James slowed his steps, scanning the nearby foliage. The smell wasn't strong, but it was fresh. Something had been wounded nearby.
He crouched, eyes narrowing as he spotted a faint trail—a few drops of crimson staining the dirt, leading off toward a thicker part of the forest. Whatever had passed through here was injured, but there were no signs of a struggle.
An injured beast? A careless hunter? Or something else entirely?
James had a choice—follow the trail and investigate, or ignore it and continue toward the mission hall.
James tightened his grip on his bow and stepped forward, following the faint blood trail deeper into the forest. The scent was still fresh, meaning whatever had been wounded wasn't far. His footsteps were careful, measured—while he was curious, he wasn't about to walk into an unknown danger blindly.
The trail wound through the undergrowth, leading toward a small clearing framed by thick, ancient trees. As he approached, the scent of blood grew stronger, mixing with the damp earth and the crisp greenery.
Then, he saw it.
A figure, slumped against the base of a gnarled tree.
At first glance, James expected it to be an injured beast, but as he moved closer, he realized—it was a person.
The individual was dressed in light armor, their cloak partially torn, blood staining their side where a deep gash marred their skin. Their breathing was uneven, though they were still conscious, eyes flickering open at his approach.
A hunter? A traveler? Someone from the village?
James knelt beside them, assessing the wound quickly. It wasn't fresh—but it wasn't properly treated either.
The stranger looked up, his gaze sharp despite his condition.
"You… are you from the town nearby?" he rasped.
James knelt beside the injured figure, quickly assessing their condition. The wound was deep but not immediately fatal. It had gone untreated for too long, and if left unattended, infection would set in.
Just as he reached for his pouch to grab a cloth, the person's breathing hitched. Their body tensed, muscles twitching as consciousness flickered back—only for panic to surge through them the moment their surroundings registered.
Their eyes darted wildly, alarm flashing in their expression.
"W-Where—?" they gasped, their hand weakly reaching for the hilt of a weapon that wasn't there. Their movements were erratic, their body half-lifting off the ground before weakness overtook them again.
James moved quickly but carefully, keeping his hands visible, speaking in a firm but calm voice.
"Easy. You're hurt," he said, watching them closely. "You were bleeding out when I found you."
The stranger's breathing was uneven, their panic still evident, but he hesitated, registering his words. His muscles remained tense, but the wild desperation faded slightly.
Whoever he was, whatever had happened to him—he wasn't just lost. he had been running.
James quickly assessed the situation, pushing aside the urge to ask questions—for now, stabilizing the injured man was the priority.
He reached for his pouch, pulling out clean cloth and a small vial of basic healing salve. The wound wasn't fresh, but it was still deep enough to cause serious damage if left untreated.
"Stay still," James said firmly, tearing a strip from his cloth and pressing it against the bleeding gash. The stranger winced, their body instinctively trying to recoil, but James kept his movements steady, applying controlled pressure to slow the blood flow.
The man's breathing was uneven, but his panic was subsiding little by little. Now that James was tending to his wound, the instinct to fight back had faded—though wariness remained in his gaze.
"This'll sting," James warned as he uncorked the vial and poured a few drops of the salve over the wound. The man hissed in pain but didn't pull away. The salve worked fast, dulling some of the sharpness and preventing immediate infection.
James wrapped the wound quickly and efficiently, securing the cloth with tight knots. It wasn't perfect, but it would hold until proper treatment could be done.
The stranger let out a shaky breath, exhaustion settling back into their features.
Now that the immediate danger had passed, James could finally ask—'who was this person, and what had happened to them?'
James adjusted his stance, keeping his movements measured as he secured the last knot on the makeshift bandage. He didn't press the stranger for answers—not yet. They were still wary, still shaken.
Instead, he leaned back slightly, giving them space, showing he wasn't a threat.
"You're lucky I found you when I did," he said casually, keeping his tone neutral but steady. "The forest isn't kind to those who can't move."
The man exhaled sharply, shifting slightly as the pain dulled under the effects of the salve. His gaze lingered on James, still guarded but less frantic than before.
"I… wasn't expecting to run into anyone," he admitted, voice hoarse but more controlled now. His fingers twitched as if still searching for the missing weapon at his side—a habit of someone used to defending themselves.
James didn't push. Instead, he pulled out his water flask, holding it out.
"Drink," he offered simply.
The stranger hesitated, eyes flickering between James and the flask, debating. Eventually, he reached out, taking it carefully. The tension in his shoulders eased slightly as he swallowed a few slow gulps.
A moment passed.
James let the silence settle, giving the man time to register that he wasn't in immediate danger anymore.
Finally, the stranger lowered the flask, letting out a quiet breath. "Thanks," he muttered.
James nodded, waiting a beat before speaking again.
"You don't look like a regular hunter," he said, choosing his words carefully. "What happened?"
The man's fingers tightened slightly over the flask.
James leaned back slightly, keeping his posture relaxed but attentive. He could tell the stranger was still on edge, his fingers twitching ever so slightly as if expecting more danger to come at any moment. Rushing him for answers wouldn't help—if anything, it might make him shut down entirely.
"You've been bleeding for a while," James remarked, keeping his tone neutral, casual. "Whatever happened wasn't just a few minutes ago."
The man exhaled slowly, eyes flickering toward the bandaged wound on his side. He didn't respond immediately, but James noticed the way his muscles lost a bit of their tension—the water, the treatment, the lack of immediate threats were working to calm him down.
Finally, the stranger sighed, shaking his head. "Ambush," he muttered, the word laced with frustration. "Wasn't supposed to be alone, but…" His jaw tensed, like the memory still weighed heavy on him.
James didn't interrupt, letting the silence sit between them for a moment, giving the man space to process whatever had happened. Then, after a pause, he asked, "You lost your group?"
The stranger's fingers tightened around the flask before slowly loosening again. "Don't know. Everything happened too fast."
James studied him carefully, noting the conflicted look in his eyes—there was exhaustion, but also a flicker of something else. Uncertainty.
If his group had truly been ambushed, there was a chance others were still out there—alive, injured, or worse.
The man's breathing quickened again, his fingers tightening around the flask as his gaze darted toward the forest. Panic flickered across his face, breaking through the exhaustion that had settled moments ago.
"There were… two girls," he said, his voice strained, almost frantic. "We were escorting them—important, from the town. They—" His words faltered, his hand gripping his side as the pain flared briefly.
James frowned, leaning forward slightly. "They're missing?"
The man nodded, his movements jerky, his panic growing. "I don't know what happened. We were ambushed—everything was chaos. I tried to keep them safe, but…" He trailed off, his expression twisting with frustration and guilt.
"They could still be out there," he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper. "Or worse."
James's mind raced. Two missing girls, an ambush, and now this injured man—it wasn't just a random attack. Something bigger was at play.