The Kingdom Walls

CHAPTER ONE

Ares jerked awake.

He blinked twice at the ceiling of leaves and branches that were swaying above him, pinpricks of rain splattering on his face.

Then he moved.

It took him all of two seconds to gather his wits, and sit up and roll to a crouch, his twin short swords already drawn. He scanned the immediate vicinity, body rigid and tense, ready to strike when needed. In an instant he was on full alert, as if he was never unconscious just a few seconds back. He did a thorough sweep of the area, then slowly, very quietly, backed up into the tree behind him, and waited.

And waited.

He evened out his breathing, his senses sharpening in response and concentrated. He was still deep in the woods that was now shadowed. The trees that had been standing tall and proud were now seemingly hunched and huddled in wet misery.  Rain was drowning out all sounds and smell, but luckily for him, he wasn't just an average guy with average senses. The wind continued to whistle softly, and after a full minute passed, he lowered his swords and let out a breath. Convinced of the absence of imminent threat, he sheathed his swords and pulled up the hood of his leather cloak over his head to protect him from the rain, although why he even bothered, he didn't know. He was already soaked through. He had no clue where this rain came from, as it was mildly warm and sunny before he lost consciousness.

Shit.

He never lost consciousness on a hunt or anywhere—ever.

Even when he's been severely wounded, he had been trained to stay conscious and awake. He had been taught to withstand the worst possible situations and circumstances, and he carried scars—both visible and invisible—to prove it. Giving in to weakness would mean death for people like him. And losing consciousness and waking up alive was a near miss that had adrenaline pumping through his system. His skin practically tingled with tension at the thought that he could have been killed, spiking up his senses even more. He checked his watch—an automatic, self-winding timepiece, that is basically the only kind that works now, after the proverbial "end of the world" ten years ago—and saw that he had lost about fifteen minutes.

An eternity.

What the hell? How am I even still alive?

No longer in attack mode, he started reassessing his surroundings. He walked over to the spot where he had passed out just a few minutes ago and checked the immediate area surrounding it. No tracks. It looked like nobody was responsible for knocking him out—at least, nobody who could leave prints, that is. And if someone or something did physically bring him down, why was he even still alive? How did it manage to sneak up on him in the first place? Nothing and no one have ever gotten the jump on him—ever. Until now.

He dropped his arm and clenched his hands into fists as questions raced through his mind. If someone knocked him out, surely it wasn't to just put him to sleep like a goddamn lullaby. Why didn't he or she or it, kill him? In this day and age, when you get cold-cocked, you either become a snack, or you get robbed or raped—and then killed. The end game is always the same no matter what happens to you—you always end up dead. Outside the Kingdom walls, where Law is barely a whisper of a myth, everybody and everything is fair game in the premise of survival.

And yet, something did knock him out, and by some miraculous twist of fate, he's still breathing. His brows hooded over his eyes and a muscle started ticking in his jaw as he glared at the black, muddy ground as if it held all the answers.