The path wound through meadows and forests, following the stream as it climbed toward its mountain source. Birds sang. Sunlight filtered through leaves in golden shafts.
And somewhere—always somewhere—Robin felt eyes watching.
Three sharp notes, deliberate and clear.
A warning? A signal?
He rounded a bend—and stopped.
He heard something. Soft. Almost lost in the sound of the stream. Crying.
A young woman sat on a boulder, her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking.
The woman’s head snapped up. Maybe twenty-eight, dressed in rough wool—the kind the land provided to anyone unprepared. A worn leather belt cinched at her waist, and a light cloak lay crumpled beside her pack.
But despite the medieval clothing, something felt... off.
Her clothes were too clean. Barely dusty. Her hands weren’t torn up or bleeding. She looked exhausted and frustrated, but not beaten. Not like someone who’d spent the night in the wilderness fighting for survival.
Robin had spent last night making fire for four hours with hands that screamed in pain. He’d nearly frozen. Nearly been killed by hunters.
And this woman looked like she’d taken a pleasant afternoon hike.
Something’s wrong here. She’s too clean. Too... intact.She blinked at that, as if the words meant something she couldn’t quite place.
She tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob.
She broke off, looking away.
Robin froze.
Around the mountain?And suddenly, pieces clicked together like a puzzle snapping into place.
Grayson. The man who’d offered him food and safety. The man who’d warned about the hunter. The man who’d said: “I keep a rowboat at the lake for travelers. Helps them cross faster. You could be at the Iron Gate in a few hours.”
A boat. A lake. A path AROUND instead of up.Robin’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying Ariana with new awareness.
Robin’s chest tightened.
So she’d met him too. Taken his offer. The offer Robin had refused.
And now she was here—clean, rested, barely winded—while Robin had bled and frozen and nearly died earning every step.
And then a thought struck him: had Grayson’s plan really worked?
She was HERE. On the mountain path. Heading UP. If Grayson’s job was to redirect travelers away from the summit—toward Haven’s Rest, toward the Iron Gate Inn, toward comfortable surrender—then why was Ariana climbing instead of sitting by a warm fire eating venison stew?Something didn’t add up.
Unless she wasn’t a traveler at all.Robin pushed the thought aside—too paranoid, too suspicious. She seemed genuine enough. Frustrated, exhausted, lost. Just like he’d been.
But he couldn’t shake the feeling.
Relief at meeting another person. She was not disagreeable, but Robin felt no real connection between them.
But Robin didn’t quite trust the smile he gave her.
Recognition flashed across her face—immediate and unmistakable.
She paused, looking around at the wilderness surrounding them. Her shoulders slumped.
Robin understood that exhaustion. He’d felt it after forty business failures. The desperate desire for something steady. Something that didn’t require constant effort and risk.
But Time Freedom wasn’t about certainty. It was about choosing your uncertainty. Building something that scared you because it was yours.
Ariana’s expression hardened.
Robin didn’t argue.
But he noticed she kept following him anyway.
They walked in silence for a moment. Then Robin said quietly, almost casually:
Ariana glanced at him sharply.
She was quiet for a moment. Then she shrugged.
Robin said nothing.
But he filed it away, and he kept one eye on her as they walked.
Just in case.
They walked in silence after that. Long enough that Robin almost believed she’d dropped the subject entirely.
The afternoon sun slanted through the trees, casting long shadows. The feeling of being watched grew stronger with every step.
Robin kept glancing over his shoulder. Listening. The forest had gone too quiet. No birds singing. No wind through branches. Just... waiting.
Robin almost laughed.
Robin tried a different approach.
Ariana was quiet for a moment. Then, almost to herself:
Robin didn’t say anything to that. But he understood it completely.
She kept following.
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The sun was descending toward the peaks when Robin heard rustling in the undergrowth. Not wind. Something deliberate. Moving parallel to them.
Robin stopped walking. His instincts were screaming.
Something’s wrong.They stood in silence for a long moment.
Then Robin saw him—a figure stepping onto the path behind them. Not far. Maybe fifty yards.
A man. Tall, lean, clad in black boiled leather that fit him like a second skin—segmented plates across the torso, riveted at the seams with dull iron. Leather vambraces covered his forearms, and his boots were reinforced with steel caps.
Everything about him screamed hunter.
His face was visible beneath his hood—scarred, weathered, but unmistakably human. Just a man doing a job.
In his hands, he carried a bow with an arrow already nocked.
Robin’s eyes went to the arrows in the hunter’s quiver.
Black-feathered. Dark wood shafts.
Just like the ones that had flown through his camp last night.
Cold spread through Robin’s chest.
The hunter’s expression didn’t change. He didn’t deny it.
A whisper brushed Robin’s mind. That voice of light in his heart, clear and urgent:
Robin’s heart hammered. He had no weapon. And this was a professional hunter who would kill them without hesitation.
What do I do? God, what do I do?Every instinct screamed: Run. You can’t fight him. Just run.
But beneath the panic, something quieter:
The first voice felt like panic—sharp, urgent, crushing. The second felt like... peace. Even in terror, peace.
I know which one is from God.They began walking back down the stream, heads down, seemingly defeated.
Is this the right choice? Am I running away? Or is this wisdom?They rounded a bend. Trees blocked the hunter’s view for just a moment.
Robin grabbed her hand and pulled her off the path, into the thick undergrowth.
They moved as quietly as possible, circling around, trying to get back to the path ahead of where they’d been.
For a moment, Robin thought they’d made it. The hunter, expecting their compliance, hadn’t noticed immediately—
Then branches snapped behind them. Heavy footsteps. Fast.
The hunter had realized.
A voice shouted from somewhere ahead—not the hunter’s voice. Someone else. A woman’s voice.
The first arrow hissed past Robin’s ear and struck a tree trunk with a solid THUNK.
They crashed through underbrush, branches whipping at their faces, thorns tearing at their clothes. Ariana’s breath came in ragged gasps.
Another arrow flew past. Closer this time. So close Robin felt the wind of it.
They ran harder, stumbling over roots, scrambling up a slope—
Suddenly, Robin’s foot caught on a hidden tree root. He tumbled forward, and Ariana fell with him. They rolled down a hillside, bruising and scraping against rocks and branches, unable to stop—
And then Robin saw it.
The hill was falling toward what should have been a ridge, but instead became a cliff. And beyond the cliff—nothing. Just open sky and clouds. The world simply ended, as if someone had sliced the earth away and left only emptiness.
They were rolling straight toward it.
By some miracle, Robin’s hand caught a thick bush. He grabbed Ariana’s wrist with his other hand. They jerked to a stop, hanging on the edge, legs dangling over nothing.
Robin looked down.
Floating islands hung in the distant blue sky far, far below. Massive rock formations with forests and waterfalls, suspended in endless blue space. Beautiful.
And terrifyingly far away.
They scrambled up onto solid ground, shaking, hearts pounding.
We almost died. We almost—Robin’s breath wouldn’t come right. His hands trembled.
Thank you, God. Thank you..png)
The hunter’s footsteps could be heard moving through the forest—more cautious now, searching for where they’d gone. He’d lost their trail temporarily in the chaos.
Bruised, bleeding, but alive, Robin and Ariana helped each other up. Their legs ached. Their ankles throbbed.
Ariana nodded, looking away from the cliff quickly. She couldn’t bear to look at the drop.
The voice again—feminine, urgent.
Ahead, maybe a hundred yards up the path, Robin saw movement. A figure in a hooded cloak, waving frantically.
For a terrified moment, he thought it was another hunter.
But this figure was different. Smaller. The cloak was blue—deep velvety blue that shimmered in the filtered light like water catching sun. Not black leather. Not threatening.
The figure waved again.
Robin didn’t hesitate. They ran toward the mysterious figure.
They followed—what choice did they have? The hunter was somewhere behind them, and this mysterious person was offering a path forward.
The hooded figure led them through thick forest, around boulders, over a narrow stream. Robin’s ankle throbbed. Ariana limped badly. But they kept moving.
And then—through the trees—Robin saw them.
Stone ruins. Ancient walls rising from the earth.
As she turned, her velvety blue cloak swung open for just a moment, and Robin caught a flash of light at her throat—a small pendant that glowed faintly, like crystal catching sunlight.
Then she melted into the forest, disappearing as suddenly as she’d appeared.
Robin and Ariana burst from the treeline into a clearing, their lungs burning. Ruins stood ahead—massive stone archways half-collapsed but still standing, flanked by two gnarled ancient trees.
They sprinted across the open ground. Fifty yards. Forty. Thirty.
Behind them, the hunter emerged from the forest edge. He was far back—maybe a hundred yards—but he saw them. Saw where they were heading.
He didn’t hesitate. Drew his bow. Aimed.
The arrow hissed through the air and struck one of the gnarled trees, embedding deep in the ancient wood. Six inches from where Ariana’s head had been.
They scrambled the last twenty yards on hands and knees, half-running, half-crawling, and dove through the archway into the ruins.
Inside, they pressed against the crumbling stone wall, gasping, bleeding, shaking.
For a long moment, silence.
Then footsteps. Slow. Deliberate. Boots on grass.
Robin risked a glance around the edge of the archway.
The hunter had crossed half the clearing. He walked steadily, bow lowered now, but arrow still nocked. No rush. No concern. His eyes were cold and calculating as he studied the ruins ahead.
He stopped thirty feet from the entrance.
Robin and Ariana didn’t move. Didn’t answer.
They stumbled deeper into the ruins, their footsteps echoing off ancient stone. The place looked abandoned—pillars half-fallen, stones crumbling, vines growing through cracks. But something about it felt... alive. Protected.
At last, they came to a massive hall. Thirty feet high, lined with pillars that rose like stone trees toward a ceiling half-collapsed to open sky. Vines hung from the broken rafters. Moss covered everything.
Robin searched desperately. Doorways led to smaller chambers, but all of them were dead ends—collapsed rooms, blocked passages, nowhere to hide.
Behind them, the hunter’s footsteps echoed through the entrance. Slow. Methodical. He was inside the ruins now.
The hunter’s silhouette appeared in the entrance, backlit by afternoon sun. He paused, scanning the hall, then began moving forward. Cautious now. Aware that this was unfamiliar territory.
Robin and Ariana reached the far end of the hall—just another wall, more collapsed stone, no exit—
And then Robin saw it.
Between two pillars, hidden by shadow and architecture, was an archway. And set within that archway was a door.
Not ancient and crumbling like the rest of the ruins. This door was black wood, polished smooth, reinforced with metal studs shaped like teardrops that caught the filtered light. It looked well-maintained. Out of place.
They ran for it. Twenty feet. Ten.
An arrow hissed past Robin’s ear and struck the wall beside the door, stone chips exploding.
Robin grabbed the iron handle and pulled. The door swung open—heavy, smooth, silent.
They dove through.
Robin slammed it shut behind them, his hands finding a heavy wooden beam that served as a bar. He dropped it into place just as something THUDDED against the other side.
The hunter. Testing the door.
Robin and Ariana backed away, gasping, expecting the door to burst open any second.
But it held.
Silence.
Then, slowly, they turned to see where they were.
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A garden.
Not a ruined garden. Not an overgrown garden.
A garden.
Not a ruined garden. Not an overgrown garden.
A living garden. Vibrant and lush. Roses bloomed in cascading profusion—reds and whites and yellows. Hydrangeas clustered in massive blue and purple spheres. Vines heavy with flowering plants draped over stone walls and ancient statues.
The air smelled of honey and earth and growing things.
Sunlight streamed through the open sky above, warm and golden, completely at odds with the shadowed ruins they’d just fled.
And there, at the garden’s heart, beside a fountain where crystal-clear water flowed, stood a figure.
A woman. But not entirely human. Not entirely spirit. Her form shimmered with light, her body a living tapestry of transparent flower petals that moved like liquid light. Colors shifted across her—rose pink, lavender, pale gold—as if she were woven from the garden itself.
Robin and Ariana froze.
The figure smiled gently.
As if in response, something heavy struck the door from the other side. Once. Twice.
Then silence.
Sophia’s expression remained calm.
She pushed hard on a certain brick and a hidden passage began to open in the garden wall—stones sliding apart without sound, revealing darkness beyond.
Robin and Ariana stumbled forward, legs shaking from exhaustion and fear.
Behind them, a heavy THUD echoed through the garden.
Then another. And another.
The hunter was chopping through the door.
Robin looked back and saw the black wood beginning to splinter. An axe blade punched through, withdrew, struck again. Chips of wood flew. The teardrop-shaped metal studs held for a moment, then one tore free with a screech of metal.
Another section of the door splintered. Robin could see the hunter’s silhouette through the growing hole, see the axe rising and falling with methodical determination.
They hurried through the opening in the wall.
Just as they crossed the threshold, the black door burst inward with a crack like thunder.
The hunter stood framed in the doorway, bow raised, arrow nocked. His hood had fallen back, revealing his scarred face, cold eyes, and an expression of pure determination.
He saw them. Saw Sophia.
He loosed.
The first arrow flew straight at Sophia. It passed through her shimmering form like mist through air, striking the fountain behind her and shattering on stone.
The second arrow—already nocked, drawn, released in one fluid motion—flew at Robin.
Robin saw it coming. Tried to dodge.
Too slow.
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The arrow struck his shoulder with brutal force, punching through leather and skin and muscle. Pain exploded white-hot through his body.
Robin hit the ground hard. Blood. So much blood. His shoulder was on fire.
God. Please. Not like this. Not after everything. Please.His vision blurred. Elena’s face flashed through his mind. Her hazel eyes with those flecks of gold. Her gentle smile. The way she’d believed in him through it all.
What will happen to her? To the kids? They’ll never know what happened to me. I’ll just... disappear. I’m sorry. Elena, I’m so sorry. I tried. I really tried.Ariana screamed—raw, terrified, her voice breaking.
Sophia moved faster than they could react. She grabbed both of them—one hand on Robin’s good arm, one on Ariana’s wrist—and pulled them through the passage.
The wall sealed behind them with a grinding of stone on stone.
The hunter’s third arrow struck the closing wall and clattered harmlessly to the garden floor.
And then—silence.
Complete. Absolute.
They were in darkness. Robin could hear his own ragged breathing, could feel blood running hot down his chest, could taste copper in his mouth from biting his tongue.
She turned toward the darkness of the passage and called out, her voice carrying with surprising strength:
Robin sank to his knees, his shoulder screaming. The arrow protruded from the front and back—it had gone clean through. Blood soaked his shirt, warm and spreading.
They stumbled into the darkness together.
And then—light.
Not magical light. Not Sophia’s shimmering glow. Just... beauty.
The passage began to brighten as they moved deeper. Light from hidden shafts in the ceiling reflected on crystalline formations, creating soft golden radiance that flowed down the stone walls. Polished mirrors reflected and multiplied the light. Lanterns hung at intervals—delicate metalwork casting intricate patterns across the floor.
Robin’s breath caught despite the pain. Someone had made this place beautiful. Even in darkness, there was light.
Footsteps echoed ahead. People were coming—silhouettes backlit by the glowing corridor, moving quickly.
Strong hands took Robin’s weight. A woman’s voice—warm, practical—spoke to Ariana:
Robin’s vision was starting to blur. The pain was a living thing now, consuming everything.
They emerged into a dining room. Robin had a vague impression of warmth, of light, of a table laden with food, of the smell of fresh bread.
They carried him up stone steps—how many, Robin couldn’t tell. His consciousness was slipping, the world fading to grey at the edges.
A bedroom. Soft bed. Gentle hands lowering him down.
Robin’s last coherent thought before darkness took him was simple:
I made it. Against everything. I survived.Then the pain pulled him under, and he knew nothing more.
✶ Real-World Marketing Takeaway ✶
Success Requires Running TOWARD Fear, Not Away From It
The hunter’s goal wasn’t to kill Robin—it was to scare him into running back down the mountain to the arch. Back to safety. Back to giving up.
And it almost worked.
Robin was exhausted. Hungry. Terrified. Every instinct screamed to run away from the danger.
But then the voice whispered truth: He lies. This isn’t Malthus’s land.
And Robin made a choice.
Not because he wasn’t afraid—he was terrified. Not because running seemed smart—every survival instinct said flee. But because running back down to the arch meant giving up on Time Freedom. On Elena. On everything that mattered.
So he turned around. Mid-panic, mid-retreat, he chose to run TOWARD the danger instead.
That moment—stopping mid-panic, recognizing he was running the WRONG DIRECTION—that’s the moment every successful entrepreneur faces. The choice between safety and growth. Between running away from your dream or running toward it, even when it’s terrifying.
Most people who see those “Time Freedom” ads—the ones promising money while you sleep, work from the beach—they get excited. They click. They buy. Their desire pulls them in.
But when it gets HARD? When the hunters come? When they realize Time Freedom requires actual WORK—learning skills, facing fears, persisting through failure—most of them accept the comfortable trap. They go back to their job. Back to “security.” Back to convincing themselves it was all impossible anyway.
The ads don’t lie about the destination. Time Freedom is REAL. But they don’t mention the hunters. They don’t mention the bleeding hands or the arrows or the cliffs or the choice you’ll have to make: accept comfort that leads nowhere, or keep running toward your goal.
Before you quit your next venture because it’s getting too hard, ask yourself:
Am I running AWAY from my goal or TOWARD it?
Am I choosing comfort or choosing growth?
Is fear making my decisions?
The hunters will always come. Fear will always chase you. Comfort will always tempt you with easier paths.
The question is: will you let them chase you back to mediocrity? Or will you turn around and run toward your goal anyway?
Robin got shot. Nearly died. But he didn’t turn back.
That’s why he’s going to make it.
~Albie
The Story Continues...
Robin survived the hunter. The arrow. The ruins.
Now comes the harder part.
Healing takes time. And time has a way of revealing things you weren't ready to see - about the journey ahead, about the people beside you, and about what you're actually willing to sacrifice to reach Time Freedom.
Chapter 8: The Sanctuary
Silver & Scrolls: The 42nd Attempt
Written by Albie Derbyshire
© 2026 Albie Derbyshire. All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except for brief quotations in reviews and certain noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.