Chapter 354: Chapter 353 – Introduction

CRACK.

A stone the size of a fist struck the side of his head. Even from across the square, Vivian heard the impact. The man staggered, hand going to his temple. When he pulled it away, blood streaked his fingers.

The crowd was transforming. These healthy, happy people—the ones who’d looked so peaceful and prosperous moments ago—now had fury twisting their faces.

Hands that had been holding produce baskets now clutched rocks. Voices that had been cheerful turned savage.

“Mother…” Gwen’s voice was tight, controlled, but Vivian heard the fear underneath. “We need to leave. Now.”

But Vivian couldn’t move. She watched, horrified, as the man ran. He clutched his bleeding head with one hand, the other grabbing his cloak to keep it from tangling his legs.

Stones pelted him from all sides—striking his back, his legs, his arms as he raised them to protect his face.

“This way!” someone yelled. “Don’t let him escape!”

The man veered left, diving into an alleyway between two buildings. The narrow passage swallowed him, shadows deep and concealing.

The crowd surged after him, then slowed at the alley’s entrance. No one seemed eager to follow into that darkness.

“Coward!” the blacksmith spat, hurling one final stone into the shadows. “Good riddance!”

The crowd began to disperse, anger fading as quickly as it had appeared. Within minutes, people were returning to their shopping, their conversations, their normal lives. The dropped sign was kicked aside, trampled into the dirt.

As if nothing had happened.

As if they hadn’t just tried to kill a man for speaking out.

Vivian felt sick. Her stomach churned, the smell of the fresh bread in her hands now nauseating rather than appetizing.

“Did you see that?” Gwen whispered harshly. “Did you see? That’s exactly what I was talking about! This whole town is brainwashed!”

Vivian nodded slowly, unable to speak. Her hands trembled.

“We’re leaving,” Gwen decided, grabbing her mother’s arm. “Right now. We’ll go back to the forest, figure out another—”

“No.”

Gwen blinked. “What?”

Vivian’s gaze was fixed on the alleyway where the man had disappeared. “That man. He spoke against their lord. He tried to warn them.”

“Mother, he could be crazy. Or a troublemaker. We don’t know—”

“He was like us.” Vivian’s voice was soft but firm. “Speaking truth and being punished for it. We can’t just leave him.”

Gwen’s jaw clenched. “You want to help him? After everything we’ve been through? We barely escaped with our own lives!”

“Which is exactly why we understand what he’s going through.” Vivian met her daughter’s gaze steadily. “If someone had helped us—truly helped us—when our tribe leader sold us, maybe we wouldn’t have had to kill those traders. Maybe we wouldn’t be running and starving.”

Gwen opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. Her expression cycled through frustration, anger, fear… and finally, reluctant acceptance.

“You’re going to get us killed,” Gwen muttered. But she was already moving toward the alley.

Vivian followed, clutching the bread to her chest like a talisman [1][4].

The alley was narrow—barely wide enough for both of them to walk side by side. The buildings on either side rose high, blocking out most of the afternoon sunlight. Shadows pooled thick and cool, a stark contrast to the bright square behind them.

The smell hit Vivian immediately. Rotting garbage, stale urine, something else she couldn’t identify. Her bare feet splashed through puddles of questionable liquid, the cold wetness making her flinch.

“Stay close,” Gwen whispered, bow in hand though she hadn’t nocked an arrow. Yet.

They moved deeper into the alley. The sounds of the town faded behind them, replaced by the echo of their own footsteps and the distant drip of water from somewhere above.

The alley curved, then branched. Left or right? Gwen hesitated, then pointed left. “Blood drops. He went this way.”

Vivian saw them now—dark splatters on the cobblestones, leading deeper into the maze of passages between buildings.

They followed.

The alley opened into a small dead-end courtyard. Three buildings surrounded them, their back walls forming an enclosed space maybe twenty feet across. Wooden crates were stacked haphazardly against one wall. A rusted metal barrel sat in one corner. And there, leaning against the opposite wall, breathing hard…

The man.

He’d removed his cloak, tossing it aside to reveal the face he’d been hiding. And despite everything—the danger, the fear, the absolute insanity of being here—Vivian felt her breath catch.

He was beautiful.

Not handsome. Beautiful. The kind of face that sculptors spent lifetimes trying to capture in marble and always fell short.

Black hair fell across his forehead, slightly damp with sweat. His skin was pale, almost luminous in the dim light. Sharp cheekbones, strong jaw, lips that were somehow both soft and masculine. But it was his eyes that truly arrested her.

Purple.

Not blue-tinged or violet-hinted. Pure, vivid purple. Like amethyst gemstones, bright and clear and utterly hypnotic.

Vivian had seen beautiful men before. Elven men, especially, often possessed ethereal beauty that made humans look plain by comparison. But this man…

He had something else. Something that made her heart beat faster, made her skin flush warm despite the cool shadows. Charm? Magnetism? She couldn’t name it, but she felt it pulling at her like a physical force [3].

Beside her, Gwen had gone completely still. Her daughter’s mouth hung slightly open, eyes wide and fixed on the man’s face.

The man straightened, one hand pressed to his bleeding temple. His purple eyes met theirs—first Vivian, then Gwen—and his expression shifted from wary to… amused?

The silence stretched. Vivian knew she should say something. They’d followed him here, cornered him. They should explain, or apologize, or—

“Do you also came to throw stone at me?”

His voice was smooth, cultured, with an accent Vivian couldn’t quite place. And despite his words, he sounded… casual. Almost playful.

He shrugged, the movement making his simple white shirt pull tight across his shoulders. “Not that I hate it.”

Vivian blinked. “We—we’re not here to hurt you.”

“No?” Those purple eyes studied her with unnerving intensity. “Then why did you follow me? Most people who chase someone into an alley have violent intentions.”

“We saw what happened,” Gwen said, finding her voice. Her hand was still on her bow, though less tense now. “In the square. They attacked you for speaking out.”

“Ah.” The man lowered his hand, revealing the gash on his temple. Blood had run down the side of his face, staining his collar. “Yes, well. People don’t like hearing uncomfortable truths about their beloved saviors.”

“You really believe Lord Viktor is deceiving them?” Vivian asked.

The man’s expression darkened. His jaw clenched, something ugly flashing through those beautiful eyes. “Believe? I know he is. That bastard is—”

He stopped himself, taking a breath. When he continued, his voice was calmer. “At least getting thrown stone is better than sharing the same name as that bastard.”

“Wait,” Gwen’s eyes narrowed. “You have the same name?”

“Unfortunately.” The man pushed off from the wall, standing straighter. He was tall—over six feet—with a lean, athletic build visible even through his simple clothing. “Though I spell mine properly. V-I-C-T-O-R. Victor. Not ’Viktor’ with a K like some pretentious—”

He cut himself off again, lips pressing into a thin line. Then, as if deciding something, his expression cleared. He gave them a slight bow, utterly incongruous with their surroundings and circumstances.

“So, hi,” he said, that playful tone returning. A small smile curved his lips—the kind of smile that probably made hearts flutter across every kingdom he’d visited.

’Should I take them somewhere good?’ Viktor chuckled inwardly, but not wanting to destroy his own play, he added, “I’m Victor.”

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