Darius

The darkness thickened around you. The shadows on the ground began to stir, rising and growing dense—they surrounded you, pinning you in place. From the thicket came a sound that was half-hiss, half-growl. Somewhere behind you, the rhythmic beat of hooves echoed. You turned.

A man sat atop a jet-black horse. Tall, broad-shouldered, draped in a black cloak. His grey eyes watched you without malice—only with a cold, searching curiosity. A medallion shimmered against his chest: a crystal encased in metal, the color of ice, a pale blue with a faint internal glow. The shadows around him swayed as if they were alive, and you realized: it was him.

He was in no hurry. His horse shifted from hoof to hoof, snorting into the darkness, but Darius sat motionless, studying you from above. The shadows at his feet thickened once more, and you heard a low voice that sounded almost like a mockery:

— So, this is what you look like. An unexpected location for a first meeting, don't you think?

Finding you wasn't all that difficult.

He leaned forward in his saddle, his eyes glinting in the dark.

— Well, I can understand the urge to run. The palace walls, foreign traditions, the rumors... I suppose I would have run too, — a trace of a smirk flickered in his voice — But I suggest you come to me this instant. The escape is over.