Where Steel Meets Fate

Her bindings were tight. Every inch of her body seemed to rebel against the rough ropes that dug into her wrists, each movement only pulling them deeper. The fabric of the gag shoved uncomfortably against her mouth, stifling any protest.

She could barely breathe, and though the sun beat down on the forest clearing, a deep heat seeped into her chest—an ache born of helplessness. Her father’s face flashed in her mind, his cold expression, his distant gaze. She had always been nothing but a piece to him, a pawn on a chessboard. And now, here she was—Fiora Di Lorenzo, the daughter of one of the most powerful families in the land, daughter of the Duke of Lorenzia— reduced to this. A prisoner. A commodity.

The world was ending. That much was clear. The prophecy had spread like wildfire across the land. The sky was heavy with the weight of Vorath-Astra’s impending descent, and the inevitability of the world’s collapse had brought the worst out in people. Factions that were once silent now rose with their own twisted motives. Even her own house—the Di Lorenzo family—had succumbed to the chaos. Her father, mother, and brother—gone, claimed by fire or steel. With no heir left to carry on the legacy, House Di Lorenzo had crumbled in the chaos. And now, Fiora, the sole survivor, would likely share its fate.

Fiora was a noble no longer.

She was nothing but a captive, waiting to be sold off to whatever fate awaited her. And yet, despite all this, she still felt the spark of resistance. She was not done fighting.

Her eyes darted to the men surrounding her—bandits who’d taken her from the side of the street like she was some coin to pocket. They had no idea who she really was, who she had been. They couldn’t possibly understand the weight of her name, of her blood. But that didn’t matter now. Nothing mattered except getting away.

The bandits were distracted. They sat around the fire, laughing, their coarse voices carrying in the quiet of the woods. One of them, a stocky brute, leaned too close as he fiddled with the cloth around her mouth.

Here’s my chance.

With a sudden motion, Fiora kicked him hard in the chest. He staggered back, knocking over a crate, but in that split second, the gag loosened just enough.

Breathe.

She inhaled, filling her lungs with air. Her heart raced, but she forced herself to remain calm. Then she screamed.

“HELP! SOMEBODY HEL—”

Her voice cracked, but it echoed through the forest before the bandit gagged her again. The others froze, as the brute and by the looks of it, their leader, stepped closer to her.

“You think this is a game you little shit?!” There was more gum than teeth in that crooked smile of his as he leaned closer and grabbed her cheeks in between his palm, “Do that one more time and we’ll change the commodity we’re selling you for. Slaves don’t always need pretty faces, you know…”

Despite the horrifying face before her, Fiora’s eyes darted behind it.

There was movement in the trees.

Her heart thudded in her chest, as hope lit up her face and expression. Misreading it, the brute nodded.

“That’s better. Now you—“

The bandits barely had time to react before the man closest to the woods was yanked off his feet as he vanished into the underbrush.

“What was that?!”

“Boss! There’s movement!”

The remaining bandits recoiled in horror, their eyes darting in every direction. Then, a figure appeared from the shadows.

Tall, lithe, and walking with the kind of confidence that only comes from knowing you can take on anyone who dares cross your path. He had a youthful face, a scar running down the side of his cheek. His violet eyes glinted under the midday sun, and his hair was as dark as the night. He wasn’t afraid. The way he moved—it was like he knew this was all just another day. With a sigh, he rested his hand on the hilt of his blade hanging from his back.

“Another inconvenience I didn’t ask for. Typical.”

The bandits didn’t hesitate. They charged at him with weapons drawn, shouting in their fury. But the stranger didn’t even flinch.

With a casual flick of his wrist, his sword was drawn in a blur of silver. The first bandit was met with a swift slash across his torso, falling in a heap with a gurgling gasp.

The remaining three came at him together, but the young swordsman was already a step ahead. He sidestepped one strike, using the bandit’s momentum against him, and with a smooth twist, the bandit’s own sword lodged into the ground. River’s blade flashed again, slicing across the man’s side with such precision that he barely had time to register the wound before crumpling to the earth.

The next one tried to capitalize on the distraction before the attention turned to him. However his opponent deflected his blade, sending the bandit off balance and plunged his blade into his chest. The last bandit, the not so courageous brute, realizing the odds were stacked against him, tried to retreat. But the stranger was faster. A lunge, a quick pivot, and in an instant, the final bandit was disarmed. The sword flew from his hands, and the man’s blade sliced across his throat.

Fiora had never seen anything like it. The way the man moved—graceful, but deadly. His sword felt like an extension of his body, cutting through the air with an ease that made the fight look almost effortless.

Without a word, he wiped the blade clean on the bandit’s cloak and sheathed it with an ease that suggested he’d done this countless times before.

“…That was quick.” He turned, not bothering to sparing another glance to the bodies on the ground.

Fiora blinked in disbelief. She had just been saved, but instead of gratitude, all she could feel was confusion. Who was this man?

He cut through her ropes with a swift motion, the cords falling away. Her wrists ached, but she had no time to waste. She rubbed them quickly, still too stunned to speak.

The man glanced back at her and said, “The name’s River. River Crowe.”

Fiora opened her mouth, then closed it again. She wanted to ask who he was, why he’d come to her rescue, but the words stuck in her throat. Finally after a long moment she managed to spell out a cohesive sentence.

“What… are you?”

River’s eyes shot up at the question, as he eyed her.

“A mercenary. And you are…” As he replied, he looked her up and down, brows still raised. Curly medium length red hair, well kept and groomed, although the grime in them suggested some travel. Her clothes were worse for wear clearly, but her haughty expression made it all too clear.

“...Not supposed to be here.”

“I uh… I’m Fiora Di Lorenzo.”

The young woman proclaimed, as she staggered to her feet.

“Fancy. And how did your highness wound up all the way in the woods, imprisoned by this lot?”

Fiora staggered, noticing his nonchalant attitude despite the clear proclamation of her lineage. Yet she quickly remembered that the few days she spent wondering after her house’s fall was all the same. Few cared to show respect to fallen nobles after the world ending prophecy.

“Why… why do you care?” Fiora replied, indifferent, causing the mercenary to sigh.

“Look, the noble thing to do here is to escort you to the nearest town. But I don’t call myself noble. So either you tell me what’s going on, or you can stick around and wait for more of the same of what happened to you.”

There was silence after the man’s cold and calculating words. Fiora understood from his gaze that he really meant the indifference he portrayed. As River turned to leave, she stretched out a hand, swallowing down her pride.

“Wait!”

As if he had expected that, River stopped midstride, angling his head back.

“Yes?”

Fiora took a deep breath, remembering what happened to her after wondering the streets alone. She needed someone that new the ins and outs of the world outside her grand mansion. Because that world of hers was no more. And thus, she spoke.

“My family was slain in a rebellion against my father’s dukedom… I was left wandering the streets alone when these bandits found me. They figured I’d fetch a good price if they sold me off to Gods-know-where.”

“Wandering the streets alone? That’s dangerous for a noblewoman as young as yourself.” River responded, as Fiora rubbed her bruised arm.

“I had no other choice. My house, my family… they’re no more.”

The mercenary nodded, as he surveyed the bandit camp. Within a tent his eye spotted a sack.

“What are you… doing?”

Fiora cocked her head as River untied it and looked inside.

“Taking rations. I doubt they’ll need them in that state anyway.”

The noblewoman stayed silent again. That was practical, yes, but stealing from the dead? She looked at the bodies that had piled in the clearing.

Nevermind… they deserved it.

“So you coming then?” River said, hoisting the sack over his shoulder.

“I suppose I have no other choice.” Fiora nodded, accepting that albeit for the moment, her fate was tied to this man’s sword.