The forest grew hushed as the Virehall army pressed deeper. The rhythm of a thousand boots softened, then faded as Captain Draves lifted one gloved hand.
"Hold," he commanded.
The entire column froze at once, discipline keeping even the nervous breaths quiet. The only sound left was the creak of leather, the restless snorts of horses, and the whisper of wind through pine needles.
Draves' eyes narrowed as he gazed into the trees ahead. His instincts honed from decades of blood and war pricked like a blade against his neck. Something was wrong.
"Form concealment ranks," he ordered. "Hide the men. Pull them off the road."
The order rippled down the line. Soldiers moved swiftly, melting into the trees, crouching behind trunks, pulling foliage over their armor. Within minutes, a thousand strong looked like little more than shadows between branches.
Draves did not take all of them forward. He turned instead to his right and gestured sharply.
"Elites in front."
Ten soldiers stepped out of the hidden formation. Unlike the ordinary troops, these men wore armor adorned with engraved gold patterns. Each carried a weapon gleaming faintly with enchantment. They were not merely soldiers; they were Gold-Rank Elites, enough to topple city walls alone.
"You're with me," Draves said, voice like steel.
Together, the eleven advanced.
---
They did not need to go far.
Within minutes, the trees parted.
Two figures stood waiting.
The first was a man in plain leathers, hand resting politely near his sword but body relaxed. He looked like any traveler. Harmless at a glance.
But beside him.
A figure taller than any warrior Draves had ever seen. Draped in black habit, veil dripping faint streams of blood like weeping eyes, roses blooming unnaturally at her feet. She did not move. She did not speak. And yet, the moment Draves' eyes met hers, his heart skipped a beat.
It was not magic, not aura, not intimidation. It was simply the certainty that she was no ordinary woman.
Behind her, swaying gently from a thorn vine, hung a severed head, one of his scouts. Beneath it, coils of thorn twisted and writhed, grinding the rest of the body into wet pulp, bone crunching between vines like a millstone.
The forest air stank of iron and rot.
Even Draves' seasoned Elites shivered faintly at the sight.
His hand went to his hilt. His voice cut the silence like a blade.
"Who are you?"
The tall woman smiled faintly but said nothing. Only the roses at her feet bloomed redder.
Draves' jaw tightened. Her silence only made the air heavier.
The man beside her sighed softly, glancing at her as though seeking permission. When she gave none, he stepped forward, bowing his head slightly.
"My name is Ethan," he said respectfully. His tone was calm, almost deferential. "This is Sister Rosaria. We are travelers, nothing more. We are presently lending aid to the village nearby. Captain… what business does the Virehall army have here?"
Draves' eyes flicked back to Rosaria. His voice rumbled with suspicion.
"Travelers, you say? And yet, my men lie butchered."
His gaze locked on Ethan, cold and sharp.
"Tell me true. Are you Elites of Elarion? Have they sent you here?"
Ethan shook his head lightly. "No, Captain. We are not of Elarion."
Draves' glare narrowed. He pointed at Rosaria, his voice louder now, biting.
"Do not toy with me, boy. I have fought beside Elarion's finest. I have seen their sorcery, their steel, their arrogance. And she..." His finger jabbed toward Rosaria, who stood silent, blood dripping like a quiet hourglass. "...is unlike any I have ever seen among them. Not once have I seen a woman such as this at their side."
Ethan exhaled slowly, keeping his tone polite, his words measured.
"Captain Draves, I understand your suspicion. But I ask again: why has your army marched to this village? These people have no strength to defend themselves. If your purpose is just, we need only hear it, and all conflict may be avoided."
Draves' lip curled. His gauntlet creaked as he clenched his fist.
"You deflect again. You twist questions into questions. That is the way of liars."
His voice carried louder now, enough for the hidden ranks behind him to hear.
"I asked who you are. I demanded an answer. And yet you stand there demanding my reasons."
Ethan's eyes met his steadily. His words remained respectful, but firm.
"And yet, Captain… is that not fair? A thousand soldiers march upon a defenseless village, and you will not say why. From where we stand, that is reason enough to doubt your intentions. For all I know, you may be no army at all, but brigands in gilded armor."
The words landed like stones in still water. Even Draves' Elites shifted faintly, glancing at one another.
Draves froze. His hand stayed on his hilt, but his body stilled completely. His eyes narrowed, locked on Ethan's calm face.
The two men stared at each other in heavy silence.
But Draves' left hand hidden beneath the lip of his saddle moved slightly. A subtle gesture.
One of his Elites, the one with a longbow slung across his back, nodded faintly. He began to move, slow, circling back through the underbrush. His bow unstrung silently, arrow nocked with a faint golden glow.
Ethan had not noticed.
Draves leaned slightly forward in his saddle. His voice dropped low, quiet enough that only Ethan could hear.
"You speak politely. But your words reek of arrogance. You hide something… and I will cut it out."
Ethan bowed faintly at the waist, respectful still, though his voice grew sharper with resolve.
"Then we stand at impasse. For you will not reveal your reason, and we cannot trust silence. If that is so, then I must assume this army does not come to aid but to harm."
Draves' nostrils flared. His teeth grit. He stared hard at Ethan.
Then---
A golden streak ripped through the trees.
The hidden archer loosed, his arrow glowing like a falling star. The force of it split the air, tearing bark from trunks as it screamed toward its target straight for Rosaria's heart. The impact alone could have leveled a stone tower.
Ethan barely had time to gasp.
"Rosaria!"
But she was already moving.
The ground erupted. A wall of black thorns surged upward, vines thick as siege chains, sharper than steel. The arrow struck with an earth-shattering boom, the blast shaking trees for yards around. Dust and smoke exploded outward.
The power of a Gold-Rank Elite. Enough to crush battalions.
For a heartbeat, the forest drowned in the roar of destruction.
Draves smiled grimly in the haze. At last, a crack would show.
But when the dust cleared.
Rosaria still stood.
Her thorns were unbroken. The arrow's power had scattered harmlessly against her wall of living steel. Ethan stood sheltered behind her, untouched.
And then---
The ground shook.
The roses around Rosaria swayed, blooming crimson as the forest seemed to breathe with her.
Draves' smile faltered.
The true weight of what he faced pressed heavier on his chest.
And still, she smiled.