The morning the group finally prepared to leave the forest felt different from all the days before. The barrier shimmered faintly behind us, the trees whispering their farewells in the early light. I stood with Nyx at my side, watching as the captives—no, my companions—packed the meager belongings they had, along with the gear we had worked so hard to create. It was time.
I closed my eyes and breathed deeply, summoning the threads of magic creation. Energy shimmered around me, tugging at every memory of carts, wagons, and carriages I had ever glimpsed. With effort, I wove them together, shaping wood, iron, and leather into being. Before us, a sturdy carriage formed—broad enough for the group, plain but solid, ready for the road. I had no talent for enchantments, but others among us did. Under Elenya's guidance, a few traced glowing runes across the frame and wheels, binding protective charms into the wood and iron. Soon, the carriage thrummed faintly with their additions, its joints strengthened, its panels humming with borrowed power. The smell of fresh-cut wood and warm leather filled the air, grounding us all in the reality of our departure.
The children gasped, rushing forward to touch its sides. Fingers traced glowing lines where my magic had sealed joints.
"It's beautiful," one whispered, eyes wide with wonder.
"It looks like it could take us anywhere," another added breathlessly.
I let out a tired breath and smiled behind the mask. "It will carry us beyond the forest. Strong enough to last as long as we need it."
Kael, the striped beastfolk, tested the wheels with a push and grunted in approval. "Solid. Strong. It'll hold."
Elenya ran her hands along the wooden panels, sensing the subtle magic layered into its frame. "The weave is smooth. You've made more than a carriage. You've given us a fortress on wheels."
They both nodded, already stepping into the roles of leadership the group had entrusted them with.
We organized quickly. Scouts, chosen from the beastfolk who knew how to move unseen, would venture out only when we stopped to make camp, never straying far so they could remain within the safety of my barrier. Guards—those strongest or best with weapons—took turns during the day to keep watch while I slept. Cooks and gatherers made use of what the forest and plains offered, always staying close enough to return quickly if danger appeared. Navigators, led by Elenya and Kael, pieced together what little knowledge they had of the surrounding lands. Everyone had a place, a role, and they wanted to help. For the first time, the group looked less like a scattering of broken people and more like a traveling family.
Nyx padded to the front of the carriage, lowering his massive body into harness straps I had fashioned just for him. His golden eyes gleamed with pride, and I could almost hear his unspoken words: I will lead us forward. But even as he stood ready, he lingered near me, pressing his head against my arm before settling. He wanted to stay by my side, his loyalty a constant weight of comfort.
The children clapped and cheered at the sight.
"Go, Nyx!" one shouted.
"He's so strong!" another giggled.
Nyx flicked his ears back and gave a low chuff, his tail swishing as if to say, Of course I am. When night came, he often curled beside the campfires, letting the smallest children rest against his flank. Their giggles filled the night air as they buried their faces in his fur, and Nyx would rumble softly, content to cuddle and guard them all at once.
I gave him a grateful pat before climbing into the carriage. Already, exhaustion pressed against me. The strain of collar-removal magic still clung to my bones, heavy and unshakable. My eyelids drooped, and I let myself sink into the padded box I had shaped within the carriage—a safe place to rest.
"I'll be asleep during the day," I reminded them, my voice low but clear. "At night, I will watch. You must trust each other until I wake. And remember—unless it's truly an emergency, do not wake me early. I'm far too grumpy when my sleep is stolen."
A ripple of laughter passed through the group, though they nodded in agreement.
Elenya answered softly, "Rest, Shadow. We'll keep you safe."
Kael added firmly, "Your strength carried us this far. Let ours carry you now."
The wheels turned, creaking into motion. The forest canopy thinned, and sunlight spilled across the path as we left the trees behind. Behind us, the barrier shimmered one last time before fading from view. Ahead stretched the wild unknown—plains, rivers, mountains, and towns none of us had ever seen.
During the day, while I slept, I could hear faint voices in my dreams.
"Do you think we'll see the mountains by tomorrow?"
"No, silly, mountains are far!"
"Quiet, you'll wake her!"
A round of giggles followed, hushed quickly when one of the older beastfolk hushed them, though the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement. Their laughter turned into a soft song—one of the elves humming an old lullaby.
Laughter, songs, the sound of children practicing the hunting calls Rena had taught them filled the air. Sometimes I stirred to their whispers, curious questions about when they would see their homes again, or their playful bickering over who would get to scout first. Other times, I heard them daring each other to poke Nyx's ear while he dozed, only to retreat when the wolfcat huffed in mock annoyance. In those moments, I felt peace I had never thought possible.
At night, I walked among them as they camped, checking the perimeter, laying wards, and teaching what lessons I could.
"Keep your stance firm," Kael barked gently, correcting one of the guards. "A blade is nothing without balance."
Elenya stood nearby, her hands glowing faintly as she demonstrated a basic spell. "Feel the flow. Magic is like water—you guide it, not force it."
The humans crafted tools with increasing skill, showing each other how to twist rope or set traps. In the firelight, they shared meals, trading stories of their homes and dreams.
"My village had the best apples," one boy boasted.
"Mine had better!" another argued, laughing.
"You two sound like old men already," a girl teased.
"Old men? We're warriors now!" the first boy shot back, puffing out his chest and making the others laugh harder.
Their voices carried under the stars, weaving comfort into the darkness. I found myself lingering near the circle longer than I should, soaking in their warmth.
One evening, Corrin sat beside me, his voice quiet. "When we go back, will you stay with us too?"
I hesitated, my chest tight. "I don't know. But I will walk with you as far as I can. That much I promise."
He smiled faintly, eyes shining in the firelight. "Then that's enough."
A younger child piped up from across the fire, "Shadow, will you come to my village too? I want to show you the lake."
Another added shyly, "And my mother makes honey cakes. You'd like them."
I swallowed the lump in my throat, managing a small smile. "We'll see. One step at a time."
Their words lingered long after, warming something inside me I had thought long dead. As I sat by the fire or lay within the carriage listening to their laughter, I found myself thinking: When did I last feel this kind of belonging? In my old world, I was invisible, burdened, unwanted. Here, they look to me not with fear, but with trust. The thought both frightened and thrilled me. Could I really carry their hopes? Could someone like me, who thrived in shadows, give them light?
Every night I told myself to remain distant, but every morning I woke to their smiles and found my resolve weakening. I wanted to protect them, not just because I could, but because they made me feel human again—even when I knew I wasn't. More than that, I wanted to help them survive, to ensure that no chain or collar could ever bind them again.
The bonds deepened, each night weaving us tighter together. And with that closeness grew my determination. I don't just want to shield them, I thought, staring into the campfire one night. I want to give them the strength to stand tall, to be heard, to never again feel powerless the way I once did.
Over the next days, I will guide them toward more than survival. Inwardly, I held tight to the thought I never spoke aloud: I want them to have voices that carry, strength that cannot be ignored, lives where no one dares to make them feel small or powerless again.
We practiced basic magic where we could—those with sparks of talent learning to shape flame or coax water, others discovering focus in barriers and light. The beastfolk honed their hunting and tracking, the elves shared their knowledge of herbs and charms, and the humans grew deft with tools and tradecraft. Slowly, they were no longer just relying on me—they were becoming strong in their own right.
The forest was no longer just my cage—it had become a memory, a chapter closed. Together, we carried it with us into the wider world, stepping into the unknown as one.