The Unison Mountains rose like ancient titans, their jagged crowns tearing through the pale morning sky with their sharp edges.
The formation looked strangely uneven, as if a fifth peak should have stood among them.
Each peak bore life of its own, with settlements running down the scars of each.
Villages familiar and unknown were everywhere, filling the isolated range with a sense of home and belonging.
From these villages, lanterns and torches shone brightly.
The darker it grew, the more vivid the light became, making it easy to distinguish the size of each village and keeping the range radiant even as night crept over it.
But today, an unnatural grey veil covered the fourth's ridge, swallowing Everdream forest with a sudden boom.
The trees and grass swayed in abundance, their myriad hues of green fading beneath the mist.
Somewhere within that uncanny fog, a battle had reached its climax.
But what came with it was not death, but a young man who ran frantically.
His long, dishevelled black hair hung loose, falling to his lower back. Blood and dirt streaked his body beneath his torn, ashen robes.
A worn tachi hung at his side, its dark scabbard knocking against the oval guard as he ran.
But even in battle, it had never been drawn.
The blade was too worn, too tattered to threaten anyone, so his body paid the price.
His hands were mangled and cut, his face scarred, yet the pain he felt was no less than a dagger hovering over his soul, threatening to pop it like a flimsy balloon.
Mustering the strength to keep running, Oren stifled a shriek.
"Goddammit, they are still on my track, " he cursed.
Because despite his efforts to lower the noise, It was loud enough to reveal his location in the fog.
Noticing this, his face paled and his eyes darkened. As if that were not enough, a fallen log blocked his path.
The battle born from an unknown motive, had potentially evolved into a mission of vengeance.
He had fought them to a halt, injuring each of them. He had blinded their leader and maimed all but the eldest. The most treacherous and foul amongst the group.
They were all of the enlightened rank, or so he assumed, but despite being mundane, his fighting experience far surpassed that of any of them, even the eldest was like a child to him.
In the end, the damage Oren had caused was significant in comparison to what they had done to him.
So most likely, they would not stop until they captured him.
His vision blurred.
Trapped in the endless mist, all Oren could do was run.
He leapt over the log, then staggered forward. As he regained speed, numerous voices tore through the silent grey fog, reaching him in an instant.
"You fetch a high price here in the Fourth. Die silently, and you will have a proper burial… demon this is more than you deserve."
"Accept your fate and die an unhonourable death. You do not even deserve a burial. You will rot like the people you killed."
Oren grunted and stumbled to the left, his golden eyes widening in shock as another voice echoed... unlike the others it was light, strangely calm, and unfamiliar.
"Take this gift, Immortal Demon."
In the next moment, Oren swayed to the right and let out a pained groan.
A river of blood burst from his neck.
That was because an arrow made crimson with his blood, had pierced his throat, hurling him forward in a violent tremor.
Oren grimaced, sprawled across the grass. His vision blurred as the towering trees swayed above him. For a moment, he didn't move... then he forced himself up and ran.
His neck burned, as though caught in a blazing flame that refused to fade.
What is this!
Aghh!
Oren snarled.
There was a hidden archer?
After realising he ran without looking back, dodging in and out of the trees, depending on his other senses, ears attuned to their rustling leaves.
He was able to fight hand to hand, sword to sword, but he did not possess any long-ranged melee.
But with an archer against him, there was nowhere left to run... nowhere left to return to.
Another arrow could come at any moment
He fell into deep thought.
His gaze lingered, unfocused, as if caught between something seen and something understood too late.
I refuse to believe this…
He, a person who relied only on himself, depended on no one but himself, fell because of his own hesitation.
Oren was not outplayed?
This was his fault!
He gritted his teeth. The eerie silence of the forest made every thought and emotion feel like an unwelcome plague upon his mind.
Oren suddenly laughed inwardly, freezing as the motion strained his wounded body.
That damned archer.
Was he of the enlightened rank too?
He had seen through the fog as if it were nothing, his aim ruthless, impeccable, unerring.
The single crimson arrow remained lodged in Oren's throat, stealing his breath and making hid lungs burn.
If it was anyone, anyone but him, death would be instant.
Yet Oren was not worried.
...He would survive, he would survive because he was cursed, he could not die, he was undying, he was... immortal.
And true to his thoughts, the grievous wounds closed almost instantly.
But they were not fast enough.
The blood dripping from his body had seeped into the verdure beneath his feet.
Even if it were to miraculously rain, the vermilion trail he left would still remain for the warriors of Everdream to follow.
Each step he took pressed deeper into the earth, leaving more than just a trail behind him.
It was a path he had walked for as long as he could remember.
Was there even a point in taking these steps, or continuing at all?
He wondered what it would be like to fall from it, to stray even once into another's path.
To be one of them. To stand among those who now pursued him, or even to chase them just as relentlessly.
But there was no choice.
His path had long since been decided, one of blood and regret.
There was once a saying that not even the purest waters could cleanse the smallest trace of blood.
Not because such a stain could not be washed away, but because once it had been made, it could not be undone.
For him, it was different.
Every step was a new path, each one a variation of the last, yet all led to the same end.
A mortal man would reach the end of his path across a lifetime. An immortal would watch his own path end, only for it to begin anew.
No matter the man or woman, none could hasten or delay its end. It would always arrive where it was destined.
He looked across the fading grey sky.
On the contrary such a path would not impison him...
Oren stumbled against a tree, finding a fleeting clarity in the frigid bark's embrace.
No, he could not rest, not now.
I need to run.
Oren pushed off the tree, forcing himself into motion.
He must escape these mindless hunters.
He dodged between trees, logs, and branches again and again, his muscles screamed, and his lungs burned.
Yet he did not stop.
He shook his head as exhaustion clawed at him.
But in the end, his senses dulled and his abyss golden eyes slowly shut.
Sleep…
...
Hours passed.
The mist thinned between the trees as the illusory grey fog faded, swept away by a wandering breeze, restoring the forest's vibrance and beauty.
Light filtered through the branches as dawn broke, the crimson sun rising into sight, casting leaf-shaped shadows across the grass.
The great forest stirred with quiet indifference, uncaring of the immortal demon who lay upon the trunk of an enormous tree, deep in rest.
But Selvar was anything but indifferent.
The young man stood before the gruesome, off-putting sight of the tattered immortal demon, humming an upbeat tune.
His pale blonde hair hung slightly overgrown, brushing his lower neck.
His soft grey eyes looked down at the tattered body beneath him, leaning against a marked tree.
He chuckled quietly, exhaled, then stopped humming.
"It seems the Immortal Demon truly is immortal. Neither my blood nor my archery can kill him."
He pondered for a moment, his hair dancing in the wind.
Then the archer grimaced coldly, sparing the arrow in his neck a look of disdain.
"Then again, that is a good thing. I need him alive."
He looked at the twisted face of the abominable man before him and smiled.
"Immortal Demon might just be the perfect name for this man...?"
He laughed.
"But I am not one to judge by looks."
Lying beneath the archer, Oren's back twitched against the tree. Hearing the archer's strange words, he opened his eyes and froze.
The man before him was young and handsome, standing only slightly shorter than Oren's full height.
He had no wounds or scars, yet his skin was unusually pale, as if he had lost a severe amount of blood despite not joining the harrowing battle.
If Oren were enlightened, he would have felt the immense, uncanny aura cloaking the man before him, like a sacred veil draped over the world itself.
More importantly, the man held a crimson bow, its string still slack, as if it had only just been loosed. Beneath it rested a black quiver, cradling several scarlet arrows.
At the sight, Oren winced, his hand instinctively finding the scarlet arrow in his neck.
His brows twitched as he stuttered, the archer's eyes widening in disbelief.
Immortal demon... I hate that name.