CHAPTER 61: BANDITS... AGAIN?

The cold wind swept along the road, carrying with it loose flakes of snow and the distant scent of smoke drifting from smaller villages nearby. The silence between them was piercing, only the sound of hooves breaking the frozen crust of the road filling the space.

Yes, it was starting to get cold. And the temperature was already beginning to drop.

Damon kept his gaze fixed on the horizon, but within him a whirlwind boiled. The black horse responded to the slightest movement of his legs, almost as if it didn’t need reins. There was a sensation of raw power beneath him—something untamable, yet somehow willing to be guided by him. As if it had recognized in Damon a reflection of itself.

He ran his hand through its mane once more. The horse tossed its head and snorted, but didn’t resist. Damon gave a dry smile, more to himself than to anyone else.

Ahead, Ester kept a steady pace, without looking back. She seemed immersed in her own rhythm, as if nothing around her could disturb her. Until, after long minutes of silence, her voice cut through the wind.

"It’s calmer now," she said, as if making a statement, not a question.

Damon blinked, surprised by what she read. "What do you mean?"

"Your aura," she replied simply. "Before, it seemed like a whirlwind about to swallow everything. Now... it’s contained. Still violent, but controlled." She turned her head just enough to give him a cold look. "That’s good. At least for now."

He let out a short, humorless laugh. "Controlled, is it? It doesn’t seem that way, inside."

Ester didn’t answer immediately. She simply returned her eyes to the road. "Inside, everyone is chaos," she murmured, almost as if speaking to herself. "The difference is what we let slip."

The words hit him harder than he expected. Damon stared at the snow, the rhythmic sound of hooves like a drumbeat inside his head. And for an instant, he saw himself from the outside: a young man drenched in blood, mounted on a horse that seemed more beast than animal, following a woman who walked through the world as if she were made of ice and steel.

The day wore on slowly. The sky remained heavy, gray, with only small slivers of golden light filtering through the clouds. They passed pine-covered hills, abandoned fields where only crooked scarecrows stood in the hardened snow. The solitude of the road seemed to swallow everything.

This is starting to get to me, Damon thought; it had been too long since they had been silent.

Damon then decided to at least try to break the silence. "You know... when I was a kid, I always imagined horseback riding would be different. That it would be..." He searched for the words, frowning. "Liberating. Like in the stories."

Ester didn’t slow down. "It’s not. It’s just a way to go further without breaking your legs. Nothing more."

"Always practical, aren’t you?" Damon arched a crooked smile. "I bet you’ve never dreamed of anything like this."

She glanced at him sideways, her blue eyes cold as blades. "Dreams are weaknesses. They distract. I’ve always preferred to wake up." Her voice was sharp, definitive. "You should learn to do the same."

Damon swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. Because part of him knew she was right—and another part hated it.

Late afternoon, the wind picked up. The road narrowed between two rocky slopes, twisted trees casting long shadows across the ground. Ester’s horse held firm, but Damon’s began to snort louder, restless. Damon narrowed his eyes, trying to understand.

"He sensed something," he said.

Ester held up her hand, signaling silence. Her eyes swept the rocks, alert. The wind carried only the rustle of the treetops and the creak of branches. Still, something was... wrong.

A sharp snap echoed to the left, like a twig snapping under weight. Then another. Damon’s black horse stamped its hooves nervously, but didn’t flinch.

Ester pulled on the reins, bringing the chestnut horse to a halt. She said nothing, but her rigid posture spoke volumes: they were not alone.

From the top of the rocks, figures began to move. Hooded figures, armed with crossbows and makeshift spears. A whistle echoed—a signal. Within seconds, half a dozen men slid down the slopes, surrounding the road.

Damon tightened his grip on his spear. His heart raced, but not from fear. There was a different heat burning beneath his skin, a shiver of anticipation. The black horse, as if sharing the same feeling, neighed softly, muscles tense, ready to charge.

Ester remained still, as if unimpressed by the siege. Her cold eyes analyzed every detail: the weapons, the positions, the hesitation hidden in their movements.

"Bandits," she said dryly. "Pathetic."

One of the men stepped forward, brandishing a short spear. His voice was hoarse, thick with false courage. "Dismount your horses. Leave your gold, weapons, and supplies. Perhaps we’ll let you live."

Damon almost laughed. He glanced at Ester, waiting for her to react. But she just stared at the leader, her lips parted in something that wasn’t a smile—it was contempt.

Then Damon took a deep breath. Heat rose within him, the same flame that had flared that bloody night. His body screamed for combat. His blood boiled.

He adjusted his spear on his shoulder, leaned over the black horse, and whispered, "Let’s show them."

The animal snorted, as if understanding.

The silence lasted only a moment.

Then the black horse charged.

The thud of hooves against the snow resounded like thunder, kicking up a shower of fragmented ice. Damon felt the wind cut across his face, the mount’s muscles contracting with an animalistic strength, almost too wild to be tamed. It was like riding not an animal, but a primordial beast.

The first bandit barely had time to raise his spear. The tip of Damon’s weapon pierced his chest with a sharp crack, the impact so brutal it threw him backward. His scream was short, drowned out by his own mouthful of blood.

The rest froze.

And for an instant, the world seemed to slow down for Damon. The men’s faces, now stained with fear, Ester’s cold gaze watching from afar, the black horse neighing furiously. Everything blended into a macabre symphony that made his heart beat even faster.

He jerked the spear back, blood splattering the snow. Heat pulsed through his veins. It wasn’t just adrenaline. It was something more. Something dark.

"Kill them!" the leader shouted, breaking the spell of fear.