"This is as far as I can take 'ya, lil' one." The old man halted his wagon a few minutes later in the middle of a crowded square. Chatter and babble rang around them. 

"I can't take ya further in. 'Pologies, child."

Chell shook her head and bowed in gratitude. "No... It's already enough. Thank you... for your kindness."

Once again, the old man smiled warmly at her. Chell was already starting to grow comfortable with it, although she reminded herself that they were about to part. 

"It's a'right, it's a'right," he assured. "Happy to be 'o help to someone like ya... say, have I told ya that ya look a lot like my daughter when she was a young'un? No? Well, you really do. Maybe that's the reason why I took a sudden liking to ya."

Chell blinked when she heard that, not quite sure to respond. She  simply bowed again and moved to get off the wagon. 

"—Ah, and lil' one," the old man called out as Chell stood there. "I have one tip for 'ya. Avoid the pubs n' taverns 'round this place. Witch hunters usually go to them, and they're serious trouble around 'ere."

Chell made a firm nod. 

"Thank you...," she said with gratitude. "For everything."

The old man tilted his straw hat to her, a soft look in his eyes. Then, with a final wave of his hand and a parting smile, he steered his horses in a different direction and proceeded elsewhere, gradually receding into the jostle of the crowd. Chell remained standing there for a moment, watching his retreating figure slowly disappear. At the back of her mind, she imagined how peaceful the world might have been by now if all the people were like him. Even though the two had only been together for a few hours with most spent in silence, she had taken a deep liking to the old man. The thought that she would most likely never see him again saddened her.

A passerby bumped into Chell, jolting her back into reality. She inwardly scolded herself. This was not the time and place for stray thoughts.

She pulled her hood up, making sure that it hid most of her hair and eyes, since she had been told they were the traits that caught others' attention the most.  Warily glancing at the crowd of faceless people that pressed around her, Chell made sure to avoid any direct contact as she started walking. Even if the dead weren't there to guide her this time, she knew which place she needed to go first: somewhere away from people.

She silently darted through the streets. Although it pained her to admit it and angered her if someone pointed this out, Chell was short. There was, of course, a reason for this. However, her height still had its perks, seeing as she could easily blend in without much trouble. As she weaved in and out, Chell agreed silently that Uldard was indeed as populated as rumored, though not as much as the capital, Aurden. The mass of people she encountered seemed endless and suffocating. Usually, she would ignore them, but as this was her first time in the kingdom, she spent careful seconds studying her surroundings and familiarizing herself with her path, even though it was already an established fact among those who knew her that her sense of direction was worse than a child's. 

Still, Chell found herself craning her neck in different directions, analyzing the unfamiliar kingdom as much as she could.

It seemed like the old man had let her off next to a marketplace, which explained the considerable amount of people. Merchants were loudly advertising their products and offering deals to passersby. Vendors were shouting their wares. Buyers were clinking with gold in their pockets, patting their wallets occasionally to make sure it was still there. Chell lowered her head as she saw a few soldiers walking around. The rest were chattering among each other, children, men and women alike. Around her, high multi-colored bricked buildings lined the streets. Pubs, weapons & armor shops, restaurants, and inns were only a few of the establishments that littered the sides of the path. Overhead, clotheslines and flags bearing the kingdom's insignia were criss-crossed haphazardly along with damp clothes that swayed in the midday breeze.

"—Move it, move it!" Someone suddenly announced from the crowd in front of her, the shrill voice ringing clearly from amongst the chatter. "Make way, you fools! Don't you know who this person is!?"

Chell stepped back to the side, making sure to keep her distance as the others around her did the same. Further ahead, she heard people cheering in loud voices, heads turned to an approaching person from down the widened street. Warily, she ducked her head. If the crowd was obliging and applauding, then it meant that whoever the person approaching was likely someone important. A noble, perhaps. Or a knight.

"Make way for Worick the witch hunter!"

A sickening feeling of unease rose at the pit of her stomach the moment she heard that. Witch hunter. As the dense crowd continued to cheer loudly, Chell raised her face and finally caught sight of the person they were praising. It was not that she could have missed him even if she tried, however.

The witch hunter was a giant of a man who towered above everyone's heads. He held a chiseled physique like the ones in monumental statues of past knights, all of his muscles covered with gleaming silver armor. His face was cruel and hideously scarred. Remnants, Chell realized, of his past battles. Behind him, a large sinister-looking metal hammer was strapped to his back, its blade wide and gleaming sharply. Chell immediately knew at a single glance that people had died by that weapon. Or, more specifically,  people like her. She felt a sick tug at her gut, sensing the thin veil of death that enveloped it.

Meanwhile, the crowd continued to cheer some more as he walked with an imperious gait, arrogantly looking down on the others. In front of him, a small thin man who seemed like a lackey announced his arrival and ordered the crowd to give way.

Chell retreated farther back into the crowd and waited for him to pass. Every sane witch and wizard knew better than to get involved with witch hunters. They were the remaining faction from the 500 Year War, mortals who were trained to fight against witchfolk. After the treaty, only few remained in the business, and they were primarily responsible for hunting down criminal witchfolk. But here in Uldard, any witch was as good as a sinner, innocent or not.

Considering her previous encounters with them, she did not want to stir any trouble. However, just as Chell started to move back, she somehow met the hunter's eyes for a fraction of a second amidst the dozens of people around them. They were dark and cold, eyes that held no mercy.

A prickling sensation warned her to get away in that instant. But Chell knew that was impossible, because the moment Worick was in front of her, he had stopped and turned, looking down at Chell with a cold expression.

She stood there amongst the crowd, frozen. Compared to the hunter, she seemed like a small animal that had been caught in a trap. A voice in her mind was warning her of an imminent danger: run.

In their ears, the people around them continued to cheer, not realizing what was even happening. Worick did not move, and so did Chell. They ignored the noise. The hunter continued to look at her, studying her shadowed face under the hood. Then, after a moment, the hunter raised a hand, tugging it away to completely reveal her face. As he did, Chell remained still as possible. She was already reaching inside her satchel underneath her cloak, staring back at him with a blank face. If needed, she was going to have to find a way to escape. And to escape from a witch hunter meant only two things: either fight and run away or die trying.

Worick studied her figure, gazing at her eyes intently. She knew he was wondering about their strange color. The expression on his face told Chell that he might have already known or had an idea of what she was. The hunter was clearly experienced in his profession, Chell realized. She had never been exposed so quickly like this before in all her years of traveling around the continent. The missing guidance of the dead might have been a reason for this.

As Worick opened his bearded mouth to say something, a voice among the crowd cut him off before he could even speak.

"—Ah, there you are, Elise!" a loud, ringing voice called out to them.

Both witch and hunter turned simultaneously, only to see a young man emerge from the congestion of the crowd. At Chell's first glance, he was tan, lean and somehow reminded her of a scarecrow. His pitch-black hair was messy and unruly, and a thick crimson scarf was tied around his head, making for a makeshift bandanna that gave off the impression of childishness despite his age. The young man was wearing a gray long-sleeved shirt marked with patches and a pair of black pants torn at the hem. He had bright and curiously pale-looking eyes, as if they had faded away from wear, like dye on cloth. Chell could not tell what their base color was supposed to be. 

A confident and mischievous grin was plastered on his face, permanently suggesting that he was scheming something.

"Oh? Is that the great Worick the witch hunter I see!?" the scarfed stranger cried in delight, almost happily skipping towards them. "I'm such a huge admirer! Actually, my sister here—," he slung an arm around Chell who jolted in surprise by the sudden physical contact, "—is also one too, you know!"

Chell blinked in confusion. She looked at him, trying to pry herself away from his grasp. The young man ignored this and continued grinning at the witch hunter, not meeting her eyes.

"Ah, if possible... could we touch your famed hammer?"

It was only in the next moment later when she finally realized what was happening. Chell would never have believed it herself if it were not for the fact that the scene was unfolding clearly before her, vivid as day.

The stranger was, for some kind of unexplainable reason, actually trying to help her.

The witch hunter narrowed his eyes at him, his gaze switching from the grinning young man to Chell's expressionless face, brows slightly furrowed as if deep in thought. Then, a second later, he decided that they weren't worth his time and looked away, ignoring the young man's remark. He turned back and started striding towards his original direction like nothing had happened. His lackey, who had patiently waited for him with a meek expression, allowed Worick to walk a few steps before looking crossly at both of them.

"It's an axe, boy," he said before continuing once again on his shouts to clear the path.

Chell and the young man looked at the hunter's back as he slowly faded away. Most of the crowd followed him like moths to a flame, while the others went back to what they had been doing before. Neither moved at all until they were certain the hunter was safely out of sight.

After a few silent moments between them, Chell realized that the young man's arm was still around her shoulder. She immediately moved away from him, escaping from his hold.

"My name... is not Elise," she said this first and foremost, immediately turning wary of him. "And... I don't know you."

The young man's wide grin quickly disappeared and he tilted his head to one side, raising an eyebrow. 

"Eh. Is that the way you treat someone who might have just possibly saved your life?"

Chell didn't respond. She merely looked at him, confused and at a loss for words at the same time. She did not understand why he had done that, why he had decided to help a complete stranger like her.

The young man shrugged, his cheeky grin returning. "Well. No matter! I guess I'll just start with the pleasantries, then, since I am, of course, a decent citizen and gentleman..." He held out a firm hand, simultaneously waving the other.

"The name's Noct, by the way," he introduced himself. "Nice to meet you, little miss."

----> thank you for reading!