The initial piece of information Millie learned about Peter's band was their true names—not stage names or aliases, but the resonant echoes of their former lives. There was Ethan, sharp as a thorn and twice as quick. Sarah, with hands that could heal a cut or pick a lock with equal skill. Will, the quiet one, tracked their prey in the forest as if reading a whispered tale. Little Tess, all fiery determination beneath her tangle of ginger hair. And the rest—Ben, Anya, and Tom, each with eyes th

In the forest, a peculiar harmony of hope emerged, contrasting the former desolation. The children, who once carried the weight of a shattered world in their eyes, now exhibited a newfound determination. Their movements were purposeful, and their laughter, though still infrequent, transformed from startled gasps into defiant affirmations of joy, reclaiming fragments of happiness.Underneath Peter's impish grin, a conflicting blend of pride and anxiety arose. The "Millie effect," as he termed it, was a stunning contrast to the dreary surroundings. Her sparring sessions with Ethan, now her equal rather than her student, were remarkable. The quiet moments she dedicated to teaching Sarah how to make salves from forest herbs mirrored her ability to coax a smile from a lonely patron back in the Red District.Seeking to diminish the distance and break down the barrier

In the symphony of danger that was Millie's journey, the forest, once an uneasy ally, had turned into a treacherous landscape seething with hidden threats.Rumours from the Black Market whispered of a new type of hunter: shadows wearing tarnished badges of greed, not rust. They were after the bounty placed on her head—the Wolf Slayer, the fugitive of the Red District, branded as a pawn in the twisted game of the Grim Society.In the shadows of a corrupt realm, her hunters stealthily lurked—not warriors of noble battles but veterans of the grimy back alleys. Every snapped twig, artfully concealed bloodstain, and trap tailored for a human quarry testified to their meticulousness.Millie's life-honed instincts were her sole defense against the sleep darts that almost grazed her ears and the hidden throwing

A heartbeat of silence stretched between them, the fading crackle of the dying fire echoing the thrum of Millie's pulse in her ears. Peter sat across from her, his gaze fixed on the embers, where orange flickered and faded, a mirror of his own tumultuous soul."Me?" A self-deprecating laugh rumbled in his throat. "The piper with the broken melody and the heart full of holes? I've made my fair share of mistakes, Millie. Trusted the wrong smiles, chased the wrong promises." A flicker of something dark—a remembered pain—passed through his eyes. "Betrayal…That's a wound that cuts deep and leaves you...hollow inside."The confession wasn't pity, but a laying bare of his own scars. He was no saviour, no knight in shining armour. Just a man, like her, battered by the storm, yet clinging to some defiant fragment of hope.Before the corrupt-hearted King Zagan ascended to the throne and tightened his iron grip on the cities, Peter revealed to Millie that he hailed from the kingdom of Hamelin. Re

The silence between them was suffocating. It stretched on, broken only by the faint crackling of the fire that flickered weakly, its embers slowly dying as if in sync with the fading warmth of the evening. The forest beyond their small circle of firelight stood still, an audience to the storm brewing between them. The trees, tall and ancient, loomed like silent sentinels, their branches dripping with rain, heavy and slick. The air was damp, cool, and filled with the scent of wet earth and moss. Shadows danced and twisted in the dim light, and the occasional gust of wind sent the dying flames flickering in defiance.Peter’s chest tightened, his breath shallow as he watched Millie absorb the weight of his confession. He had expected many things—anger, disbelief, maybe even derision—but what came was far worse. A quiet, impenetrable stillness took root in her gaze. The light from the fire danced across her face, casting shadows beneath her eyes, sharpening the lines of exhaustion etched d