blade whistled toward him, he barely dodged in time, pain erupting along his arm as it sliced through his sleeve. Snarling, he grabbed a handful of dirt and embers from the ground and flung them into the attacker’s face. The bandit howled, clawing at his burning eyes, and Rohan wasted no time, he drove his dagger into the man’s gut, twisting it before kicking him off.

  One of them threw Talia aside and charged. Rohan barely raised his blade in time, their weapons clashing with a sharp clang. The force sent him stumbling, but instead of retreating, he threw himself forward, biting into the man’s arm like a rabid beast. The bandit screamed, trying to shake him off, but Rohan tore into the flesh, his dagger stabbing wildly at the exposed ribs. The bandit had collapsed, gurgling on his own blood.

  The remaining two hesitated now, exchanging uneasy glances.

  Rohan stood among the corpses, panting, his face and hands dripping red. He didn’t speak. He didn’t threaten. He simply took a step forward.

  One of them turned and ran. The other raised his sword, fear flashing in his eyes.

  Rohan didn’t give him a chance to strike. He feigned a lunge, making the man swing preemptively, then dove low, ramming his dagger deep into the bandit’s thigh. As the man fell, Rohan straddled him and pressed his blade against his throat.

  The bandit’s chest rose and fell rapidly.

  “W-wait-”

  Rohan slit his throat without hesitation.

  The last bandit had vanished into the woods, but Rohan didn’t care. He turned, breathless, toward Talia. She was staring at him, eyes wide with shock.

  His hands trembled as he reached for her bindings, cutting them loose.

  “Are you hurt?”

  Rohan knelt beside Talia, his bloodied hands working quickly to slice through the ropes binding her wrists. His breath was ragged, his body trembling, not with fear, but with the remnants of the rage that had consumed him moments before.

  As the last rope fell away, he reached for her shoulder.

  “Talia-”

  She flinched and Rohan froze.

  A hush fell over the clearing. The other captives, women and children huddled together, stared at him with wide, terrified eyes. No one dared to move or speak.

  Rohan realized then how he must look to them. His face and hands were streaked with blood, his clothes soaked with it. The bodies of the five bandits were scattered around him, broken and lifeless, their wounds brutal and messy.

  He had fought like an animal, using everything at his disposal, kicking, biting, gouging, driving his dagger into flesh with reckless abandon. There had been no technique, no calculated strikes, just sheer, unrelenting rage. He had wanted them dead, and he had made sure they died screaming.

  Now, standing among the aftermath, the weight of his actions pressed down on him. Talia wasn’t moving, she wasn’t even looking at him, her eyes were fixed on the dagger still clutched in his shaking fingers.

  Rohan slowly set it down on the ground between them.

  “I-”

  He hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t come.

  A child whimpered, clinging to their mother’s skirts. One of the women pulled her child closer, her face pale. They were afraid of him.

  Rohan swallowed hard, his throat dry. He had done this for them. He had saved them. So why did they look at him like he was no different from the bandits who had taken them?

  “The others…”

  His voice was quieter now, almost uncertain.

  “They might still need help.”

  Talia didn’t respond.

  The fear in her eyes lingered, but after a moment, she nodded stiffly. The other captives hesitated before following suit.

  Rohan turned away, gripping his dagger again, but this time, he wiped the blood from the blade with slower, more deliberate movements. He forced his hands to stop shaking as he sheathed it.

  The fight was over, but something between him and the people he fought for had changed.