The forest seemed to breathe around us as dawn broke fully, pale light filtering through the towering trees. The air was cool, but the ache in my muscles was warmer, a dull reminder of last night's battle. The weight of my sword was familiar and oddly comforting at my side.
Lira stirred beside me, rubbing at her bruised arm. The fight had taken more out of her than she let on, but her posture remained proud—unyielding even in exhaustion. She was more than just noble blood and sharp words. She was survivor.
We sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire between us still smoldering, casting orange shadows that flickered over our faces.
"Are you always this reckless?" she finally asked, voice rough but teasing.
I smirked, though pain lanced through my ribs when I shifted. "Only when it's necessary."
She gave me a sideways glance, eyebrow raised. "Necessary to protect strangers in the middle of the cursed forest?"
"Necessary to protect the girl who's already been through enough," I said quietly.
Her silver eyes met mine—sharp, searching, and something softer underneath.
"Why do you care?" she asked.
I looked away, the question stirring something inside me I wasn't ready to name. "Because someone once told me that the world doesn't wait for people to figure out who they are."
She was silent then. The morning mist curled low, wrapping the forest in a fragile veil. I wanted to tell her so much more—about who I was, where I came from, the life I'd lost—but the words caught in my throat. Not yet. Not now.
Instead, I broke the silence with a more practical thought.
"We should move. The forest won't stay quiet for long."
Lira nodded, pushing herself up. Her movements were slow but determined.
We followed the stream again, moving cautiously. The path wound through thickets thick with underbrush, the scent of pine and damp earth heavy in the air. Somewhere far off, a bird called—a sharp, lonely cry.
As we walked, the tension between us softened. The silence grew comfortable, filled with small sounds—the crunch of leaves, the splash of water, the occasional soft murmur from Lira.
"You know," she said after a while, "I'm surprised you're still standing after last night. Most people would have broken."
I glanced at her, noting the genuine concern in her tone. "I've had practice."
"Doesn't look like practice to me."
"It's not just practice," I admitted. "It's... something I'm still learning to carry."
Her gaze lingered on me, as if trying to read between the lines, but she said nothing more.
The sun climbed higher, burning away the mist and revealing the forest in full daylight—its ancient trees towering like silent sentinels. The path opened gradually, the dense woods thinning as we approached the outskirts of Siven's Hollow.
Smoke curled lazily from chimneys in the distance, promising warmth and safety.
"Almost there," I said, a small relief stirring in my chest.
Lira smiled—a rare, genuine thing—and she shifted her pack. "I hope the village has food. I'm starving."
I laughed, despite myself.
As we neared the village, the signs of life grew clearer. Farmers tended small plots, children played in dusty streets, and traders called out prices in the market square. It was a place that felt far removed from the darkness of the forest, a fragile bubble of normalcy in a dangerous world.
We entered the village cautiously, glancing at curious faces. Lira's presence seemed to command attention—her posture, her clothes, the way she carried herself spoke of status. I, on the other hand, felt the eyes like cold needles. A stranger. An outsider.
I kept my hand near my sword, eyes scanning for threats, though none came. For now.
We stopped near a modest inn, its wooden sign creaking in the light breeze.
"This is where my caravan usually rests," Lira said. "I should find someone who knows what happened to the others."
I nodded. "I'll wait here."
She hesitated, then smiled. "Thanks, Alaric."
"Don't get used to it," I teased, but she only rolled her eyes.
Inside the inn, Lira moved with purpose. Her confidence shifted the air, even here in a small village. I followed at a distance, watching as she spoke with the innkeeper—a stout woman with kind eyes.
I listened, piecing together what I could.
The caravan had been attacked weeks ago, scattered by bandits and worse—rumors of shadow creatures stalking the woods. No one had seen the survivors, and few dared venture deep into the forest anymore.
The fear in the village was palpable.
I thought of the wraiths from last night and the figure watching from the ruined citadel. The darkness was spreading.
When Lira returned, her expression was tight.
"They want to send a search party," she said, "but no one is eager. The forest is cursed—or so they say."
I clenched my jaw.
"Maybe it is," I said quietly.
She looked at me, eyes narrowing.
"What do you mean?"
"There are things in that forest," I said. "Creatures that feed on fear and magic. I fought some of them."
Her eyes widened. "Magic? Do you have magic?"
I shook my head. "Not yet."
Lira studied me for a long moment. "Then how did you fight them?"
I shrugged, trying to downplay it. "A sword and some stubbornness."
She didn't look convinced.
We sat outside the inn, the village alive with activity around us. Children laughed nearby, oblivious to the shadows gathering beyond the trees.
For the first time, I allowed myself to relax, if only a little.
Lira pulled out a small knife from her belt, cleaning the blade with a piece of cloth.
"You're not like anyone I've ever met," she said suddenly.
I looked at her, the honesty in her voice surprising me.
"Neither are you."
She smiled—a small, almost shy thing.
We shared stories then, slowly, carefully. She told me of her childhood in Virewyn, the pressures of noble life, the political games her father played. How she hated it all but knew she had to survive it.
I spoke in vague terms about my past—of a place far away, of training with a sword, of battles fought in halls that seemed like another world. Enough to hint at who I was without giving away everything.
It was a delicate dance, trust built on fragments.
As the sun dipped low, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson, something shifted between us. The hard edges softened, replaced by a tentative warmth.
"You fight like a prince," she said, almost to herself.
I laughed, the sound rough but genuine. "Maybe."
She looked up at me, eyes bright in the fading light.
"Maybe you are."
We sat side by side in the quiet village square, the future uncertain but the night promising.
Lira's gaze flickered toward the edge of the village, where the dark treeline swallowed the last of the fading light.
"Do you ever feel like something's watching us?" she whispered.
I didn't answer. Because I knew the truth.
Something was watching.
From the shadows, eyes glinted like embers — silent, unblinking.
And then, a whisper drifted on the wind, barely audible, yet chilling:
"Not yet, prince... but soon."