Skuggi dragged the bodies deeper into the cave, pulling them by their ankles. The floor scraped their armor. Dust drifted from the ceiling with each movement. The cave held its shape temporarily, but the cracks along the walls told him it wouldn’t take much to bring it down. He positioned the corpses near the back, out of sight from the entrance. He made a cut big enough so the smell would attract the beast in the forest, in case his plan didnt work… The smell of blood thickened the air.

  He crouched near a bush hidden by the wall far from their sight and listened… The forest outside carried distant voices. The guards at the caravan still argued about the escaped “cripple.” He weighed his options. He could run alone and leave the other prisoners behind. That had been his first thought. He had grown tired of any more cages. No more chains… Nor risks.

  But the idea of the guards joining with the soldiers from the unknown Order tightened something in his chest. If they combined forces, maybe if they played their cards right, they would be capable of tracking him and capturing him once again. They had the resources to hunt him. Possibly drag him back to another table. Another collar. Another experiment.

  He changed his mind as fast as the thought formed. He climbed the tree above the cave entrance and pressed himself against the trunk; he didn't want to risk being so close to them and being discovered. The green cloth blended with the leaves. His breath stayed low. His new senses tracked the approaching footsteps… six men, armor shifting, voices low.

  They reached the cave. The surviving soldier pointed inside, his voice cracking as he tried to explain what he had seen. The others mocked him at first. Then curiosity pulled them forward. One by one they stepped into the cave, helmets turning as they searched for signs of a struggle.

  Skuggi waited until the last one crossed the threshold… He dropped from the tree without a sound. His feet hit the ground lightly. He moved to the entrance and pressed his back against the stone. Inside, the guards muttered to each other, their voices bouncing off the walls. They didn’t notice the silence behind them.

  One of them turned his head toward the entrance… His eyes widened. He saw only a shape… Skuggi’s outline was framed by the dim light. A shadow with no face. A figure that didn’t belong to the living… The guard inhaled sharply, ready to shout the moment he spotted him in the entrance… Skuggi slammed his shoulder into the outer wall.

  The stone cracked. A deep rumble rolled through the cave. Dust burst from the ceiling. The guards inside shouted, scrambling toward the entrance. Skuggi hit the wall again with his fist. Bleeding for hitting it harder. The rock gave way. The ceiling buckled.

  The cave collapsed… Stone swallowed their screams. The ground shook under Skuggi’s feet. A cloud of dust rose from the rubble. The forest fell silent… He stepped back and watched the last stones settle.

  “Farewell,” he said, voice low. “May your death be as peaceful as the treatment you gave your prey.”

  He turned away from the ruins and walked into the trees.

  Skuggi crouched behind the tree line, eyes fixed on the last group of guards near the caravan. Six men. Four arrows. One severed head tucked under his arm like a tool he hadn’t decided how to use yet. The forest air carried their voices clearly. They joked about the soldier who had run from the cave, calling him soft, calling him blind. None of them checked the trees.

  He studied their positions. Two near the wagons. Three are pacing the perimeter. One wandered off to relieve himself behind a bush. That one would never see the arrow coming.

  Skuggi nocked the first arrow. His fingers tightened around the bowstring. The pull felt uneven… he still wasn’t used to the strength in his arms. He adjusted, aimed at the man behind the bush, and released.

  The arrow struck the back of the guard’s neck. The man dropped near a bush, and the guards mistook it for the one who went to his personal matters. That last shot broke the bow in half due to his excessive strength.

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  The other guards weren't concerned about what they had misunderstood. They kept talking, still convinced their formation covered every angle. Skuggi moved to a new position, staying low. He drew another arrow with the bow he picked from one of the fallen guards and fired at the guard closest to the wagon. The arrow hit the man’s temple. He fell sideways, armor clattering against the wheel.

  The remaining guards spun toward the sound. They shouted orders, but none of them looked in the right direction. Skuggi fired again. The third arrow hit a man in the throat. He collapsed, hands clawing at the wound. The fourth arrow took the next one in the chest. The impact knocked him backward. He hit the ground hard and didn’t move.

  Only one guard remained. He crawled under the caravan, breath shaking, armor scraping against the wood. Skuggi stepped toward him. The guard saw the movement and bolted from the other side, sprinting toward the forest. He didn’t make it far. Skuggi threw the knife. The blade sank into the back of the guard’s skull. The man dropped mid?stride, his body folding into the dirt.

  The forest went quiet. A second figure emerged from between the trees. The soldier who had gone to check the perimeter. His face drained of color as he saw the bodies scattered across the clearing. His gaze locked on the armor of the man with the knife in his head. Recognition flickered.

  “Thomas?” he called, voice trembling. Skuggi stepped into view wearing the dead man’s cloak. The soldier took a hesitant step forward. Two meters. Close enough to see the truth. Skuggi lifted the severed head and tossed it toward him. “Think fast.” The soldier’s hands rose instinctively to catch it.

  Skuggi’s blade came down in a clean arc. The strike split the man’s skull. His body dropped beside the head he had almost caught. The clearing held stillness again.

  Inside the caravan, the prisoners pressed against the wooden slats, eyes wide. They had seen the shadows move. They had seen bodies fall. Some covered their mouths to keep from making noise. Others stared with a strange fascination, as if watching a tale they had only heard whispered in taverns.

  Skuggi walked toward them slowly, the green cloth hanging from his shoulders, the blood on his hands drying in uneven streaks. The prisoners stiffened. Their breaths caught. None of them knew what he was. Was it a bandit? A mad killer? Something broken loose from a nightmare.

  Maybe all of it. Skuggi stopped a few steps from the wagon and looked at them through the identity the slime had shaped for him… He didn’t speak… He didn’t need to. Skuggi climbed into the caravan in one quick motion and leaned forward until his face hovered inches from the nearest prisoner. “Hiii.”

  The reaction hit all at once. Nine bodies dropped where they sat, limbs limp, eyes rolling back. Three people launched themselves out the opposite side of the wagon, hitting the dirt with panicked grunts. Two scrambled to the far corner, pressing their backs against the wooden boards. Only one stayed still. A girl. Barely grown. She didn’t flinch. She didn’t blink. Furthermore, she just watched him with a hollow stare, as if she had already reached the end of whatever she had left.

  Skuggi stepped back and waited for the chaos to settle. The ones who fainted woke slowly, groaning. The ones who jumped out crawled back in after realizing nothing else was coming for them. He cut their shackles with the knife he had taken from the mercenary. The metal links clattered to the floor. When the last chain fell, he turned toward the girl.

  She sat with her knees pulled to her chest. Her clothes hung in torn strips. Dirt streaked her arms. The scent on her skin told him everything he needed to know… soldiers had touched her, more than once, recently. The smell clung to her like a stain. He crouched in front of her. “Why are you not scared of me?” She lifted her head. Her voice came out thin. “I thought you came to finish it.”

  The others fell silent. Even the ones who had been whispering stopped. Skuggi studied her face. No tears. No trembling. Just a tired acceptance he recognized from the early days in the lab, when he still believed nothing would change.

  “What is your name?” he said.

  “Freia Freydottir.”

  A man near the back straightened. His clothes were torn, but his posture carried a trace of old discipline. “Freydottir? From the blue?blood line? The one the empire let fall?”

  Freia didn’t look at him. “Yes”… The word barely reached the air. It carried no strength, only the weight of something taken from her long before Skuggi arrived.

  The wagon stayed quiet. No one knew what to say. They watched her the way they watched Skuggi… carefully, unsure, waiting for something to break. Skuggi didn’t move. He kept his eyes on her, trying to understand why she hadn’t screamed, why she hadn’t run, and why she hadn’t fainted like the others.

  Maybe she had nothing left to fear… Perhaps she had already lived through worse.

  “???????? ??? ???????... ?????? ???? ?? ???????? ?? ?????? ?? ??? ?? ?????????...”

  “Monsters are mirrors... showing only the darkness we refuse to see in ourselves...”

  How was it??