Chapter 2: The moment of struggle
Sarafina had the desire to ascend the rope, but her left arm remained limp at her side, and she wasn't foolish enough to attempt the climb with just one functioning hand. Instead, she waited for assistance from Pegasus and Zagort. Once she reached solid ground, Sarafina noticed an unusual expression on Pegasus' face. The strong elf appeared to be torn between scolding or praising her. Zagort, a thin man with a cheerful demeanor, was more straightforward in his concern.
"Are you okay?" he asked, his face displaying genuine worry. Sarafina nodded, even though she couldn't feel her left arm at all. Zagort visibly relaxed, relieved by her response, but Pegasus remained skeptical.
He glanced at her arm and then back at her face, shaking his head disapprovingly. However, he chose not to expose her in front of Pegasus, for which she was grateful. Zagort had a tendency to be sentimental, especially when it involved her.
"Sarafina!" someone shouted, waving their hand from the entrance of the pass. She shuddered upon recognizing the caller.
Brabus.
If there was someone she despised more than the deceased Nightstalker, it was his protégé, Brabus. He was the individual who constantly reminded her that she had no place within the tribe, sometimes even instigating his henchmen when words failed to convey his message.
Brabus was a bully, but a cunning one. He rarely acted directly, preferring to manipulate others to achieve his goals. He was one of the few living individuals she wished had perished.
Brabus approached, accompanied by half a dozen hunters. He wore his most charming smile, the same smile that could make women of all ages swoon. That was another problem with him—he was handsome, albeit in a cruel manner, and could be charming when he wanted to be. Sarafina, on the other hand, found that smile repulsive.
His eyes, however, were a different story. They were pale green, sparkling like emeralds in the light of the nearby fires. Strangely captivating.
Before she realized it, Brabus had closed the distance and was gently touching her broken arm, almost caressing it. His voice sounded soothing and reasonable as he said, "We should bandage this arm." But she remembered who she was dealing with and quickly recoiled. Brabus laughed, thoroughly amused.
"Garluin," Kolvar hissed, clenching his fists as he stepped threateningly toward Brabus. "You have no shame."
But Sarafina stood in his way. "How many made it?" she asked, preventing Zagort from doing something he would later regret.
Brabus's cheek twitched as he tried to hide the cruel smirk on his face. Sarafina had become well acquainted with that expression, though this time it wasn't directed at her but at Zagort. The young elf stared back, his hand reaching for the knife at his belt.
"How many?" she asked again, her voice revealing her impatience with their staring contest. When Zagort grumbled and stepped aside, the tension in the small group dissipated.
"The ones you see," Brabus replied, before adding, "I regret to inform you."
He didn't sound regretful at all. On the contrary, he seemed to relish delivering bad news, or perhaps he simply enjoyed making her uncomfortable. If that was the case, he succeeded.
Sarafina's complexion turned pale, her knees wobbling as she faltered. But she refused to fall; she wouldn't give Brabus the satisfaction. "Barachel won't survive until morning," Brabus continued, as if oblivious to her reaction.
He pointed to an elf not far behind him. Sarafina knew Barachel well. She was approaching forty, considered old for an elf and even older for a hunter. But the charred figure in front of her wasn't her friend. Sarafina could see the horrific burns on her body, the areas where the fire had left nothing but cracked skin on her face. She shuddered, the stench of burnt flesh and the screams still haunting her. But now was not the time for that. For some reason, everyone was looking at her, their gazes filled with the same unwavering faith they had once placed in the Nightstalker. Not in Sarafina.
"Can she be saved?" she asked Pegasus, struggling to keep her voice steady when all she wanted to do was curl up and cry. However, it was Brabus who responded.
"She cannot be saved. Her death will be... a relief," Brabus searched for an appropriate word but couldn't find one.
There was no word for mercy or compassion in the Elven language. Such concepts were empty and devoid of meaning in a land where death awaited the weak. Sarafina's weary mind struggled to comprehend Brabus's words. When she finally did, she wished she hadn't.
"You don't mean to..." she choked on the words, unable to finish her sentence.
"I'm afraid there is no other choice," Brabus answered, his face and tone feigning compassion that he didn't truly feel but consistently fooled his peers with.
Sarafina looked to Pegasus, hoping to find a different answer in the young elf's brown eyes. There was none. He slowly shook his head, his lips tightening as if he wished to give her a different response. But he couldn't, just like everyone else.
"I-I..." she stammered, glancing at the faces of the survivors around her. They awaited her decision. It was what she had always wanted—to be accepted and listened to. Yet, at this moment, all she could think of was running away, finding a hole somewhere to hide and empty her stomach.
In the end, it was Pegasus who came to her rescue. "I'll handle it," he said, taking a step forward.
"Pegasus..." she began to plead.
But what could she say? They couldn't linger here for long and leave the woman alive or abandoned.
"I'll handle it," Pegasus repeated, his gaze shifting towards Brabus. "And you will assist me."
Pegasus wasn't particularly tall, especially by elven standards. However, his muscular chest and arms were uncommon for his kind. He stood solid like a fortress, and the simple look he gave Brabus was far more intimidating than Zagort's earlier threat.
Brabus opened his mouth, likely to protest, but thought better of it when he saw the expression on Pegasus' face. As Pegasus moved toward the injured elf, Brabus followed. Most of the hunters turned away at that point, but not Sarafina. She had to witness it.
Pegasus crouched near Barachel, speaking softly to her as he retrieved a knife. Sarafina flinched, the taste of bile rising in her mouth as he slit Barachel's throat. She kept watching until the end.
Then she vomited.
In that moment, a sudden gust of wind blew her hood back, tousling her hair. The survivors closed their eyes, savoring the brief respite from the heat. But Sarafina didn't. It was a chilly wind, originating from the north rather than the east, foreshadowing the arrival of winter. It whistled through the cracks in the rocks and small stone caves, sounding like a lament or perhaps a roar.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone