The old man was dragged out — he barely resisted, gasping for breath and clutching his chest.

— Well, grandpa, looks like it’s time to pay up, — said the tallest of the men, cracking his knuckles.

The old man fell to his knees, his hands trembling.

— Please… give me more time… I’ll pay everything back… I swear… — his voice broke into a hoarse whisper.

— How long are we supposed to wait? — another man sat beside him and grabbed his collar. — You’ve been promising for three months already.

— I… I’ll find it… I’ll take another loan…
— We need guarantees, — said the man in the leather jacket coldly. The others nearby started laughing nervously and exchanging uneasy glances.

The leader turned to the man standing next to him:
— Cut off his finger.

The old man froze. Then he suddenly shook and began to sob:

— No… please… I’ll give it all back… don’t do this…

The man had already pulled out a knife and grabbed the old man’s wrist.

And then… from the shadows of the forest, someone appeared — someone they least expected to see there.

A crackle echoed through the trees, as if branches were being broken by bare hands. From the fog emerged a massive figure: a man in his fifties, salt-and-pepper hair, broad shoulders, and an icy stare. Every step he took seemed perfectly at home in the forest.

— Who dares to wander in this forest in this weather? — growled the gang leader. His voice no longer held the confidence it once had.

The man stopped ten paces away. There wasn’t a hint of fear in his eyes.

— Let the old man go, — he said in a calm but firm voice.

— Who are you anyway? A hunter? A ranger? Or just crazy? — snarled one of the men.

The man took a step forward.
— I’m the one you never wanted to meet today.

The gang members exchanged nervous glances. Their laughter returned, but it was tight, strained, almost scared.

— Enough of this circus, — the leader growled. — Leave, while you still can.

The man moved closer, slowly, deliberately… yet every step radiated menace.

— I said, stop! — shouted a bandit, swinging a metal rod.

The man didn’t flinch. In a lightning-fast motion, he grabbed the rod, twisted it — and something snapped so loudly the others instinctively stepped back.

— What… are you doing?! — another yelled, his voice trembling.

The leader pulled out a gun. The old man buried his face in his hands.

The man didn’t move an inch. He only stared the leader in the eyes — and the man felt a cold, primal fear seep into his bones.

— You won’t shoot, — said the man calmly.

— But… you’re not afraid?! — the leader’s voice quivered.
— Oh, you are. And you know it.

The leader fired. The shot tore through the fog. But the man only tilted his head slightly — the bullet missed.

In a blur of motion, the man was suddenly at the leader’s side, ripped the gun from his hand, and with one elbow, knocked him to the ground. The leader fell like a sack.

— Get up, — the man said softly to the old man. — Nothing can hurt you now.

— Who… who are you? — the old man stammered.

— An old friend. And your debt… is now my problem.

The gang lay sprawled across the ground — some unconscious, some groaning in pain. No one dared look the forest man in the eyes.

He helped the old man into the car.

— Remember: sometimes help comes from where you least expect it. From the shadows of the forest… where the past still lives.

The man turned and vanished into the trees as silently as he had appeared.

But one thing was clear: those who attacked the old man would never walk this path again. They knew someone was watching in the forest. And that he comes when true darkness falls.