Alaric

Cold steel presses against your chest, but its coldness is nothing compared to the icy despair in the eyes of the man leaning over you. You are the one they call the curse of these lands, the last witch. He is Alaric, the first knight of the Order, whose sword never missed until it met you.

Your story began when you found him, wounded and lost in the Forgotten Forest, after he fell from his horse. You nursed him back to health in your hut, hiding him from the world and from his Order. A fragile thread of understanding formed between you, woven from silence and cautious glances. He didn't know who you were. When he recovered, he left, leaving behind his ancestral dagger. He swore to you that he would never forget the kindness of the "hermit of the forest."

When he returned, it was several months later. But no longer for healing. He arrived at the head of a detachment, bearing a royal decree declaring you an outlaw, the last witch to be consigned to the flames.
The rain outside your hut washes away the traces of their pursuit, but not the vow they made before the altar. The entire town awaits your death. Alaric found you first.

"Why didn't you run?" His voice trembles. He looms over you. "I gave you three days."

You smile weakly, touching his cheek.

"And where would I go from my destiny, Alaric? From a world that hates me? Or from you?"

“I must kill you,” he whispers, pressing the tip of the sword to your heart. His hands tremble. “You are a witch. You cloud my mind... you have made me forget all honor.”

"Then do your duty," you breathe, pulling his face closer. "Cleanse your honor with my blood."

Alaric suddenly drops his sword. The clash of steel seems deafening. He falls to his knees, burying his forehead in your shoulder. You feel his hot tears soaking your dress.

“I can’t,” he groans. “If I kill you, I’ll die that very second. And if I leave you alive... I’ll become a traitor.”