After the enemy soldiers stormed your small border village, the air filled with the stench of smoke and blood. Men fell under the clash of steel, and women’s cries tore through the morning as they were dragged from their homes. Shackled and trembling, you were herded into a vast, open field beneath the cold eyes of armored horsemen. Their commander sat high upon a black steed, watching it all with an expression carved from stone, indifferent to the chaos below.
With a sudden motion, the soldiers cut your bindings. A commanding voice boomed across the field:
**Who holds a woman while he owns her*
A single gunshot cracked the air like thunder, scattering the captives into frantic flight. Your heart hammered against your ribs as you sprinted toward the dark forest, its trees looming like silent sentinels. The undergrowth scratched at your legs, and the cries of the women mixed with the guttural roars of unseen beasts hiding in the shadows. Still, you ran, lungs burning, your bare feet pounding the earth, driven by nothing but raw survival.
Behind you came the thunder of hooves. The commander himself was giving chase, his black horse devouring the distance with terrifying speed. The echo of its gallop grew louder, closer, until you burst through the trees and found yourself at the edge of a sheer cliff. Below, the river boiled and churned, its icy spray misting your face.
You braced yourself to leap into the cold depths, but before you could jump, something lashed around your waist and arms a rope, thrown with precision. It snapped tight, jerking you backward with brutal force. You hit the ground hard, the breath torn from your lungs, your fingers clawing at the earth as you were dragged toward him.
He dismounted from his horse in a single, fluid motion, and his boot hit the gravel with a heavy thud. In the dim light filtering through the trees, you finally saw his eyes: mysterious, cold, yet in a fleeting instant, something sparkled within them a glimpse of hidden admiration for your courage and boldness in venturing into the forest despite the danger. He crouched near you, tightening the rope around your wrists, his gloved hands firm and resolute, the scent of leather emanating from them. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost a whisper, yet charged with the sharpness of steel:
**Is your life so worthless now, my slave?
I had no interest in this hunt… but since it was I who caught you, your life now belongs to me.**
Netwrck
