--All he saw was red, as sunlight burned on his closed eyelids. Must have been morning. Zarak was relaxed and didn’t want to get up, so he pulled a pillow over his face. His head was still stuck in a dream, and he had the feeling of not having a care in the world... A feeling only a child could have. He was desperately trying to cling to it, but it was slipping away sure as the sun rose. Burdened by the light, his eyes opened and, as they adjusted to the sun's glare, he found the uncouth face of a murderer staring right back at him, in the mirror across the room. It's been a long time since he had to cast away infantile innocence and get his hands dirty. This was who he was now.

--He had to get on his way, there was a pest he had to exterminate. Or be killed by. His clothes were torn by sword, tooth and arrow, and he was missing a boot. Obviously, his first stop would be a tailor, if this cruddy town's got one. If you're gonna die, might as well do it in style. On his way out, his bare foot stepped on something made of paper. He picked it up. It was a finely scented envelope, enclosing a letter written in careful, feminine, cursive font.

"To Zarak:

--My father's older friends came to court me many times, with fancy swords strapped to their waists. None of them looked the part of a man who would draw his blade and soak it in blood. They were all boorish peacocks that ran their mouths off, and flattered themselves to no end. But not this one. This man... The sheer brutality of this man's stare shook me to the core. That is what I first thought of you as I saw your burning eyes. After a while though, I could see that you were an actual human being. One who seems to have hardened like granite? Perhaps due to events in one's life over which one has no control. Events that shape us and scar us for a lifetime, leaving only pain. If I do dare assume so much about a stranger.

--Please excuse the frank tone of this letter, but I am unable to vacate my thoughts of your presence, ever since you so heroically risked yourself to ensure my safety. I long to chip off this granite skin and learn more about the boy hiding beneath it..."

--A crooked smile painted Zarak's face as he read on. The letter was signed by Jim's spoiled brat, Sophie. Line after line of deluded, juvenile infatuation, in a surprisingly eloquent tone. Girls’ hearts were a bit strange that way. They'd pick out one dirtbag from the crowd, and set him apart from the rest. It didn't matter that they were all the same. The girl would make up the most fantastical excuses for their horrible persona. Excuses about how it's just a mask to hide from the cruel world, and this guy's really a kind and loving being of benevolence and beauty on the inside. Zarak didn't know whether to be glad or disappointed. Most people are so alike on the inside that it's just vexing. If life didn’t feel so trivial to him, perhaps he would've cherished it more. His years numbered only 19, yet the things he experienced had instilled him with a rather cynical mind, leaving the impression of an older, bitter person.

--Anyway, there was a boot out there for him to find, so he wandered off into town. A short search later, he had brand new clothes, a borrowed set of armour, a coil of rope around his torso, some torches, and cloth wrapped around his left arm; for his "special trick". He even got his sword sharpened by the nice blacksmith who borrowed him the armour he was wearing. The aforementioned blacksmith was a venerable veteran, so the armour was a relic he had been keeping from the last Fanelian war. Still, better than nothing. Even if the old blacksmith made anything but horse shoes, Zarak couldn't afford it anyway. So yeah, borrowed and war-torn armour was just fine.

--He suppressed musings such as "will I die today" from his thoughts as he walked out of town and ventured deep into the abandoned mines, with only his torch to light the way. A few hours in, strange surprises piled up. For one thing, there was no blood. Not even a drop. No tattered remains. No severed limbs. Not even a spare liver. Whatever attacked these miners was thorough. The only tell of human presence in the shafts was some mining gear scattered here and there. The eerie silence was broken by the faint sound of a draft, howling trough the tunnels. The would-be spider hunter followed it until he discovered a passage that lead into a massive cave. Standing at the edge of it, he held onto the wooden beams supporting the mining shaft and leaned over the abyss to look around.

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-Thank you for reading. Next update will be on Wednesday.

(Edit: Updated images)