The northern wilderness did not welcome strangers; it tolerated them only until it found a way to consume them. As the last light of the natural twilight faded behind the jagged peaks, the pine forest transformed into a labyrinth of towering, pitch-black silhouettes. The air grew bitterly cold, carrying the damp, earthy scent of rotting moss and frozen pine needles. Every gust of wind through the high canopy sounded like a low, warning hiss. Georgia knelt by the edge of the rushing turquoise river, her movements slow and deliberate. She dipped her hands into the freezing water, washing away the stubborn layer of gray ash and dried dirt that had coated her knuckles since the vault. The icy sting of the mountain run-off cleared her mind, sharper than any glass of moon-distilled oil. She looked at her reflection in the dark, undulating water. The pale lavender-white hair that had once been meticulously braided by royal maidservants was now loose, tangled, and damp. Her face was pale, but her violet eyes were completely clear of the fear she had so often faked. "My Lady," the pilot—whose name she had finally learned was Corin—muttered as he struggled to light a small fire using a spark-stone from the skiff’s emergency kit. "The dampness down here... it's getting into everything. The wood won't catch." "Then do not force it," Georgia said, standing up and drying her hands on her torn cloak. "A fire in these woods is nothing but a beacon. If the Coalition's scouts don't spot the smoke, the local predators will." Corin hesitated, then slowly lowered the spark-stone. He looked incredibly small against the backdrop of the massive, ancient trees. "We can't stay by the river forever. The skiff's hull is cracked, and the steering rudder is completely shot. We're stranded." "We are not stranded, Corin. We have arrived," Georgia replied, her voice smooth and devoid of panic. "The skiff served its purpose. It carried us out of the sky. Now, we dismantle it." "Dismantle it?" "The brass fittings, the copper wire, the iron plating from the boiler," Georgia listed, stepping back toward the tilted vessel. "On the surface, metal is currency. Weapons. Tools. We take whatever we can carry and leave the wooden frame to rot." Before Corin could answer, the wind shifted. The steady, rushing murmur of the river was suddenly cut by a sharp, snapping sound from the deep undergrowth—the unmistakable crack of a dry branch being stepped on under heavy weight. Instantly, Georgia went rigid. She slipped back into the deep shadow of the tilted skiff, pulling Corin down with her by his collar. Her hand instinctively reached for her side, only to find the empty space where a guard's sword would usually be. She cursed silently. "Is it... them?" Corin whispered, his breath hitching. "The white-armored soldiers?" "No," Georgia murmured, her eyes scanning the dark treeline. "The Coalition forces move with heavy, synchronized boots. This is quiet. Deliberate." Through the thick gloom of the pines, a figure slowly materialized. It was not a soldier, but a hunter. The man was wrapped in heavy, grease-stained furs and wore a rough leather mask that covered the lower half of his face. In his hands, he held a crude but deadly crossbow, the iron bolt already loaded and aimed directly toward the crashed skiff. He didn't speak. He didn't issue a warning. He simply stepped closer, his boots making almost no sound on the wet gravel, his eyes scanning the empty deck of the ship before tracking the fresh footprints leading down to the riverbank. Georgia watched him from the shadows, her heartbeat steadying into a cold, lethal rhythm. She had spent months manipulating a legendary hero and a god-like king; she was not about to let her story end at the hands of a nameless wilderness scavenger. She leaned close to Corin’s ear, her whisper barely louder than the wind. "When I move, you target his knees with that brass wrench. Do not hesitate." The scavenger took another step forward, his crossbow lowering slightly as he focused on the discarded, torn pieces of Georgia’s ivory silk gown lying near the water's edge. He was looking at his prize. And in that split second of greed, he became the prey.

Chapter 11: The First Scent of Blood