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       The sky wept in earnest now, the steady drizzle quickly growing into a relentless downpour. Water dripped from the branches above, soaking into the earth, turning the scattered leaves into a damp, clinging mess beneath his boots.

      But Baldwin did not stop.

      His lantern barely cut through the darkness now, but he pressed forward, his every step driven by an unrelenting force. He ignored the rain as it bled through his cloak, as it ran down his skin, chilling him to the bone.

       Somewhere—farther, deeper—she was waiting.

       And then, faintly—

       A sound.

       So soft it could have been mistaken for the whispering wind.

       A sob.

       His breath caught.

       He turned sharply, his eyes searching through the haze of rain and shadows, his ears straining for any sign of movement.

       Then—another sob. Weak. Frightened. Fading.

       His heart lurched.

       Baldwin moved, pushing past the undergrowth, heedless of the branches that clawed at his armor. The sound grew clearer, leading him toward a small clearing where the earth dipped into an unnatural hollow, hidden beneath fallen branches and wet leaves.

       And there—

       A figure.

       Small and fragile, Hyacintha was curled at the bottom of the pit, her form trembling violently, her skin far too pale under the glow of the lantern’s flickering light. Her arm lay at an awkward angle, her other hand weakly grasping at the earth as if she had tried—tried so hard—to climb her way out.

       Baldwin’s breath caught as he peered over the jagged edge of the pit, his lantern’s glow flickering down into the abyss. The sight that met his eyes sent a sharp, unrelenting bolt of dread through his chest.

       Hyacintha lay motionless at the bottom, her small form curled against the damp earth, her basket overturned beside her, its contents strewn carelessly across the ground. Her dress, once vibrant, was darkened with mud, her hair tangled and clinging to her pale face.

       For a moment, his pulse roared in his ears, drowning out everything else—the pounding rain, the rustling leaves, even his own breath. But then his body moved before his mind could process, his voice tearing through the storm.

       “Hyacintha!”

       There was no response. No movement.

       The silence shattered something in him.

       His jaw tightened as he flung the lantern aside, its light still casting eerie shadows upon the forest floor. Without hesitation, he knelt and reached for the dagger at his belt, swiftly cutting away at the thick vines that clung to the nearby trees. His hands worked with urgency, tying the strongest ones together, securing them against a sturdy root before testing its strength. Satisfied, he wrapped the makeshift rope around his forearm and began his descent.

       The rain slicked the surface of the pit, making his grip treacherous, but he did not falter. Every muscle in his body burned with tension, his movements calculated, his focus unwavering. He would not fail her.

       When his boots finally met the damp earth, he did not pause to catch his breath. He was at her side in an instant, his gloved hands reaching for her with an urgency he could not contain.