Rookies

The weight of the satchel rested comfortably on Red's shoulder. A dozen food bundles, healing tinctures, and ration packs rustled with each quiet step he took through the worn stone streets of Silverhaven. He didn't use his mount today.

There was no need to rush.

He moved at a calm, steady pace toward the east gate, where the walls gave way to overgrown brush, scattered ruins, and the tangled paths that led to the slums.

The guards didn't stop him.

They knew this route wasn't part of any patrol. And they knew better than to ask what someone like him was doing heading toward a place most pretended didn't exist.

The closer he walked, the more the noise of the city faded.

And then he heard something else.

Screaming.

Red stopped.

It came from the treeline, not far off the slums' southern edge.

He adjusted his grip on the satchel, then veered off the path. His steps made no sound.

The forest opened slightly ahead. That's where he saw them.

A girl, no older than sixteen, struggling in the dirt, her lip bloodied, her dress torn, hair matted with grime and sweat. Surrounding her were ten men, bandits by look and smell. Scarred armor, stolen blades, laughter thick with malice.

They circled her like animals.

Red didn't draw his sword at first.

He didn't need to.

One of the men grabbed the girl by the hair and laughed.

"C'mon, what's a pretty thing like you doing out here all alone? Let's have a bit of fun before we send you off, huh?"

She spat in his face.

He raised a hand to strike her.

He never finished the motion.

Red's dagger hit him square between the eyes.

Panic.

The leader shouted, "What the hell?!"

The bandits turned, yelling. One lunged forward with a blade.

Red sidestepped and crushed the man's windpipe with his elbow.

Another swung from behind, he twisted, caught the wrist, and drove a sword up through the ribcage.

Three.

No warning. No hesitation.

The fourth drew a crossbow. Red ducked behind the dying body of the fifth and closed the distance before the bolt fired. He buried his sword into the archer's stomach.

Six.

The last four tried to run.

They didn't make it far.

He cut them down with clean, brutal efficiency, legs first, then throats. No chance to scream. No plea.

Just silence.

The girl remained on the ground, frozen.

Her knees trembled, eyes wide, not with fear of him, but with disbelief. Her hands clenched in fists. She stared not at the blood, but at him.

At the man who had come without words or warning, like death given form.

Red turned.

His blade still dripped.

She didn't speak. She didn't ask questions.

She simply stood, slowly, shakily… and followed him.

He didn't stop her.

But he didn't acknowledge her either.

He returned to his path, stepping over roots and thorns with silent certainty. Behind him, her steps were quieter now. Lighter. Unsure, but determined.

She didn't beg.

She didn't complain.

She just walked.

Even as dusk fell and the trees darkened, she kept pace, barely a few meters behind.

By the time Red reached the outer edge of his land, the moon was beginning to rise.

He stopped only once, to drop the satchel behind the old broken cart near the slums, where the outcasts would find it in the morning. His ritual was unchanged.

But this time, he wasn't alone.

He could feel her eyes still watching.

When he finally stepped onto his porch, he heard her stop behind him. Just beyond the fence. She stood there, arms wrapped around herself, swaying slightly in the night breeze.

She didn't ask to be let in.

But she didn't leave either.

Red entered his cabin without a word.

He placed his sword on the table. Removed his armor. Cleaned his hands. Lit a small lantern.

Then, as the wind picked up outside, he stood at the doorway again and looked out.

She was still there.

Shivering.

Eyes steady.

He opened the door wider.

"Come in," he said.

Just that.

Her lips trembled. She nodded and stepped inside, arms hugging herself, bare feet dirty and blistered.

Red gave her a clean cloak to wear. She accepted it in silence.

He gestured to the bedroll.

Red: "You sleep there."

She nodded again.

He said nothing more.

He brewed coffee. Drank it in silence.

He didn't ask her name.

She didn't offer it.

When he finally laid on his bedroll, sword within reach, she curled up near the unlit fireplace and wrapped herself in the cloak.

Neither of them said a word.

But something had shifted.

For the first time in years, Red wasn't alone.