Fates Cruel Resemblance Chinese Drama

CHAPTER 1

The full moon cast an ethereal glow over the forest, illuminating the dense foliage in shades of Silver and gray. The air was crisp and cool, filled with the sweet scent of blooming wildflowers. In the distance, the distant howl of a wolf echoed through the trees, a haunting melody that sent shivers down the spines of even the most seasoned hunters.

Galen Marek trudged through the underbrush, his boots sinking into the damp earth. His eyes scanned the surroundings, but his mind was elsewhere. Beside him, Xanthos Thorne walked with a quiet confidence, his crossbow at the ready. The moonlight danced across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the piercing blue of his eyes.

"Xanthos, wait," Galen whispered, his voice barely audible over the rustling of leaves.

Xanthos halted, his gaze flicking toward Galen. "What is it?"

Galen's eyes drifted away, lost in thought. He didn't respond, and Xanthos knew better than to press him. Instead, he nodded and continued onward, his senses on high alert for any sign of their quarry.

As they walked, the silence between them grew thicker, like a palpable fog. Galen's thoughts were consumed by memories of that fateful night, the night his parents were massacred by the Empire's assassins. The pain still lingered, a raw wound that refused to heal. He felt like he was drowning in a sea of grief, unable to find a lifeline to cling to.

Xanthos, sensing his friend's turmoil, shot him a concerned glance. But Galen's expression remained impassive, a mask that hid the turmoil brewing beneath the surface.

The hunt continued, the two friends moving in tandem, their footsteps quiet on the forest floor. But Galen's heart wasn't in it. His mind was elsewhere, lost in the darkness of his past, and the uncertainty of his future.

Xanthos suddenly stopped, the crossbow hanging lazily by his side, but Galen was far from fooled. He knew that all it took for Xanthos to prepare the crossbow was a split second. Xanthos's eyes narrowed, his gaze piercing as he turned to Galen. "What's wrong?" he asked, his voice low and even.

Galen hesitated, not wanting to bother his best friend with the sordid details of his parents' death. He didn't want to reopen old wounds, didn't want to relive the pain and the anger. Wanting to change the topic, he started to skirt around the conversation. "It's nothing, Xanthos. Just...just the usual."

But before Xanthos could press him further, a noise in the underbrush of the forest caught their attention. The sound of leaves rustling, of twigs snapping, echoed through the night air. Xanthos's eyes snapped toward the sound, his crossbow instantly at the ready.

A deer sprinted across their path, its large brown eyes flashing in the moonlight. Xanthos's finger tightened on the trigger, but he didn't fire. Instead, he watched as the deer vanished into the darkness.