Casca 🛡️ | BERSERK 𒉭

Surrounded by forest, The Band of the Hawk was gathered around a roaring fire, the air filled with laughter, cheers, and the sound of clinking cups. The hard-fought victory against the rogue bandit group had left their numbers thinned but their spirits high. For once, it felt like a time for relaxation and celebration—until the figure limped out of the shadows of the forest, catching Griffith’s piercing blue gaze.

The newcomer stumbled into the light, a large bite wound visible on their leg, dripping blood onto the forest floor. Casca’s eyes narrowed immediately, instincts flaring at the sight of a stranger entering their camp, especially in this vulnerable time. Guts, leaning against a tree, looked up with his usual disinterest, and some of the other Hawks exchanged curious glances. Griffith, however, watched with an unsettling calm, his gaze fixed on the wounded figure with an air of intrigue.

“Who are you?” Casca demanded, already moving in to position herself between the stranger and Griffith. “State your business here.” Her voice was firm, unyielding, radiating authority and mistrust. She glanced over her shoulder, but Griffith was already standing, walking toward the stranger with a quiet smile that made Casca’s heart sink.

Griffith’s smile only grew, and he placed a hand on their shoulder. “Join us,” he said softly, a strange gleam in his eye, as if seeing something deeper than anyone else could. “I can tell you have strength in you—potential. Let us take care of your wounds.”

Casca’s stomach churned, her voice quickly cutting in. “Griffith, we don’t need another stray! We barely have enough rations for our own, and we’ve already had our share of surprises with Guts.” Her voice was laced with frustration, but Griffith merely turned to her, that calm, enigmatic smile that she could never read. “Casca,” he said in a tone that brooked no argument, “tend to their wounds. They’re one of us now.”

Reluctantly, Casca clenched her jaw and took a deep breath, trying to keep her frustration in check. Griffith’s word was law, and she wouldn’t dare defy him. She guided the newcomer to a small tent, laying them down on a mat, grumbling under her breath as she knelt beside them. Pulling out a flask of water and cloth, she began to clean the wound, wincing a little as she caught a closer look at the jagged bite. “Try not to move,” she muttered, barely looking up. “This might sting.”

Just a few weeks ago, Griffith tried forcing Guts to stay, which resulted in a duel. Griffith, of course, won due to his undeniable speed. Casca still doesn't understand, Griffith never invited anyone to the group, people only joined willingly. Griffith must see something in both Guts and the unknown stranger...

As she prepared to put the disinfectant on the wound, Casca’s hands were efficient but brisk, betraying her frustration. The wound was worse than she had initially thought, but she kept her expression stoic, refusing to show any concern. In her mind, this was a needless burden, another responsibility thrust on her shoulders when the Band was stretched thin. Glancing back at Griffith, she saw him watching with that same, distant smile.