The hunt pressed on, deeper into the forest with each passing hour. Mavie led the way, her blade ever at the ready. The woods here grew more twisted and wild — thorns thick as ropes, shadows darker than night.
The knights worked tirelessly, setting traps along known paths and laying bait to draw out both beast and man. They felled small game to feed their company — rabbits, birds, even wild boar — for days now they'd survived on what the forest gave. The weight of their task hung heavy.
Yet the forest was no friend. Creatures unseen stirred in the gloom, and when they struck — it was sudden and brutal. A horde of wolf-like beasts ambushed their camp one eve. Fangs flashed, claws tore. Blades rang out.
When the fight ended, blood stained the earth.
Thirteen good knights lay still.
Mavie stood among the fallen, jaw clenched.
Mavie's thought: "Damn it… we've lost too many. But the mission must go on."
Then, one morning, just as dawn broke — a shout rang out.
Knight: "The thief — spotted! North trail!"
Mavie's eyes burned with new fire. The chase began. The thief, cloaked and nimble, darted through the woods like smoke.
Mavie: "Keep the camp here. Tend the wounded. I shall pursue alone."
The knights hesitated.
Knight: "My lady — alone? You've not slept in days—"
Mavie: "I care not. This ends now."
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Day One — Midday
The sun hung high, spears of gold piercing the treetops. Alone, Mavie crouched at her small camp — no fire, no warmth, only the cold determination in her veins.
She gnawed at dried meat, her eyes ever watching the forest around her. The tracks were near — fresh — too close to stop for long.
A faint rustle. A glimmer of movement through the brush. Her breath caught.
There. A figure — cloaked, nimble — the thief! Without thought, Mavie rose and gave chase, her blade secured at her hip. No cry, no words — only the silent pursuit of a predator.
Mavie's thought: "I've caught thy scent now… run whilst thou can."
Day Two — Morning to Nightfall
The forest grew thick with fog; branches gnarled and old clawed at her arms. Mavie pressed forward, her steps sure though her body wearied. Her eyes burned with sleeplessness, limbs heavy from the ceaseless chase.
Yet the thief's trail remained clear — bootprints in mud, broken branches, drops of sweat on leaves. He could not hide from her sharp gaze.
From dawn to dusk, she followed him — no pause, no food save what she grabbed in passing. Even the birds grew silent at her passing.
Mavie: muttering Damn thee, knave… dost thou flee on wings?"
Yet still, she pressed on. The hunt was hers.
Day Three — Evening
The ruins lay shrouded in twilight, ancient stones crumbling beneath creeping moss. The thief staggered through the shadows, breath shallow, heart racing.
He pressed his back to a wall, gasping.
Thief: panting "Three days… no rest… how doth she yet follow me?"
His legs trembled, ready to give. Sweat stung his eyes.
Then — soft steps. Calm. Measured.
A shiver crawled his spine. He turned — and there she stood, framed by the ruin's archway, her gaze sharp as tempered steel. Exhausted, bloodied, but unbroken.
Mavie: "Hast thou run thy last, cur?"
Her voice was low, cold — death given form.
The thief's mouth went dry.
Thief: weak whisper "No… not her… again…"
The thief stumbled through the dense forest, chest heaving, boots sinking into the wet soil. Above, dark clouds swirled — and soon, heavy rain poured down, soaking the earth and drenching them both.
Thief: panting "Damn… damn… she's still after me…!"
Branches slapped at his face as he pushed through thickets, desperate to escape. But the sound behind him never faded — slow, steady — a blade scraping along the ground, cutting into the mud and stone.
Mavie was still coming.
Through the downpour, he risked a glance back. There she was — soaked to the bone, hair clinging to her face, her sword dragging behind her with a low, grating sound. Her gaze locked on him, sharp and unyielding, as cold as the rain. She did not rush — no need.
Thief's thought: panicking "How… how doth she not tire? I can run no longer…"
His legs gave way beneath him. With a groan, he collapsed onto the muddy ground, rolling onto his back.
Through blurred vision, he saw her figure drawing closer… step by step. Her eyes gleamed like a hunting tiger's — fierce, patient, certain of her prey.
The thief stumbled back, breath ragged, limbs trembling. His foot caught a root — he fell, scrambling now, crawling desperately through the mud.
But before he could gain another inch, a boot pinned him down — hard.
Mavie stood above him, her heel pressing the thief's head into the wet earth. Rain streamed around them, the forest dark and heavy with the coming night. Her long black hair, soaked and wild, framed a cold, unyielding face. In the shadows, her eyes glowed faintly — a deep, unnatural purple beneath her silver armor.
The thief's eyes widened in terror.
Thief: "P-please… spare me…! I—I have a family to feed…!"
Mavie's voice cut through the rain, cold as steel:
Mavie: "If thou truly cared for thy kin… thou should not have stolen what was not thine. Now, thou hast brought this fate upon thyself, thief."
Thief: "I—!!"
Before another word could spill forth, Mavie drove her blade into the ground beside his head — the steel biting deep into the mud, so close it nearly grazed his nose. The thief froze, wide-eyed, as though a cornered deer beneath the gaze of a lion.
Mavie: "Thy time of running is ended. Thou shalt face the justice thou hast earned… I tire of this folly." Groans..
Through the heavy rain and shifting mist, the sound of hurried footsteps approached. One of Mavie's knights soon broke through the thicket, soaked to the bone, eyes wide with relief.
Knight: "Lady Mavie! By the gods—thou art alive! We have searched these woods for thee…"
He trailed off as his gaze fell upon the scene before him: Mavie, standing tall and cold, her boot firmly pressed upon the thief's head, pinning him into the soaked earth. The glint of her blade still trembled in the mud beside them.
The knight swallowed hard, eyes flicking between the subdued thief and his commander.
Knight: "The thief… thou hast found him…"
Mavie's gaze did not waver. Her voice was as cold as the rain falling around them.
Mavie: "Aye… the chase is over. Ready thy ropes — this cur shall be brought before His Majesty."
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By dawn, the storm had passed. Through the mist, Mavie and her knights rode into the kingdom — weary, mud-streaked.
Behind them, bound and slumped in a cart, the thief hung his head in defeat.
Guard: "The thief… returned?"
Knight: "Aye. Lady Mavie herself brought him in. Send word to His Majesty."
News spread swiftly. Townsfolk whispered:
"She caught him alone... for days?"
"That's the one who stole the crown!"
Mavie dismounted, voice steady despite her weariness:
"Take him to the dungeons. The king shall pass judgment."
With that, the thief was hauled away — and Mavie's task, for now, was done.
The castle gates creaked open as Mavie and her weary knights returned at dawn. The thief, bound tightly with thick rope, stumbled behind them — face pale, soaked in mud, and defeated.
In the grand hall, Theron awaited their report.
Mavie knelt briefly, her voice steady:
"Your Majesty, the thief hath been captured. He lies now within the dungeon, awaiting thy judgment."
Theron gave a grave nod. "Very well. Let it be known — justice shall be served."
No trial was needed. The law was clear — theft of the crown was treason. Word spread swift throughout the kingdom. By midday, the square filled with curious and fearful townsfolk. Guards lined the scaffold. The executioner stood ready, great axe in hand.
The thief, trembling, was dragged before the crowd. Amongst the gathering, a woman wept bitterly, clutching two young children. They watched in horror, unaware 'til now that their father was the one condemned.
The herald's voice rang clear:
"For crimes against the Crown — theft most foul — this man shall pay with his life!"
No mercy was shown. Moments later, the axe fell. The crowd murmured, some gasped, others turned away. Justice, by the old laws, was done.
"I thought this kingdom was meant to be more peaceful than the others…" one voice whispered from the crowd.
"Aye… yet he deserved it all the same," another muttered.
"Poor children… must be a terror for them, watching their own father lose his head before their eyes…"
Mavie stood at the edge of the scaffold, gaze fixed. She watched in silence as the executioner gripped the lifeless head and set it into the blood-stained basket. Her jaw tightened. She bit her lower lip, fists clenched at her sides.
Her heart weighed heavy, though her face remained cold. Eyes cast downward, she murmured only in her mind— "So be it... justice or no… this leaves a bitter taste.."