The previous night had been a nightmare. Hans had no idea how many blows he had taken, but his body made sure to remind him with every stab of pain. His head throbbed with a dull pulse, and his side burned as if he had been struck with a war hammer. His skin felt tight where he had scrapes, and when he tried to move his right leg, a cramp shot up from his thigh to his back, forcing a muffled groan from his lips.

  The scent of burnt wood and dried herbs floated in the air when he opened his eyes. The dim glow of an oil lamp cast flickering shadows on the uneven stone walls. He was inside what looked like a small cabin carved into the rock, hidden and blending into the environment. It wasn’t a typical shelter; it felt more like a hideout, a refuge meant to go unnoticed.

  The stone floor was covered with animal skins and some worn blankets, and a weak fire smoldered in a small stone fireplace, offering barely any warmth. On crude wooden shelves nailed into the rock with iron spikes, glass jars filled with various colored liquids sat alongside small bundles of herbs tied with string. On a sturdy wooden table, rolled-up parchments lay scattered among well-sharpened daggers and an open map with dark ink markings.

  He tried to sit up, but the pain forced him to collapse back onto the blankets with a grunt. Lifting his torn shirt, he saw that his torso was wrapped in tight, well-secured bandages. The bruised skin beneath them and the burning sensation told him that someone had cleaned his wounds with alcohol or some strong salve.

  —Well, at least you’re still breathing. —A voice spoke from the shadows.

  Hans turned his head with effort.

  To the side, leaning against the thick wooden door, stood her.

  It was the same woman he had seen at the tavern. Now, under the dim lamp light, he could make out her features more clearly: she wore modest but elegant clothing, dark fabrics with subtle embroidery on the sleeves. Her hair was pulled into a long, well-kept braid, and her sharp eyes observed him with the patience of a predator waiting for the right moment to strike.

  Hans swallowed, trying to steady his mind.

  —Where… am I? —he asked, his voice hoarse.

  The woman didn’t answer immediately. Instead, she regarded him in silence for a few seconds, as if deciding whether he was even worth answering.

  —Somewhere you’re not supposed to be —she finally said, her tone dry.

  Hans frowned.

  —That doesn’t tell me much.

  —It doesn’t need to —she replied, indifferent.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Hans scoffed and forced his body to move despite the pain.

  —Look, I’ve woken up in plenty of strange places, but this… —he glanced at the stone walls, the low-burning fire, and the neatly arranged supplies—. This isn’t some random cave. Where are we?

  Lysandra didn’t respond immediately. She walked over to the table, picked up a small rolled parchment, and toyed with it in her hand before speaking.

  —I suppose you’re not important enough for it to matter if I tell you. This is a Smell. A ‘natural’ hideout.

  Hans raised an eyebrow.

  —A what?

  Lysandra spun the parchment between her fingers with a casual air.

  —Improvised shelters. Hidden places that survivors, travelers, or hunters mark and prepare for emergencies. They can be caves, hollow trees, abandoned houses, anywhere that might offer shelter on a night like the one you just had. At first glance, they look deserted, but they always have a hidden opening, a passage, or a secret entrance that leads to the real refuge.

  Hans took another look around, more attentively this time.

  —And this one in particular? —he asked—. Did you make it?

  Lysandra shook her head.

  —No. I just found it.

  Before he could say anything else, Lysandra grabbed a waterskin and set it beside him without a word. A simple act, but Hans noticed it. She no longer treated him with the same coldness as before.

  —So… why did you do it?

  Lysandra sat on a wooden crate, crossing her legs with practiced ease.

  —Do what?

  —Save me.

  Lysandra idly adjusted the buckle on her leather glove.

  —And you don’t seem like the kind of person who asks smart questions… yet here we are.

  Hans scoffed.

  —So that means you’re not going to answer, huh?

  Lysandra smirked.

  —Let’s just say… the night didn’t go as I expected.

  Hans frowned.

  —That doesn’t explain anything.

  Lysandra shrugged.

  —You’re right. But what I can tell you is that you owe me. And it wasn’t a small favor.

  Hans noticed that her tone wasn’t a threat, but it wasn’t just a casual remark either.

  —Are you saying I have to do something for you in return?

  —Don’t call it a debt. Let’s just say… it’s a way to balance the scales.

  Hans studied her cautiously. Under different circumstances, he would have pushed for more answers. But in his current state, he could barely move without feeling like his body was shattering. He knew he didn’t have the strength to argue or demand explanations.

  —I don’t like owing favors —he muttered, narrowing his eyes.

  —That’s too bad —Lysandra replied with a smirk—. Because you already do.

  Hans sighed and let his head drop back onto the blankets. There was no point in pressing the issue now.

  —Am I going to regret this?

  Lysandra let out a low, teasing chuckle.

  —Oh, no doubt. But don’t worry, it’s going to be fun.

  Hans half-opened an eye, too exhausted to play along.

  —That doesn’t reassure me…

  Lysandra simply shrugged and, with a distracted air, nudged the fire in the hearth with the tip of her boot.

  —At the end of it all, there will be a reward.

  She said it with the same nonchalant tone one would use when discussing the weather. But even in his exhaustion, Hans caught a faint glint in her eyes.

  Was it simple anticipation… or was she enjoying knowing something he didn’t?

  Hans frowned, but fatigue was dragging him under.

  —Reward…

  —Get some rest, Hans. We’ll talk tomorrow.

  Hans tried to respond, but his body refused to obey. He sank into sleep, completely unaware that Lysandra was talking about the gold stolen from the race… the very same gold he had lost.