Seres Crone
The forest was quiet but alive around her, the drone of cicadas a constant hum in the warm, damp air. Seres knelt by a patch of night-blooming silvervein, her fingers moving with practiced care as she clipped the fragile stalks into her leather pouch. The scent was sharp and sweet, a prize worth the late hour.
Ethan stood a few paces away, a restless shadow. She could feel his impatience, could see the faint glint of his knives as he shifted his weight. "We've got enough," she said softly, rising and brushing soil from her knees.
But Ethan shook his head, offering a crooked, unconvincing grin. "If we take the long way back," he thought "it'll give the others more time. They'll be ready for the Birthday."
Seres tilted her head, studying him. She knew this game—the poorly hidden secret, the clumsy attempt to stall. A faint suspicion warmed her chest, but she smothered a sigh. Let him have his fun. With a slow, patient nod, she followed him onto the darker path, her steps measured, allowing the ruse to unfold.
They walked slowly beneath the dense canopy, the path little more than a memory between the roots and undergrowth. Seres' eyes, ever watchful, scanned the dimness, pausing whenever a familiar leaf shape or telltale bloom caught her attention. She would kneel, her movements silent and efficient, while Ethan hovered nearby. He crouched now and then to help, his hands careful in their intent but clumsy in their execution compared to her practiced grace. He fumbled with the roots, his cuts less precise, but she said nothing, allowing him the gesture.
The hours slipped by unnoticed, the filtered light softening from a bright gold to a deep, dusky amber. Long shadows stretched like grasping fingers across the forest floor, and the air grew noticeably cooler, carrying the damp promise of night. Seres tied her herb pouch shut with a firm knot, the leather bulging with their collected bounty. She straightened, a faint frown touching her lips as she surveyed the deepening gloom between the trees.
"It's getting late," she murmured, her voice barely louder than the rustle of leaves. The ruins felt far away, and a prickle of unease, subtle but persistent, began to thread its way through her calm.
Ethan's gaze darted toward the even deeper, darker part of the forest ahead. He squinted, pretending to search the shadows for something specific. "Just a little farther," he insisted, his tone a poor imitation of casual discovery. "I'm sure I saw a cluster of moon-cap back there. One more patch, then we'll head back. I promise."
Seres studied his profile, seeing right through the thin excuse. She knew he was prolonging this, stretching the time for whatever surprise awaited. A soft sigh escaped her, a mix of exasperation and fondness. But she nodded, once, and followed him as he led her deeper into the gathering dark.
The silence of the forest, once a peaceful blanket of insect hums and rustling leaves, shattered. It was broken by a low, guttural howl that seemed to vibrate up from the very earth, a sound of pure hunger that froze the blood in their veins.
Ethan reacted instantly, his earlier restlessness snapping into lethal focus. His knives were in his hands in a flash of polished steel, his body turning toward the threat, placing himself slightly in front of Seres.
Her own heart sank like a stone. From the dense underbrush, pairs of glowing, malevolent eyes ignited in the shadows. Three smaller wolves emerged first, their black pelts bristling, low growls rumbling in their chests as they bared yellowed fangs. They fanned out, beginning a slow, encircling advance.
But it was the larger shape that padded silently into view behind them that truly stole the air from Seres's lungs. It was lean, all corded muscle and calculated grace, its eyes holding a sharp, unsettling cunning that spoke of more than mere animal instinct. A Grade D Wolf. They had strayed far from the safe paths, deep into a territory mark they should never have crossed.
Seres's fingers brushed against the small, hard vials secured on her belt—one of frost, one of flame, her last resorts. Her body went taut, not with fear, but with a grim, cold readiness. The celebration waiting at the ruins felt a world away. Survival was now the only priority.
The pack did not hesitate. With a guttural snarl that tore through the night, the largest wolf—the Grade D—darted forward, its powerful claws ripping deep furrows into the soft earth. Ethan moved on pure instinct, shoving Seres behind him. His knife flashed in the torchlight as he traced a desperate, jagged rune in the air with its tip. Sparks of weak, unstable magic flickered around his hand, flaring into a brief, shimmering barrier just as the first of the smaller wolves lunged.
The magical shield held for a heartbeat, enough to stagger the beast and send it tumbling back with a confused yelp. But the effort cost him. As the second wolf charged from the side, Ethan slashed out, the blade sinking deep into the muscle of its shoulder. A pained screech echoed through the trees, but the wolf's momentum and thick hide wrenched the knife from his grip. The weapon remained buried, quivering grotesquely with the animal's every furious snarl and thrash.
Ethan's hand clenched around empty air. He was disarmed, left with nothing but the weak, draining magic he could barely control. The third wolf, seeing its opening, circled wide, its yellowed fangs snapping dangerously close to Seres's arm as she tried to reach for her vials.
"Stay back!" Ethan growled, his voice strained. He forced another spell into being, a weak pulse of concussive force that shoved the circling wolf back a step. But his breath was already coming in ragged, uneven gasps. The toll was evident.
The Grade D wolf hung back, its intelligent, cold eyes watching the struggle, letting its underlings test and weaken its prey. Then, seeing Ethan's moment of exhaustion, it sprang. Its movement was a blur of brutal, calculated swiftness. Ethan twisted to meet it, but the full weight of the beast crashed into him, slamming him to the ground. A sickening crack echoed, not from the wolf, but from Ethan's own body as his ankle buckled violently beneath him. A sharp cry of pain tore from his throat as he rolled aside, just avoiding a crushing bite to the neck.
Seres's chest tightened, her breath catching. Ethan tried to push himself up, his face pale and slick with sweat, but his injured foot refused to hold his weight, buckling beneath him. He was trapped, vulnerable. And the wolves, smelling blood and weakness, began to close their circle once more, their low growls a promise of the end.
The wolves closed in, a tightening circle of bristling fur and low, rumbling growls that vibrated through the cold earth. Seres's pulse hammered a frantic rhythm in her ears, drowning out all else as Ethan struggled to rise, his face contorted in pain, his twisted ankle buckling uselessly beneath him. The Grade D wolf took another step forward, its massive head low, intelligent eyes fixed on its vulnerable prey, its fangs glinting with cruel intent in the firelight.
There was no more time. Seres's hand darted to the small leather pouch secured at her waist. Her fingers closed around two cool glass vials—one swirling with a pale, shimmering blue mist, the other glowing faintly with captured embers. Her breath caught; these were precious, painstakingly distilled, her absolute last resort. But looking at Ethan's pale, determined face, there was no choice.
With a sharp, practiced flick of her wrist, she hurled the frost vial. It shattered against the ground between them and the advancing pack. Instantly, a wave of biting, unnatural cold exploded outward, flash-freezing the damp soil and coating nearby roots and leaves in a thick, slick layer of glistening ice. Two of the smaller wolves yelped in surprise, skidding and stumbling, their claws scrabbling uselessly for purchase on the sudden, frozen slick.
Before the disoriented pack could regroup, she hurled the second vial. It erupted in a concussive burst of searing flame, the fire licking hungrily at the dry underbrush. Flames roared to life, leaping up to form a crackling, hissing wall of orange and red between them and the wolves. Thick, acrid smoke billowed into the air. The pack recoiled as one with furious, startled snarls, their black pelts painted in the blaze's ominous light. Even the Grade D wolf hesitated, its confident prowl faltering at the sudden, terrifying barrier.
"Come on!" Seres urged, her voice tight. She ducked under Ethan's arm, looping it over her slender shoulders. With a grunt of sheer effort, she hauled him upright, dragging him away from the heat of the flames. Her legs burned with the strain of supporting his weight, every muscle screaming in protest. Ethan clutched at her, his teeth clenched against the pain radiating from his ankle, his pride warring with grim necessity. Behind them, the sound of the wolves did not fade—it only grew sharper, angrier, more determined, as the creatures began to swiftly, intelligently, circle the fire.
They stumbled deeper into the forest's oppressive embrace, Seres half-dragging, half-carrying Ethan's weight. The torchlight from the defensive flames behind them was a dying star, its faint, flickering glow barely piercing the dense trees, leaving them in a world of shifting, treacherous shadows. Every uneven step sent a fresh jolt of agony through Ethan's twisted ankle. He bit down on his lip until he tasted blood, stifling the cries that threatened to escape, his face a pale, sweat-streaked mask of pain.
"I'm slowing you down," Ethan finally hissed, the words torn from between his clenched teeth, trembling with a fury directed entirely inward. "Seres… you have to leave me. If I die here, it's fine. The others will survive. They're strong." His voice broke, raw with a fear greater than that of the wolves. "But if you—" He couldn't finish. "If you die, everyone loses. They need you more than me. They have no one else."
Seres's grip on him only tightened, her arms like iron bands. She refused to even glance at him, her eyes fixed on the dark path ahead, searching for any semblance of shelter. "Don't say that, Ethan," she said, her voice low and unwavering. "Not now. Not ever."
Tears of frustration and pain welled in his eyes, blurring the nightmare around them. He beat a weak, useless fist against her shoulder. "Please! Just leave me! I can't fight anymore, and you—" His words collapsed into a ragged sob that shook his entire frame. "You can't carry me and save yourself. It's impossible."
Seres stopped only long enough to heave him higher onto her back, her own breaths coming in ragged pulls but her resolve never faltering. "Listen to me," she commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. "I will never leave you. You are family. Do you understand? I will carry you until my body gives out before I let those wolves take you."
Ethan choked back another sob, his face burying against the rough fabric of her tunic. His fists clenched in the material, a war of shame and desperate gratitude raging within him. "I'm… I'm sorry, Seres…" he whispered, the words muffled, his tears a hot, damp confession against her back.
The howls rose again in the distance, no longer frustrated but sharp, focused, and terrifyingly closer. Seres's eyes hardened to chips of ice, her steps quickening despite the crushing weight. "Save your apologies," she said firmly, a fierce, defiant energy burning in her tone. "We're not done fighting yet."
Seres pressed herself deeper into the hollow formed by the thick, gnarled roots of an ancient tree, the rough bark digging into her back. Ethan was cradled tightly against her chest, his body a tense, trembling weight. Every muscle in her body was drawn wire-taut, coiled and ready for a fight that was rapidly becoming unavoidable. Every breath she took was shallow, measured, as she strained to listen past the frantic hammering of her own heart.
The wolves were still circling, their movements a soft, deadly rustle in the undergrowth. Their low, rumbling snarls vibrated through the earth, a menacing promise in the suffocating dark. The forest itself seemed to be conspiring against them, the walls of trees closing in, the faint, hopeful glow of their own torch now just a memory swallowed by the oppressive blackness.
Ethan's eyes were wide, the whites stark against the grime and fear on his face. His hands, clenched in the fabric of her tunic, were shaking. "They'll pass… they'll pass," he whispered, the words a fragile mantra meant to steady his own terror more than to offer her any real comfort. She could feel the fine tremors running through him, a vibration of pure, helpless dread.
But the fragile hope in his whisper shattered with the next sound. A soft, deliberate rustle, much closer than before. Then another, to their left. The careful, purposeful sound of something stalking, something that knew exactly where they were.
Seres's gaze, sharp and desperate, flicked toward the source of the sound in the darkness ahead. Her stomach plummeted, a cold dread washing through her veins. Two pairs of glowing, malevolent yellow eyes appeared first, floating in the blackness, scanning the forest floor with predatory intelligence. Then a third. And behind them, emerging with a silent, terrifying grace, was a fourth, larger pair—eyes black and gleaming with a cunning that was far beyond any ordinary beast. The Grade D wolf.
The eerie glow of their eyes reflected off the damp leaves and dark trunks, creating monstrous, shifting shapes in the shadows. They were unrelenting, a wall of fangs and hunger that had finally cornered its prey. There was no more circle to run. No more tricks to play.
Seres's jaw tightened until her teeth ached. Her arms locked around Ethan, pulling him even closer, as if she could physically shield him from what was coming. Her heart pounded against her ribs, a frantic drum counting down their final moments. "Hold still," she murmured into his hair, her voice barely a breath, the last command she might ever give him.
There would be no escaping by hiding. The wolves had found them. The hunt was over. All that remained was the end.
INTO THE DARK
Ardyn Veythar
The torchlight flickered in Ardyn's hand, a solitary, defiant eye in the overwhelming dark. It threw long, restless shadows that danced and twisted across the uneven forest floor, making every root and stone seem like a lurking threat. The night air was colder here, deep beneath the dense canopy that blotted out the three moons, leaving only a patchwork of faint, silvery light that did little to pierce the gloom. Every cautious step he took, every crunch of dry leaves and snap of a twig beneath his boots, echoed far too loudly in the oppressive silence, making the absence of other sounds feel like a physical weight.
He kept Ethan's spear held ready, the haft smooth and familiar in its weight distribution, yet the purpose of it still felt foreign, a role he hadn't chosen. The axe strapped to his back was a heavier, more insistent presence, its weight a constant tug on his shoulder, a reminder of the morning's impossible display of skill. His ribs throbbed faintly with each measured breath, a dull protest from injuries not yet fully healed, but he pressed on, ignoring the discomfort. He focused on the memory of the trail, retracing the path Seres had patiently shown him just the day before, each turn and marker a lesson he was desperately grateful for now.
"Seres… Ethan…" he called out, his voice soft, almost swallowed whole by the immense, listening dark. No answer returned to him. Only the distant, constant whisper of the river somewhere to his left and the lonely, piercing cry of a night bird high above. The silence that followed his call felt heavier than before.
He adjusted his grip on the torch, lifting it higher. The firelight pushed back the shadows in a wider arc, and his eyes—always too sharp, too noticing—scanned the undergrowth, searching for any sign, any disturbance. And then he saw it: a faint trampling of the grass, a subtle path of crushed stems that glistened with a fresh coat of dew in the flickering light. His chest tightened. It was proof. They had come this way.
"They'll be fine," he murmured under his breath, the words a quiet mantra meant to steady his own nerves. "Seres knows these woods. She's prepared."
But the reassurance rang hollow. A deep, primal unease continued to gnaw at the edges of his mind. Something about the air felt… wrong. Thinned. The forest around him had fallen into a watchful, waiting silence, so profound that even the usual chorus of insects had stilled, as if holding their breath for something yet to come. Still, he had no choice. He pushed forward, torch held high, following the faint, ominous trail that led only deeper into the heart of the looming, hungry dark.
The deeper Ardyn went, the more the ancient forest seemed to press in on him, its silence a heavy, watchful thing. His torch sputtered, its flame dancing wildly as a cold wind whispered through the high branches, but he gripped the haft tighter, driving himself forward. The faint signs he'd been following became clearer, more desperate: a trail of broken twigs, a scatter of dried herbs that must have fallen from Seres's pouch in a rush.
Then his sharp eyes caught something that made him freeze. A tree trunk, its dark bark savagely gouged by fresh, parallel claw marks. The wood beneath was torn and pale, exposed to the night air. Ardyn stopped, his brows knitting together as he reached out, tracing the deep grooves with his fingertips. They were too high, too widely set to be from any common forest creature like a deer or boar. A cold knot began to form in his stomach.
Not three paces away, a splash of dark crimson stained the moss and fallen leaves. It was a small smear, but unmistakable. Ardyn crouched, his fingers brushing the patch. It was still tacky, the metallic scent faint but clear. It clung to his skin.
"Blood…" he muttered, the word leaving his throat dry and tight.
For a heart-stopping moment, panic threatened to seize him. His heart hammered against his ribs, and every shadow between the gnarled trees seemed to shift and breathe with malevolent life. But he clenched his jaw, forcing the fear down. If they were hurt, every second counted. He had no choice.
He stood, his grip on Ethan's spear turning white-knuckled. His torchlight swayed as he pressed on, its light now feeling frail and insignificant against the looming dark, following the grim trail that led him ever deeper into the wolves' territory.
Seres's heart slammed against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the snarling chaos. The Grade D wolf exploded from the shadows with terrifying speed, a blur of muscle and fury, its jaws snapping wide to reveal teeth that gleamed like polished knives in the murky dark. Ethan stumbled backward, his balance betrayed by his ruined ankle, his hands coming up in a useless, defenseless gesture.
There was no time for thought. Only instinct.
Seres moved, shoving Ethan hard to the side with all her strength, throwing her own body into the space he had occupied. The impact of the wolf's weight was a brutal, jarring force that drove the air from her lungs. Its claws scraped deep furrows in the earth as it lunged, its hot, rancid breath washing over her face.
Ethan's eyes widened in a horror that was pure guilt. "Seres—!" he cried out, his voice cracking with despair.
But she ignored him, her world narrowing to the beast and the belt at her waist. Her hands, steady despite the terror screaming through her veins, darted down, fingers scrambling for one of the remaining vials. Her mind raced, calculating the throw, the distance, the risk—every instinct focused on pure, desperate survival.
The forest around them seemed to hold its breath, the very air gone still and heavy. The only sounds were the guttural, hungry growls of the circling wolves and the deafening, synchronized pounding of their own terrified hearts.
The moment stretched, thin and sharp as a blade's edge.
To be continued…