Surviving in Ashvale

Elara POV. Someone attacked me from far away. My instincts took over. I spun around and raised my dagger, its blade glinting in the dim moonlight. The next attack came quickly. A black shadow darted from my right and slashed through the air as fast as lightning, nearly grazing my face. There was a loud clang of metal as our daggers clashed. I felt a sharp vibration on my wrist. "Show me your face!" I shouted, my body flooded with adrenaline. The attacker did not respond. He wore a long robe with a hood that covered his face, and he moved quickly and precisely, like a professional. I knew this wasn't just a normal street robber because of how he twisted his wrist and the firmness of his footsteps. He attacked again, this time with a horizontal s***h aimed at my stomach. I quickly bent down, moved to the side, and used this chance to kick his ankle. He took a few steps back, but he quickly got his balance back. He was so quick that it surprised me. "Don't you dare, damn it!" I got angry, stopped breathing, and looked closely at the small space between the shadows of the dark hood. "You move fast, little wolf," he said. His voice was deep, low, and trembling. He sounded disgusted. I felt angry. "Do you know who you're dealing with?" "Of course." He smiled a little. I couldn't see his lips, but the cold tone of his voice made it clear that he was smirking. "The most expensive bounty on our list." I felt angry. The Hunter Guild. They had been following me for months, and it seemed tonight they had finally found me. He jumped again, this time with two daggers in both hands, attacking twice in a row. I spun around quickly, avoiding one blade, but the other one almost touched my neck. I blocked it, the sound of metal clashing echoing through the wet, narrow street. "I don't want to kill you," I said coldly, my tone a warning. "Unfortunately, I came to make sure the opposite was true." He tried to attack me, but I was faster this time. I kicked his knee hard, making it bend, and then I put the tip of my dagger right against his throat. Our breaths met in the cold night air, and we were very close to each other. "Who sent you?" I asked him, pressing him. He just laughed softly. A dry, humorless laugh. "Who else do you think would be interested in the blood remains of your pack?" I was shocked. Before I could say more, he smiled wider and quickly threw a small package on the ground. I was blinded by a bright white light, and then I smelled gunpowder and magic powder. When I could see again, the attacker was gone. I stood frozen in the thin mist left behind by the magic powder, my chest moving up and down quickly. The strong smell of sulfur still lingered. The danger had passed, but the threat felt real and cold. I had just been confirmed as the Hunter Guild's primary target. Ashvale. The city I thought was my last safe spot was actually full of hunters. How ironic. I bent down quickly and picked up my bag, which had fallen on the muddy street. The leather strap was wet with mud and a little fresh blood from the cut on my hand. "Damn those Hunters..." I made a low, angry noise, then put the dagger in the outer pocket of my bag so I could get to it easily. I felt a sharp pain in my wrist. The wound from the earlier crash started hurting really badly, but I didn't have time to think about how to treat it. The sky looked heavy, and the air smelled like rain. I had to leave, get out of this place before someone came back to finish the job the hunters had started, but didn't finish. "I have to leave now," I said to myself, breathing quickly and heavily. I started to run. Whenever I reached a narrow turn, I looked back to make sure there was no other shadow following me. The sound of my footsteps in the puddles felt too loud. After traveling about a kilometer, I found an old building at the end of a rocky road. A wooden sign in front of it read "The Rusted Lantern Inn." The letters were faded, and the paint was peeling, but the dim yellow light from the window showed that the place was still open. I took a deep breath, then went in. An old man behind the counter looked up at me, seeming suspicious. "It's very late. Where are you from, miss?" "A long journey," I replied, trying to keep my voice calm. Even though my heart was still racing, I did my best to stay calm. "I need a room for one night." He looked closely at my face, maybe focusing on the small bloodstain on my sleeve. "First rule: I don't like trouble here," he said softly, warning me. "I don't either," I replied quickly, not looking away. After waiting a while, he gave me a small metal key. "The room at the very end upstairs. Don't make any noise." I nodded, paid with the few coins I had left, then quickly climbed the stairs. The wooden stairs creaked with every step, as if they were complaining about my weight. The strong smell of damp wood and stale alcohol hit my nose. As soon as I got to the room, I closed the door and turned the key twice. This was my way of protecting myself, but it never really made me feel safe. The room was small. There was a bed, a table, and a window with torn curtains. But for a fugitive, this place was a very nice place to hide. I dropped my bag on the floor, leaned against the door, and breathed out deeply. I had been holding this tension since I was on the empty street earlier. "I'm finally here..." I said quietly to myself. I felt exhausted. It was like a heavy weight had been put on my shoulders. My hand shook as I touched the cut on my wrist. I was starting to feel the pain, which was spreading slowly throughout my body. I sat on the side of the bed, lifted my knees, and looked at the window, which was blurred by the dew on the grass outside. Outside, the rain began to fall slowly. The sound of the raindrops was soothing, but also frightening because every little sound now could mean an approaching threat. "I can't go on like this," I whispered into the darkness. I was beginning to feel suffocated by despair. "If they've found my trail in Ashvale, maybe Kael will too..." The sentence trailed off, stuck in my throat. I bit my lip, refusing to finish it. I couldn't stop thinking about his eyes—they're like gray gems, like a moonless night. For some reason, whenever I remember it, it's not just fear that comes up—it's something deeper, a dark resonance I've never dared acknowledge. That awful bond. I took a few things out of my bag: a clean piece of cloth, some thin bandages, and a small bottle of alcohol that was already half empty. My hands were shaking a bit as I cleaned the cut on my wrist. The liquid stung like crazy and burned like hell as it touched my open skin. "Oh—damn," I said to myself. The bleeding stopped, but the burning feeling stayed. I rolled the bandage neatly around my wrist, pulling the ends and tying them tightly. This wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last. I'd had to deal with the pain too many times. "I'm used to it..." I muttered softly, almost as if I were comforting a little kid. "A few scratches are no big deal." I stared at my faint reflection in the window, lit only by the soft, flickering light of an oil lamp. My face looked tired, my eyes were sunken, and my skin was pale from the damp, cold air of Ashvale. When I was done, I put the small tools back in my bag. I keep these on hand since I use them pretty often: a few coins, needles, thread, a small bottle of alcohol, bandages, a small dagger, and one tattered book—the last thing I had of my family. I took a deep breath, then collapsed onto the rickety bed, which immediately creaked in protest. "I have to work again tomorrow," I said flatly, staring at the ceiling of the room filled with shadows. "At that annoying fat guy's shop... if it weren't for the money, I wouldn't even bother looking at his face." I stopped for a second and sniffed, feeling a bit bitter. "At least he doesn't ask a lot of questions," I added, even though that didn't really make me feel any better. I'd been working at the tavern for about three months. My job was pretty much cleaning tables, serving drunk customers, and dealing with the fact that they looked at me with disgust because of my faint wolf scent. The job was pretty gross, but it was enough to keep me going and to help me keep moving from one inn to another. I closed my eyes and tried to relax my muscles. But the images of the fight earlier were still spinning in my head, and soon I was replaced by Kael's face as I began to tire of resisting the memory. "Don't think about him..." I whispered, but my voice sounded weak. It was a failed command. I pulled the thin blanket up to my neck, trying to force my body into rest. Outside, the rain was starting to let up, and the sound of raindrops falling from the roof was like a slow and pressured countdown. Tonight, I'm just hoping that no one finds my hiding spot, at least until I figure out what to do tomorrow. •• The place smelled like the inside of a bakery and a meat market, with hot steam and people chatting away. The wooden chairs inside the shop were almost all taken. People working in the market, a few soldiers who had just finished their guard duty, and traders from out of town all rushed to grab seats for a cheap breakfast. I took a deep breath, trying to focus my mind amid the loud noise. I decided to take the morning shift today. I didn't want to deal with the night's drunks, especially with the wound on my wrist that hadn't fully healed yet and still hurt. "Come on, Elara! Table eleven has been waiting for a while!" Mr. Rolf's voice boomed from the kitchen doorway—a portly guy with an apron that barely fit his frame. His face was always red, either from the heat of the kitchen or from his easily ignited anger. "I know, Mr. Rolf!" I called out without turning around. I was carrying a tray with two bowls of hot soup, trying not to drop them as I made my way through the chairs. One of the customers whistled at me suggestively as I walked by. "Hey, the cold girl's back," he said with a rough laugh, his voice full of dirty humor. His friend interjected with a condescending look, "I bet she'd only smile if you paid her double!" I stopped right away. My breath caught in my throat, not because I was scared, but because I was tired of dealing with such rude behavior every day. I looked at them coldly, and they quickly pretended to be busy cutting bread and avoided eye contact with me. I put the bowl on the table with a little thud, barely noticeable. "If you're still hungry after this, order more," I said flatly, my voice low but clear. "Don't bother the waitress who's working." One of them laughed nervously, then coughed. The other just bowed his head deeply. I didn't wait for a longer reaction; the tray I was holding was still full, and I wasn't done working. I was moving quickly and steadily, like I was used to keeping the anger in check. When I returned to the cash register, Mr. Rolf looked at me and shook his head vigorously. "You, Elara... you have a sharp tongue. If it weren't for your diligence and honesty, I would have fired you yesterday." I looked at him for a second, our eyes meeting, then I put the coins from the order on the wooden table. "You won't find anyone else working as hard as I do in this shop, Mr. Rolf." He gave a little snort and shrugged, not really caring. "That might be true." I didn't respond. I just gave my neck a little rub before turning around and heading back to catch my breath. Outside, the morning sunlight started to shine through the small shop window, lighting up the dust particles floating in the air. It was like those dust particles were trying to survive in the stuffy atmosphere, but they weren't having much luck. The soft sound of the bell above the door suddenly broke the noise. I looked over and saw a hooded guy come in. He moved calmly but heavily, like he was carrying a lot of weight. His dark cloak was still damp with morning dew. He picked a seat at the farthest table, in the corner that's usually ignored because it's in the shadows. I took the order board and went right up to him. "What would you like to order?" I asked directly, keeping my tone professional and cold. He didn't answer. From behind his hood, only his slow, steady breathing could be heard. Then, without saying a word, he raised his right hand and pointed to another customer who was enjoying a bowl of meat soup. "Okay," I said, trying to ignore the weirdness. "One beef soup." I headed into the kitchen, but for some reason, my steps felt a bit heavier than usual. Travelers often came here, especially in a suburb like Ashvale, so I wasn't surprised. But there was something different about this guy—the way he sat so upright and alert. It was like he wasn't waiting for food, but for someone. When I put the bowl of soup on his table a few minutes later, he didn't eat it right away. His eyes, which I could barely see from behind his hood, stared at me for what felt like forever. It's too long. The gaze felt cold, like it went right through me. I took a bite, acting like I was busy cleaning my apron and looking away. "If you need more bread, just give me a call," I said softly, my voice sounding a little hoarse. No verbal response. It's just a subtle nod, barely noticeable. But that gaze... stayed on me, even as I walked away back to the cash register. And for some reason, the instincts honed by years as a fugitive screamed: I knew that guy wasn't just here for breakfast.