Her hands clamped over her mouth, stifling the scream rising in her throat.
"What are you? Who are you? Do you want to die?!"
His voice was sharp, violent — raw with survival.
Her eyes widened in pure horror.
She must've mistaken him for one of them.
She dropped to her knees in front of him, bowing low, shoulders trembling, sobbing soundlessly.
Begging.
Begging for mercy.
He stepped back, recoiling at the stench.
Disgust twisted his face.
"Get away."
His words sliced the silence.
She flinched, crawling backwards — until she stumbled and collapsed onto the sharp rocks.
Wounded.
But something made him stop.
Not pity.
Not sympathy.
Something else.
Why did her pain register with him?
Even through the stink — oh, the bloody stink — something about her felt… human.
"What are you? Who are you?"
He repeated, quieter now, less rage, more confusion.
Her eyes were screaming even if she wasn't.
Terror was painted in every trembling breath she took.
He wanted to yell again, to assert dominance.
But he didn't.
She was small — fragile even — and looked like she'd shatter the moment he raised his voice.
So he knelt.
Right there beside her.
Ignored the smell.
"You're bleeding."
He said it more to himself than to her.
"They've wounded you."
She blinked, startled.
Why was he still here?
Why wasn't he pushing her away?
Wasn't she just an inconvenience?
"Aren't all men soldiers?"
Her voice was barely a whisper.
"No."
He answered before the question even fully landed.
Then she asked, mimicking his earlier fury — though hers was fragile, honest:
"What are you?"
He exhaled through clenched teeth.
This was pointless.
Bantering with a broken girl in the middle of nowhere.
"Slave."
He muttered.
Her eyes widened.
"They keep male slaves too?"
That stung.
Not because she was wrong — but because of what she meant.
Did she really see him like them?
Like the monsters who roamed this cursed land, brutalizing anyone weaker than them?
Did she think he was like that?
Couldn't she feel the storm he carried?
Didn't she see it — the resistance boiling under his skin, the fire in his blood?
She didn't understand.
She couldn't.
And still, her question felt like a knife.
"You're not from here."
His voice was low now, controlled.
"You must be new. They threw you into the male dungeons — that's rare. What did you do?"
He leaned closer, eyes narrowing, demanding truth.
"I ran," she breathed.
"Ran into hiding."
"Hiding?"
His voice echoed like a thunderclap.
She wasn't just a victim.
She was a veganance.
A girl who dared to flee.
Who chose hiding over surrender.