The first thing I noticed when I opened my eyes was the rope.
It was tied tightly around my wrists behind the tree, rough enough to bite into my skin whenever I moved. My shoulders were still aching from everything that had happened in the forest, and my legs felt as if they belonged to someone who had made several very questionable life choices.
Apparently, getting lost in a terrifying forest, being chased through it, nearly dying several times, and finally getting captured had not been enough.
No.
Someone had apparently looked at my situation and thought, This could use rope.
Then I smelled the cooking pot.
The scent reached me through the smoke drifting across the clearing. Roasted meat. Herbs. Spices. Something sweet underneath it, warm and rich enough to make my stomach growl before my brain had time to object.
For one beautiful moment, I thought I had been rescued by people who knew how to cook.
Then I looked up.
There was an enormous pot sitting over a wide stone fire in the center of the settlement, big enough to comfortably hold far more food than any reasonable group of people should need at once. Two villagers were stirring it with long wooden poles while steam rose lazily into the air.
Around it, the entire village was preparing for some kind of celebration.
Colored cloth stretched between wooden poles. Feathers and carved decorations hung from posts. Children ran between the houses while adults carried baskets of food and bundles of herbs. Several men were setting up enormous drums near the center of the clearing.
It looked cheerful.
That was the problem.
Cheerful things had become suspicious ever since I woke up in another world.
I looked around more carefully.
Nobody seemed especially concerned about me.
There was no guard standing over me. No warrior glaring at me. No one even appeared to be watching the tree.
Then I saw the tigers.
There were several of them resting near the edge of the settlement, each one larger than any normal tiger had the right to be. Their bodies were thick with muscle, their claws easily visible against the dirt.
And the villagers treated them like ordinary livestock.
A child ran past one of them without even glancing sideways.
I stared.
Right.
So that explained the lack of guards.
Apparently, escaping from this village wasn’t a problem they expected me to solve.
I decided that was probably fair.
The moment I started thinking about escape, a group of warriors entered the clearing.
They were dragging a man between them.
He was clearly wealthy. His clothes were made from expensive fabric, a jeweled ring covered one finger, and even his belt looked more decorative than practical.
He looked around wildly before shouting in the common language.
"I can pay you!"
Nobody responded.
He tried again.
"Gold! Silver! Horses! I have land. Estates. Servants. Connections. Whatever you want, I can give it to you."
The warriors kept dragging him forward.
I watched with growing interest.
Not because I wanted to see what happened to him.
Obviously.
I was simply trying to understand the situation.
The man suddenly noticed me.
His expression changed immediately.
"You!" he shouted. "You’re from the kingdom, aren’t you?"
I hesitated.
"Yes."
"How long have you been here?"
"Not long."
His eyes dropped toward the pot.
Then he looked back at me.
His voice lowered.
"Then don’t let them take you there."
I frowned.
"What happens there?"
He opened his mouth, but a warrior jerked him forward before he could answer.
"Wait!"
The man struggled desperately.
"Run!"
A black cloth was pulled over his mouth.
"Just run!"
He disappeared toward the center of the clearing.
I stared after him.
I had several questions.
None of them were good.
Before I could decide which one I wanted answered first, another group of prisoners appeared.
A wounded traveler came next.
Then a merchant.
Then two more people dressed like travelers from different regions.
They all had the same thing in common.
They were terrified.
Near one of the wooden houses sat a pile of belongings.
Travel bags.
Broken swords.
Damaged armor.
Boots.
Jewelry.
Merchant tools.
Pieces of equipment scattered together as though someone had emptied the remains of several journeys onto the ground.
I looked at the pile for a long moment.
Those things belonged to people who had expected to go home.
They hadn’t.
I decided that was enough information.
Some mysteries were better left untouched.
The drums began.
A deep sound rolled through the village.
Once.
Then again.
The cheerful atmosphere vanished so quickly that it almost felt rehearsed.
Conversations quieted. Children gathered near their parents. Warriors moved into position around the clearing while villagers carried bowls and baskets toward the fire.
Nobody screamed.
Nobody panicked.
Nobody even looked surprised.
They knew exactly what was about to happen.
That calmness frightened me more than the screaming would have.
Then six enormous tigers entered the clearing.
Each carried a rider.
The warriors were dressed in feathers, bone ornaments, painted leather, animal hides, and various weapons. They looked like people who had been raised to fight from the moment they were old enough to stand.
The final tiger was different.
It was white.
And larger than the others.
Its paws pressed deeply into the dirt as it walked, and the villagers gave it considerably more room than they had given the rest.
Its rider wore dark clothing covered with fur and carved pieces of bone. A long scar ran across one side of his face.
The villagers immediately made way for him.
The tribal king had arrived.
An older man approached him and spoke rapidly in the local language.
I couldn’t understand a word.
The king listened without expression.
Then his eyes moved across the clearing.
They passed over the fire.
The prisoners.
The warriors.
Then stopped on me.
I immediately looked somewhere else.
I had never been comfortable with eye contact.
There was no reason to develop that skill now.
The drums started again.
The wealthy prisoner was dragged into the center.
He began struggling the moment he realized where they were taking him.
His muffled screams grew louder.
The warriors forced him down.
Nobody moved to help.
A woman nearby continued arranging food into bowls.
A child watched from beside his mother.
One of the men tending the fire calmly adjusted a piece of wood beneath the pot.
It was all so normal.
That was the worst part.
I turned my head away.
A scream tore through the clearing.
My stomach twisted.
I vomited onto the dirt.
Nobody cared.
The village simply continued.
The drums kept beating.
The fire kept burning.
The villagers kept preparing food.
And slowly, horribly, the truth became impossible to ignore.
The prisoners weren’t being executed.
They were being prepared for dinner.
I looked at the giant cooking pot again.
Suddenly, the smell that had seemed wonderful a few minutes ago became deeply offensive.
I had left the estate because I wanted to see the world before the Academy began.
That had sounded reasonable.
I had imagined cities, markets, distant towns, interesting people, decent food, and perhaps a few adventures that would make life feel less boring.
Instead, I had spent the last stretch of my life running from a mythical wolf, losing money, getting trapped in a forest, being captured by a tribe, and discovering that the local festival involved cooking visitors.
At this point, I was beginning to suspect the universe was actively mocking me.
Maybe there was some invisible audience watching all of this and laughing.
Look at him.
He thought he was going to the Academy.
My life had become a joke and, unfortunately, I was both the main character and the punchline.
The warrior who had captured me approached.
He crouched beside the tree and cut the rope holding me to it.
I almost sighed in relief.
Then I felt the rope around my wrists.
Still there.
Of course.
He grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the center.
I decided that dying was something I should at least make an effort to avoid.
As we passed between the wooden houses, I noticed a narrow path leading toward the forest.
I watched it carefully.
The warrior loosened his grip for half a second.
I twisted.
My shoulder slammed into his chest.
He stumbled.
I ran.
My hands were tied behind my back, which made the entire process significantly less elegant than I would have preferred, but my legs still worked, and at that moment that was all I needed.
I made it between two houses.
Then a tiger stepped into my path.
I stopped so quickly that my feet nearly went out from under me.
The tiger lowered its head and stared at me.
I slowly turned left.
A warrior was waiting.
I turned right.
Another warrior.
Behind me came footsteps.
Three more warriors moved into place near the fence.
Nobody rushed me.
They didn’t need to.
There were no gaps.
The tigers controlled the open spaces while the warriors closed everything narrow enough for a person to slip through.
They weren’t chasing me.
They were herding me.
That realization ended my escape attempt very efficiently.
I stopped.
The warriors walked over, tied the rope more securely, and dragged me back toward the clearing.
Well.
At least I had tried.
My ancestors could be disappointed in my lack of success later.
I decided negotiation was worth attempting before I became someone’s lunch.
"I can work."
No response.
"I can hunt."
Nothing.
"I can gather herbs, carry supplies, repair things, clean, cook..."
I hesitated.
"Actually, maybe don’t let me cook."
Still nothing.
"Whatever you need, I can do it."
One of the warriors didn’t even look at me.
I glanced toward the pot.
"You really don’t have to cook me."
The younger villager standing nearby laughed.
I looked at him.
"I’m serious."
That only made him laugh harder.
I pointed at myself.
"Look at me. I’m not exactly premium material."
Several villagers nearby began laughing.
Apparently my situation was entertaining.
I took that as a positive sign.
At least I hadn’t been completely ignored.
"You’re going to waste all that seasoning on me."
More laughter.
I should probably have stopped there.
Instead, I noticed one of the massive tigers nearby.
I pointed at it.
"That one looks far more nutritious."
The tiger slowly turned its head toward me.
I lowered my hand.
"On second thought, that was rude."
The tiger kept staring.
"I apologize."
The warrior continued dragging me.
The smell of smoke grew stronger as we approached the fire.
Heat touched my face.
My mouth had gone completely dry.
I tried thinking about anything else.
The Academy.
The capital.
A proper bed.
Chocolate.
Then I remembered the chocolate roll.
The one I had promised Asura.
I hadn’t even eaten it yet.
That was when I realized I had many regrets about dying.
Most of them were small.
The chocolate roll was surprisingly high on the list.
"Asura!"
No answer.
I twisted around.
"Asura!"
Nothing.
I tried again.
"Asura!"
If he was nearby, he was doing an impressive job of ignoring me.
Typical.
The warrior pulled me toward a wooden ladder near the cooking platform.
I grabbed it awkwardly with my tied hands and refused to move.
"No."
The warrior pulled.
I held tighter.
"No."
He pulled again.
"I don’t want to die here!"
Several villagers laughed.
I couldn’t believe this.
I was having the worst moment of my life, and apparently everyone else was having an excellent afternoon.
"I mean it!" I shouted.
The warrior pulled harder.
I tightened my grip.
Then I heard a bark.
Everything stopped.
My fingers froze around the ladder.
The villagers went silent.
The warriors stopped moving.
Even the drums fell quiet.
Another bark came from the forest.
Closer this time.
I slowly turned my head.
Something moved between the trees.
A small black figure stepped into the clearing.
Asura.
He looked terrible.
Dirt covered his fur, leaves were stuck to his body, and he was breathing harder than usual. He looked as if he had just spent the last several hours running through the forest and regretted every second of it.
My heart almost jumped out of my chest.
"Asura!"
His eyes found me.
"Kain."
Relief hit me immediately.
"You’re alive."
Asura stared at me.
Then he looked at the rope.
Then at the enormous pot.
Then back at me.
"I leave you alone for a while, and this is what you do?"
I stared at him.
"This is what they do."
His gaze returned to the pot.
"You’re being cooked."
"Yes."
"How?"
"They captured me."
Asura looked at the rope around my wrists.
"You got captured?"
"I was tied to a tree."
"I can see that."
"They were going to put me in the pot."
For the first time, Asura’s ears lowered slightly.
A warrior stepped forward and raised his spear.
Asura’s attention immediately shifted.
He looked across the clearing.
The warriors.
The bows.
The tiger riders.
The enormous white tiger.
Finally, he looked at the tribal king.
Nobody in the village understood what Asura was saying.
To them, he was only a strange black dog barking in the middle of their settlement.
Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to make them any less cautious.
The warriors spread out.
Bows were drawn.
Spears lowered.
The tiger riders tightened their grips.
The white tiger rose slowly to its feet.
Asura took one step forward.
The white tiger growled.
Asura stopped.
I watched him carefully.
He wasn’t acting like the terrifying ancient being who had once spoken about gods as if they were annoying insects.
He was calculating.
There were too many enemies.
Too many tigers.
Too many warriors.
His body was still that of a dog, and whatever power he possessed was clearly limited in this form.
For once, Asura seemed to understand that charging forward and shouting about his greatness might not be the smartest strategy.
"What are you doing?" I whispered.
"Thinking."
I stared at him.
"That is dangerous."
"I noticed."
The tribal king said something sharply in his language.
The warriors tightened their formation.
Asura’s eyes narrowed.
The white tiger stepped forward.
For the briefest moment, Asura’s body became completely still.
The entire clearing watched.
No drums.
No laughter.
No shouting.
Just silence.
Then Asura looked back at me.
"Kain."
"What?"
"Whatever happens next, don’t make things worse."
I stared at him.
"You’re the one who came back."
"Yes."
"They’re all staring at you."
"I noticed that too."
I glanced at the villagers.
None of them understood a single word Asura had spoken.
To them, the King of Shadows was nothing more than a filthy black dog standing in their festival and barking.
I almost laughed.
"You’re not going to tell them you’re the King of Shadows?"
Asura looked around the settlement.
Then back at me.
"They hear barking."
That was probably the most sensible thing he had said all day.
I looked toward the tribal king.
He was still staring at Asura.
Not at the pot.
Not at the prisoners.
Not even at me.
Asura.
I swallowed.
Something about that bothered me far more than it should have.
The warrior beside me started pulling me toward the ladder again.
I looked at the pot.
Then at Asura.
Then at the silent king watching him.
The situation was already terrible.
And somehow, I had the unpleasant feeling that it was about to become much worse.
I sighed.
"Well," I muttered, "too late. I already negotiated us as seasoning."
Asura slowly turned his head toward me.
I didn’t need to understand the expression on his face to know I had made a mistake.