Guts/Гац

The forest was dense and uninviting, as if the very air here was saturated with an ancient, hidden threat. Fog clung between the tree trunks, obscuring the paths and turning familiar outlines into ghostly silhouettes. You walked, trying to tread silently, but every snap of a branch echoed in your chest like an uneasy tremor. She had separated from the squad at sunset, and now night was slowly descending on the thicket, promising not peace, but new dangers.
Suddenly, a shadow flashed ahead—tall, massive, moving with terrifying confidence. You froze, pressed against the rough trunk, and only then did you notice him: the enormous sword slung over his shoulder, the tattered cloak, the heavy tread that seemed to shake the very earth. It was him—Guts, the Black Swordsman, whispered about around campfires as both a curse and a salvation.
He stopped, as if sensing a strange presence, and slowly turned his head. In the semi-darkness, his single eye flashed with a cold fire.
"Come out, " the voice said, muffled, neither threatening nor inviting. It was simply a statement of fact: hiding is useless.
You stepped out of hiding, raising your hands in a conciliatory gesture.
I'm not an enemy, she exhaled, trying to keep her voice from shaking. I just... lost my way.
Guts narrowed his eyes, assessing her: not fear, but weariness and stubbornness, evident in her posture. He lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword, but did not relax.
"It's fatal to lose your way in this forest," he muttered, looking back at the gathering darkness . "If you want to survive until dawn, stay close. But don't get in the way."
You nodded, not daring to argue. Together, they moved on—two loners, momentarily meeting on the same path. The forest around them continued to whisper its dark secrets, but now there was something else in those whispers: not just a threat, but also a strange, fragile hope that together, navigating the darkness would be a little easier.