The caravan pounded down the vagabond-forged path in a thunder of hooves, riding purposefully toward the lush mountainside ahead.

Prince Seokjin, the king’s third son, rode in glistening armor at the head of the convoy. As the site of the tomb build came into view, his horse, a velvety fog-grey, began to whinny and buck out of formation. The young prince swore under his breath as the calvary behind him came to a stop, reaching out a strong hand to calm the spooked horse.

The guard to his left circles around and takes off his helmet, wiping the sweat from his brow. The two men exchanged a look. While the prince’s eyes were large and clear, the guard’s were narrowed and dark.

“I was raised in the village down the valley,” The guard mentioned after adjusting his helmet back over his head. His lips formed a grim line as he considered his next words. “The elders always warned against spirits in the mountain, we never dared go past the treeline.”

“These are auspicious lands, that is why the King selected this mountain for the tomb of the late King.” The prince corrected in a strong voice, his eyes trained on the tree tops ahead. “The spirits were most likely bands of outlaws seeking refuge in the trees.”

Nothing more was said as the caravan rolled to the construction site and made camp. The sun had barely set before news of a raid on the tomb.

The prince rode out with his trusted guard and a handful of men.

Through the smoke and fire, Seokjin could make out the shapes of figures in the branches. The so-called bandits maneuvered along the smoke and darkness, their arrows singing through the trees.

It became increasingly clear to the prince that he had underestimated the force of the men in the trees. Their faces were painted a rust-red and they wore pelts of fur. They jumped along the trees as if they were flying. They were not a disorganized group of vagrants, they were a cautious and well-maneuvered militia.

Seokjin watched as the figures moved through the darkness, almost invisible. His brow furrowed in concentration as he fired his crossbow, a carefully trained arrow piercing into the bark of a tree as its intended target swiftly dodged its lethal bite.

Just as the prince was about to signal a return to camp, one of the bandits fell to the ground. He turned to see his guard’s face contort in barely concealed glee as the bandit lay on the ground, arrow pierced through his heart.

“Good, Taehyung.” Seokjin praised without much thought, his lips curling into a smile.

His smile turned to confusion as the bandits began to fall back into the trees.

“They’re retreating.” Taehyung murmured in amazement, his body tensed like a coil ready to spring into action.

“Take the body back to camp.” The prince ordered, circling back on his horse. There was no time to celebrate, he had a feeling their victory was not much of a victory at all. Especially when they had lost so many men just to see one bandit fall.

. . .

Taehyung and another guard lifted the body onto a table in the tent.

Seokjin stood to the side as he watched, the golden pin in his hair gleaming in the candlelight. Moving forward once his guard had signaled, he inspected the body. It was a young man, not much younger than himself nor much older than Taehyung.

Wiping his fingers across the young man’s death-stilled face, the prince stepped back.

“This is blood.” He announced in a contained horror. “Their faces were painted with blood.”

Taehyung joined him, leaning against the table. He took an arrow from a holster at the body’s side, twirling it in his fingers. His cat-like eyes narrowed in thought.

“I’ve seen arrows like these before. When I was a child, there was a hunter who used this strange twisted arrowhead.”

Seokjin looked up, wiping the blood from his hand.

“From your village?”

“No, he was an outsider. He would protect the village from tigers.”

Taehyung let the arrow clatter onto the table, standing stock still as a sudden commotion erupted from outside the tent. Seokjin followed behind as the younger man moved to peek outside the tent door.

“What’s going on?” Taehyung asked the soldier outside the tent, his voice colored in concern.

“We’re under attack.” The soldier answered, but the scent of smoke had already answered the royal guard’s question.

Taehyung flashed the prince an uneasy glance as he reached for the sword at his hip.

“Your Highness, stay in the tent. I’ll guard from outside.”

“How could I?” Seokjin asked with a frown, stepping forward insistently. “I’ll follow you.”

Taehyung blocked the prince’s body with his own.

“Forgive me, My Lord.” The royal guard replied sternly, his youthful face turned face in the fire’s light. “Stay here, and wait. I will be back.”

The prince stepped back in frustration, letting out a light growl as he cast a glare toward the opening of the tent. He listened intently as the cacophony of clattering metal and strained voices rang outside like a violent symphony.

Through the clamor of battle, a heavy thump could be heard landing on the roof. His hand instantly reached for the hilt of his sword.

And, in an instant, a smoke bomb was released.

The prince let out a cough, desperately pulling at the collar of his robe to shield his nose. He advanced with his sword at the ready, taking careful steps toward the tent’s opening. He became completely still, taking in his surroundings.

He turned sharply at the ripping of canvas, smoke released from the tent. As the air cleared, he realized that the body was no longer on the table.

His armor clanked as he followed after the intruder, ducking through the newly created opening in the tent. His fog-grey horse had been stolen, so he jumped onto the back of Taehyung’s horse in chase.

The cloaked intruder turned, shooting an arrow toward him. He rode on, eyes narrowing as he pursued the figure into the forest.

A second arrow pierced the horse beneath him, and Seokjin fell to the ground with a pained grunt. The cloaked figure, and his horse, disappeared into the thicket.

Seokjin turned his head to see the military camp burning behind him. He picked himself up slowly, beginning to advance back toward camp. He stilled as a sound, which he slowly recognized as the snapping of twigs, caught his attention.

His heart sank as a low growl resounded from the darkness.

Yellow eyes flickered through the treeline.

And then, a white flash of the beast’s snarling teeth.

Seokjin stepped back slowly, nearly falling over himself. He steadied his breath, carefully unsheathing his sword.

The tiger, now in full view, turned its attention away from the prince and toward the advance clop of a horse’s hooves. Dismounting from the fog-grey horse, the cloaked figure approached.

With bated breath, Seokjin watched as the tiger took a measured step back, he assumed, to pounce.

Instead, the tiger lowered its front legs to the ground, bowing its head. The figure removed its cloak, revealing ivory skin that glowed in the moonlight. The prince sat back in awe as the figure, now unveiled to be a girl, moved toward the tiger with an inhuman grace.

Even under the thick streak of blood across her face she was exceptionally beautiful. She had large emotive eyes and lips as delicately curved as a hunter’s bow.

The girl reached out a tiny hand, placing it on the tiger’s brow. Seokjin’s mouth opened into an inaudible gasp as the tiger raised its head. He expected the worst, but was somehow unable to look away from the scene unfolding in front of him.

To the prince’s surprise, the beast nuzzles itself against the girl’s cheek for a brief moment before letting out a short chuff and retreating back into the dark.

“Who are you?” Seokjin managed to speak after being stunned into silence.

The girl turned her gaze on him, her features artfully balanced with both a fury and a serenity unlike anything he had ever seen. Her eyes reminded him of the time he’d gone to the coast with his mother: as lovely as the sparkling sea, but as unrelenting as the crashing tide.

While he’d allowed himself to be trapped in her stare, he found that he’d been surrounded by the troop of bandits. He grew disoriented as he watched the figures appear through the dense forest. Seokjin once again caught the gaze of the girl as she crouched beside him.

And then, everything went black.

. . .

He awoke to the sound of running water.

The air that filled his lungs was damp and fresh, almost sweet. He looked around, taking note of the cave walls glittering with raw amethyst. A fountain, the source of the running water, stood proudly in the center of the floor. Fragrant vines hung from the ceiling and dripped down the walls.

It looked nothing like his own gilded chambers, filled with silks and jade. But he recognized the cave for what it was: a palace.

A sharp pain caused him to fall back onto the bed with a hiss. As if by cue, the girl appeared, her cloak abandoned to reveal a dark green tunic. Her black hair fell down her back in a long braid, endearingly decorated with stray foliage she must have picked up running through the forest.

She was at once wild and lovely.

“Why have you brought me here?” The prince asked, but she again ignored him. “Why not imprison me? Kill me?”

The girl silently filled a cup from the fountain, carrying it to him. She brought the cup to his lips and he watched her in confusion before drinking. The cool water dripped down his chin. He attempted to wipe the liquid away, but the pain at his side became unbearable once again.

Her small hands reached toward his chest, his eyes following her every moment. He struggled against her as she began to unfasten his armor, before gradually relaxing into her touch.

He tensed as she took a small dagger from her tunic, clenching his teeth as she slashed through his thick robes. Her deft fingers uncovered the source of his pain: a broken arrow shaft had lodged into his side.

The girl pursed her lips in thought, before bringing the dagger to his lips. She mimed a biting-down motion for him, her teeth clacking together cutely. He let out a grim laugh as he allowed her to place the dagger in his mouth. As he bit down, he knew exactly where this was going.

She stepped away to once more fill the cup with the freshwater. She dug her fingers into his wound, pulling out the fragmented arrow as he let out a muffled scream in agony. With the cup, she flushed the wound before packing it with a strange and aromatic moss. He felt a cooling sensation rush across his skin, before everything once again went black.

When he woke once more, he had been stripped down to his under-robe. An indescribable, but pleasant feeling filled his body.

The girl sat in front of a basin, not paying him any mind as she washed the blood from her skin.

“Who are you?” He insisted, watchi