James moved swiftly, keeping low as he wove through the dense undergrowth. His attackers, now fully alert, scanned the shadows in a desperate attempt to pinpoint his location—but he refused to give them the chance.
With a fluid motion, he loosed another arrow. It struck the second figure's leg, sending the man stumbling as he clutched at the wound, cursing through gritted teeth.
James didn't pause. He slipped further into the shadows, repositioning before they could retaliate, forcing them into a frantic scramble. Every time they tried to react, he was already gone—launching another precise strike before disappearing into the trees.
The lead attacker barked orders, trying to rally their forces, but James could hear the tension in his voice. Frustration simmered beneath the command. This wasn't the fight they had expected.
Behind him, the injured man and the girls remained low, hidden in the thick foliage. They watched in silence, wide-eyed, as James kept the enemy on edge.
Then—a flicker of movement in his periphery. One of the attackers had broken away, attempting to flank him.
James had mere seconds to act. He pivoted sharply, raising his bow and nocking an arrow in one seamless motion. The attacker was fast—but James was faster. He steadied his breath and let the arrow fly.
It found its mark, striking deep into the man's chest. The attacker's eyes widened in shock as he staggered, his weapon slipping from his grasp. A rattling breath escaped him before he collapsed, unmoving.
The forest fell silent for a moment, the tension hanging heavy in the air. James didn't linger. He melted back into the shadows, leaving the remaining attackers shaken and uncertain.
James crouched low, his breath steady as he gripped his bow. Two attackers remained, their blades gleaming in the dim light filtering through the trees. They thought they had him pinned.
They were wrong.
He moved fast. An arrow loosed in an instant, striking the closest enemy square in the chest. The man gasped, staggered—then dropped.
The last attacker hesitated. James could see it, the wavering grip on his weapon, the flicker of doubt.
The attacker lunged. James sidestepped, pivoting as he released the arrow. It sliced cleanly through the air before sinking deep into his opponent's throat.
The forest fell silent.
James exhaled, lowering his bow. He didn't linger. He melted back into the shadows, leaving behind only the stillness of victory.
James wasted no time. He adjusted his grip on the bow, his breath steady but controlled as he moved deeper toward the forest's edge. The shadows had been his ally, but beyond the treeline, he would be exposed.
The girls and the injured man followed close behind, their footsteps careful but urgent. Every snap of a branch or rustle of leaves made them flinch, but James remained focused. He could still feel the weight of unseen eyes watching them.
Then—moonlight spilled through the thinning canopy ahead. The clearing.
James paused at the treeline, scanning the open space beyond. It was quiet. Too quiet. His instincts screamed at him—this wasn't over yet.
A sudden movement. A figure stepped into view from behind a boulder near the clearing's edge—one last enemy, waiting.
James reacted instantly, muscles tensing as he nocked an arrow. He let it fly.
It found its mark, striking deep into the man's chest. The attacker stumbled backward, collapsing against the stone.
Silence settled again.
James exhaled, lowering his bow—but his mind raced. These weren't ordinary hunters or mercenaries. They were too skilled, too coordinated. Every move had been calculated, every strike precise. Men like that didn't just chase strangers through the wilderness without reason.
His gaze flickered toward the girls. They had barely spoken, their fear evident—but now, he wondered. Who were they, really? What had they done—or what did they know—that warranted pursuit from fighters of this caliber?
James had survived tonight. But something told him this was only the beginning.
James led the way, keeping his movements deliberate but swift as they left the cover of the trees behind. The forest had concealed them, given him the upper hand—but now, under the open sky, the sense of vulnerability crept in.
The injured man limped beside the girls, his breaths tight with pain. They had been silent throughout the escape, speaking only in hurried whispers when necessary. James had noticed their glances—exchanges of meaning he wasn't privy to.
He tightened his grip on the bow, scanning the horizon as the dirt path widened before them. In the distance, the flickering lights of a town shimmered like a beacon against the darkening sky.
Relief should have come, but it didn't.
The way those attackers fought—they weren't just common bandits or desperate pursuers. Their movements were practiced, their strikes calculated. James had faced danger before, but this was something else entirely. These men had been trained.
His gaze flickered toward the girls. Their fear was real, but something told him they weren't just unlucky victims stumbling into trouble. People didn't send fighters like that after nobodies.
The town drew closer, the scent of burning wood carried on the wind. He knew they'd have to move carefully—whoever had sent those men wouldn't stop just because they had slipped away tonight.
James had escaped the forest. But he wasn't sure the danger had stayed behind.
They had barely reached the outskirts of town when the injured man slowed, letting out a sharp breath as he pressed a hand to his wounded leg.
"We need somewhere to rest," he said, his voice strained. "Someplace safe."
James hesitated. He knew the town well enough, knew the inns and the homes where travelers found shelter—but he also knew danger had a way of following. A crowded inn wouldn't help them if whoever sent those men came looking.
He glanced at the girls. They were still wary, still guarded, exchanging glances that made his instincts bristle.
"You want a place to recover?" James finally asked, adjusting his grip on his bow. "Fine. But not until I get some answers."
The girls shifted uneasily.
James met their gaze, his expression unwavering. "Who are you? And why are men trained to kill chasing you through the forest?"
For a long moment, neither spoke. Then, the older of the two inhaled deeply, eyes flickering with something unreadable.
"We can explain. But not here."
James considered that—then nodded.
"Follow me."
He led them through the winding streets, keeping to the shadows where the glow of lanterns couldn't reach. As they walked, the town slowly blurred into something quieter, more desolate. Past broken fences, past empty buildings long forgotten.
Finally, they reached it—the orphanage.
The old stone structure loomed in the moonlight, worn and abandoned by the world, but still standing. James stepped forward and pushed open the heavy wooden door, the creak echoing through the stillness.
"This is where I live," he said simply. "It's not much, but no one comes here."
He turned to face them, eyes sharp.
"Now talk."
James leaned against the worn wooden frame of the orphanage door, arms crossed as he watched the three newcomers settle into the dimly lit space. The injured man sighed as he eased onto an old bench, his expression weary but measured.
"You wanted answers," he said, glancing up at James. "Then listen carefully."
The girls—pale, cautious—exchanged a glance before Amelia finally spoke.
"My name is Amelia Blackwell," she said, voice steady despite the weight behind her words. "And this is my sister, Claire."
James frowned slightly. The name stirred something in the back of his mind—something distant, unspoken.
"We are of the Clan of Rune Masters," Amelia continued, her gaze unwavering. "One of the Five Royal Clans."
James inhaled slowly, realization creeping in like a slow tide. The Five Royal Clans were no mere noble houses. They were the foundation of power—those who shaped the balance of influence, magic, and rule.
And now two of them sat in his abandoned orphanage, hunted.
James looked at the injured man. "And you?"
The man shifted uncomfortably, exhaling through his nose. "A guardian. That's all you need to know."
James didn't move, didn't speak. He simply held their gazes, processing the gravity of the situation.
Whoever had sent those attackers had the resources, the training, and the motivation to track these girls down.
And now, by taking them in, he was part of it.
James exhaled, pushing away the thoughts for now.
"Fine," he finally said, stepping further into the room. "You can stay. But don't expect this to be easy."
He walked ahead of them and led them to the doors on the side , pointed to two of them, and said,"You guys can use these two, but clean them up on your own". After that he stepped out on the street and headed toward the Mission Hall.