Celeste's eyes snapped open.
Her breath was shallow, sharp. The moment she realized she wasn't alone—wasn't in the forest, wasn't even under the sky—she reacted on instinct. Her hand shot to her waist, her dagger still sheathed there, and she staggered to her feet in a defensive stance.
But the second her body twisted, pain exploded from her side like white-hot iron piercing her nerves.
She screamed, biting down on her lip to muffle it, and nearly dropped to the ground again. Her legs shook beneath her.
"Ohh... she woke up," one of the voices in the room said, not surprised but almost amused.
Another chuckled, "Haha... look at her. That's the spirit."
Celeste's eyes flicked wildly across the room, searching for exits, weapons, threats. It was a simple room, walls of aged stone, wooden beams crossing the ceiling. A fire burned in a pit in the center. Around her were at least six men lounging on crates, old chairs, or simply the floor. Their clothes were mismatched, rugged. Weapons leaned casually near them—swords, spears, even a crossbow half-disassembled.
She backed up a few steps, each one making her wince as her side flared in pain.
"Where am I?" she asked, voice cracked, eyes narrowed with distrust.
One of the men leaned back and said, "Hey, hey, you should be more grateful. We rescued you, patched you up. You'd have bled out like a pig if we didn't."
She looked down, and only then noticed the bandages around her waist. The wound from the stag's horns had been wrapped in rough, but surprisingly clean cloth. She tested the feeling—there was pain, but it wasn't as sharp. They had at least stopped the bleeding.
"You didn't do shit," another voice piped up from across the room. "It was Genkil. He's the one who carried her back."
Someone else shouted toward the back, "Hey, Genkil, your stray's awake."
Heavy boots approached. His presence was different—less mocking, more grounded.
He crouched in front of Celeste.
She raised her dagger again, breathing heavily. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice low and ragged.
"Genkil," he said, unbothered by her blade. "We're outlaws. This is our base. Middle of nowhere, in case you're wondering. Better question is—what the hell happened to you? A girl like you, traveling alone through woods like that? That's a death sentence."
Celeste narrowed her eyes. "Don't make me laugh. Since when do outlaws rescue people? What is this, a charity?"
The men behind him burst into laughter.
"I told you," one of them cackled. "She's sharp."
Another said through his grin, "That's exactly what I said when Genkil dragged her in here."
Genkil kept his eyes on her. "We don't usually, no. Most people we meet out there are either threats or trouble. But you?" He shrugged. "Didn't feel right to leave you. That's what Boss did for me. Figure I should pass it on."
Celeste looked at him, unsure. Her hand didn't lower from her dagger, but her arm trembled slightly—not from fear, but from exhaustion.
Genkil's voice softened. "Look, if we wanted you dead, you'd be dead. Nobody spends time bandaging a body they plan to bury."
She hesitated. She didn't trust them. Not even close. But her body was screaming. The pain hadn't left. The wound wasn't healed. If she collapsed again, she might not wake up.
Slowly, her dagger dipped, though she didn't sheath it. "…Fine," she muttered.
Genkil nodded, then gestured to a makeshift stool. "Sit down before you fall down."
She didn't, but she steadied herself against the wall.
He asked again, more gently, "What happened to you?"
Celeste looked at him, at all of them. Most were lounging, watching, curious but not hostile.
Her eyes lowered. "There was an accident. A fall. Some people... turned on me."
It was vague. Intentionally so. She wasn't going to hand over her story like it didn't matter.
Still, some of the men frowned thoughtfully.
"Dumb bastards," one said. "She's clearly not a vampire."
Another countered, "There's illusion magic, even low-level stuff can hide their features."
"But what would a vampire be doing crawling half-dead through the woods?" someone else added. "If she had that kind of magic, she'd be feeding by now."
"They say some of them fake it," another said, tone heavy with remembered pain. "Make you feel sorry. Then feed when you let your guard down."
Genkil raised a hand and said firmly, "Shut up."
The room went quiet.
"No more guessing," he said. "We don't know what she is or where she came from. But right now? She's one of us. That means we treat her like one of us. Same enemy, same system that turns people into monsters."
Celeste looked at him carefully. She didn't trust him.
They'll leave you behind, she thought bitterly. They all will. Just like that family. Just like everyone else when things get hard. No one helps without a reason. I'll wait. Then I'll escape. And maybe... maybe I can still go home.
Heavy boots clinked against stone.
A tall man walked in from the hallway—a broad-shouldered figure with graying stubble, old scars on his neck, and a single steel pauldron on his right shoulder. His eyes were hard, unreadable.
Genkil turned. "Varen, boss—this is the girl I mentioned."
The man crossed his arms, studying Celeste. His expression betrayed nothing.
After a long moment, he said, "Don't try anything stupid."
Celeste straightened, gritting her teeth at the pain.
The man's voice was low, steady. "These people might look like a bunch of thugs—but we're not traitors. If you're one of us, we won't let you down."
She met his gaze.
And for a second, just a second, she let herself wonder if maybe—just maybe—she could believe that.
But then she remembered how fast things changed.
A few days later, the entire group moved. The road wound between low, rolling hills that opened into the occasional dry patch of forest or rocky clearing. Celeste walked near the back of the group. Her wounds were mostly healed now. She could walk without pain, but fatigue still weighed on her side like a sack of stones. It never truly left.
Varen, as usual, was at the front, straight-backed and confident, his voice carrying as he spoke without slowing his horse.
"Alright, bastards. Listen up," he said, glancing over his shoulder. "We're getting close. Should reach the outskirts by nightfall. Small town. No walls. No stationed army. Just some guards, and maybe a few old soldiers playing at order."
A few of the men chuckled, and Varen continued.
"Our target is the armory. Spears, swords, arrows, shields. Anything useful, anything we can trade or use, we take it. But we can't just walk in and do it in the light. So here's the plan—two groups. One draws attention. The other slips in when the guards are distracted. Hit fast, get out clean."
He reined in his horse near a large mossy stone that jutted from the hill, and pointed to it. "This spot. Right here. Once you're done, circle back and meet here before sunrise. And if you've got guards on your tail—lose them. I don't care how. You don't lead anyone back here."
The group murmured their agreement. Celeste remained quiet, observing each nod.
"Darvic," Varen said, turning to his left.
The big man gave a short nod. He was hard to miss. Towering over most of the group, deep brown skin that glistened slightly with sweat. His eyes were always narrow, like he expected a punch any moment. His voice was deep, always laced with quiet aggression.
"You'll handle the havoc," Varen continued. "I don't need to make a plan for your crew, do I?"
Darvic smirked, "You don't."
Varen nodded once and pulled his reins. His group split off down a side path, the sound of hoofbeats echoing as they rode into the trees.
Darvic's group remained. He turned, eyes sweeping the gathered misfits. "Alright. We'll hit two places at once. Split up. Group one stirs the pot. Loud, ugly. Find some hothead drunk and push until he swings. Guards will show up quick after that."
A few men grinned knowingly.
"Group two," Darvic said, turning his eyes to the smaller bunch on the side, "you'll be lifting goods. Food mostly. Light stuff. Quick grabs. Don't get caught."
Then his eyes landed on Celeste. "You'll be with Genkil."
Darvic continued, "Stealth team. In and out. No heroics, no stabbing unless you have to. Just take what you can, and don't slow the others down."
Celeste didn't answer. She hesitated. Her hand touched the hilt of her dagger absently, as if her body hadn't yet agreed with her mind. Her lips parted slightly, brows furrowing.
Darvic's eyes narrowed. "Do you hear me?"
Celeste looked at him for a long moment before speaking. "I don't know. It just feels wrong."
Silence.
Darvic cocked his head. "Wrong?"
"Is there really no other way to make a living?" she asked, her voice quiet, but steady. "What we're doing… it's still stealing. Hurting people. How is it any different from what I ran from?"
Darvic scoffed. "I knew it. Should've left you bleeding in the forest."
Genkil stepped in quickly. "Come on, Darvic. Give her a damn minute. She's still new. Doesn't mean she's soft."
Darvic folded his arms. "She's going to get herself or one of us killed."
"I said she's new, not useless," Genkil said. "Let her speak."
Darvic looked like he might push the issue, but after a moment he grunted and waved him on.
Genkil turned to her. "Look, Celeste… you think I grew up dreaming about robbing merchants and pickpocketing guards? None of us did. Most of us had jobs. Families. Until someone with a crest on their ring or a decree in their hand ruined it."
Celeste didn't respond, but she didn't look away.
He continued, gesturing with a sweep of his hand. "You think the nobles don't steal? They take land, food, coin. They bleed villages dry with taxes and call it law. If someone stands up, they disappear. No trials. Just silence."
Darvic jumped back in, more serious this time. "What we do—it ain't good. But it's no worse than what they do wearing capes and riding polished horses. Difference is, we don't pretend. We don't lie about being saviors while we burn down homes behind closed doors."
Celeste's eyes darkened. She remembered what Garick did that day.
"They don't hide their actions?" she murmured.
"No," Darvic said. "We're honest about what we are. That's more than I can say for the bastards who sit in stone halls and call themselves heroes."
Celeste sighed and looked down. She thought about the man who tried to kill her in the village. About how fast people had turned on her.
She took a deep breath. "Fine. It's not like the world gave me much warmth anyway."
Darvic smiled, wolfish and satisfied. "Maybe you're not a complete disappointment after all."
Genkil patted her on the shoulder. "That's the nicest thing he's said to anyone in a week."
She didn't laugh, but she allowed a faint smile to pull at the corner of her lips.