When he blinked to look ahead, for an instant—within that brief echo of calm left behind when the eyelids close—he saw something. Somewhere inside him, at a point he couldn't quite identify, a flame lit up. Weak, small, barely holding on… but stubborn. A spark that refused to die.
When he blinked again, it was gone. And with it, that fleeting lightness that had loosened his chest disappeared as well.
"Maybe it was just a reflection," he told himself.
The pain and exhaustion were still there, clinging to his body like old thorns, but the rain had cooled his skin just enough to give him a small push.
"Let's go." He turned his gaze toward Mielchor. "We have to find them… and find a way out."
Mielchor gave a little hop. He raised one arm with his fist pointing upward, bent the other, and shifted his weight onto his right leg, striking an exaggeratedly dramatic victory pose.
Eden covered his face, holding back a laugh."Good. Victory pose," he said, pointing at him with both index fingers as he leaned his torso back. "Terrifying wolf: zero. Mielchor the honey-thief: one."
They walked again, this time under the pounding rain, more alert than before, more aware of the forest's weight and the invisible eyes between the trees.
From above, a dark point in the foliage tensed. An arrow descended like lightning, burying itself into the ground with an intention that was far too clear.
"No… it can't be," he thought, somewhere between disbelief and defeat, his mind worn thin.
From the trees came a guttural sound, a clumsy attempt at forming words:"Kig… kuh…"
And then he saw them.
They descended from the branches—beings as short as Mielchor, but more compact. They had thin arms and large, disproportionate hands, holding their bows as if they were natural extensions of their fingers. Eden lowered his gaze a bit: their feet ended in curved claws that allowed them to grip the branches with almost unsettling ease.
Finally, when he lifted his eyes to where the face should be, he found a copper mask—crudely ornamented, almost ritualistic, with uneven engravings and visible dents. The rusted metal covered their entire faces, giving them a cold, expressionless, deeply uncomfortable appearance.
He let out a long breath upon seeing them fully. "Forest dwellers," that was what he had once called them.
"They won't do anything as long as you don't provoke them," he repeated in his mind. Then he glanced toward the scorched areas of the forest. "Shit."
"Wolf!" he shouted.
The beings didn't move. They only stared, expectant, as if measuring his every gesture.
"Right… they don't speak human." "With the Alabard ones I managed because I'd spent months living with them…"
"Right." He accepted the idea. Adjusting his backpack forward—the strap was cut and barely hanging on—he set it down and opened the front pocket.
He took out five copper coins very carefully, making sure none of the others could be seen. "No idea how many of them there are… better not tempt fate." He stacked them in a small tower on a rock and stepped back a few paces. Mielchor instantly mimicked him. The forest dwellers didn't react; if anything, they seemed confused.
"I don't remember how to say it…""Ksu… opir," he pronounced, with the best faith he could muster, pointing toward the tower of coins.
"Skaa tsu," replied the one who seemed to be the leader.
From a nearby branch—a spot neither of them had scanned—one of those beings descended. Clumsy and careless, making almost wooden sounds as it walked. It approached, grabbed one of the coins, held it between its hands, and analyzed it for a few seconds. Looked at it upside down. Then, turning its back so they wouldn't see, it lifted its mask and… clack! bit the coin, trying to bend it.When it failed and after tasting it a little, it turned back toward the leader and the rest of the group and shouted:
"Puk mah opir!"
At the sound of it, another dozen of them descended from the trees, sliding around the trunk with uncanny agility, always moving in a crouch. They let out shrieks that, with some goodwill, could be interpreted as excitement. They surrounded the coins, taking them and passing them among themselves as if they were a sacred treasure.
The leader, still up high, descended behind the group. As soon as he touched the ground, all the copper-loving little ones dropped the coins and formed a neat line, giving him space. When he stood before Eden, Eden noticed he was taller than he had seemed—almost a meter.
"Tsu opir ka."
"Great… all I know how to say is 'have copper.' How the hell do I explain I'm looking for someone from the group?"
"Uhhh… Mielchor, do you understand them?" he asked with a spark of hope.
Mielchor shook his head.
He paused to think. Then he crouched a bit; the pain slowly returned as he did. He faced the forest dweller, keeping some distance. He pointed at himself, then at his own fangs, and tried—with clumsy gestures—to show that the ones he was searching for were much bigger. Then he stood up and used his hands to indicate something huge, much taller than him.
The forest dweller nodded and looked toward his pack.
"Ka opir, bagh koan ka," he shouted, hitting his mask three times.
One of his own answered immediately, calling attention with a strike against his own mask.
"Gu, hu ka koan."
The leader turned his face toward Eden and made a clear gesture for him to follow.
"Looks like it worked," he thought, letting out a small sigh of relief as he shifted his injured arm back against his chest, held by his right arm.
The rest of the dwellers scattered quickly, each returning to whatever they had been doing, while the leader and the one who had answered guided him through the forest.
The two forest dwellers advanced in silence, sliding between twisted roots and shadows as if they were part of the foliage itself. Eden had to quicken his steps a couple of times not to lose them; they were faster than they seemed, and their crouched way of moving made it hard to anticipate their direction.
Mielchor walked behind him, sniffing the air with obvious unease. Eden couldn't blame him: the atmosphere grew denser with each step, as if the trees watched from their swollen trunks.
The leader stopped abruptly.
Eeden almost bumped into him. The small being raised a hand, demanding stillness. They listened. For a few seconds there was nothing but the distant crack of a branch and the whisper of wind through the leaves.
Then the leader's companion clicked his tongue behind the mask and pointed toward a group of trees. From there, almost swallowed by the coming night, a thin thread of smoke climbed timidly a few meters up.
"Koan bagh," murmured the leader, this time without hitting the mask.
Eden didn't understand the words, but the tone was clear: there.
"Oh! Thanks." He grabbed Mielchor by the paw and began moving toward the source of the smoke. Before disappearing among the trunks, he paused for an instant and gave the forest dwellers a brief wave.
As he advanced, the murmurs reached him first like a distant echo, something the rain tried to erase. Voices. Human voices. With rhythm, with warmth. Eden halted for a moment—the contrast was so abrupt it almost felt like a dream.
He pushed aside a soaked bush, and the world shifted in an instant.
The oppression of the forest stayed behind as if someone had lifted a weight off his shoulders. There they were: sitting around a campfire sheltered by branches, the flames breathing orange light over their tired faces. A small warm refuge in the endless damp.
"Guys!" he exclaimed as he stepped out from the bushes.
Alaric stood up in a single movement. Halfway through unsheathing his rapier, he finally saw clearly who was approaching.
"Fuck!" he blurted, letting out a dramatic sigh. "I—" he hesitated. "Kid, I'm glad you're okay," he finally said, sheathing the weapon.
Eden soon noticed they weren't on the road.
"And the carriages?" he asked, though he already knew looking for them was pointless.
"Yeah… about that," Alaric scratched the back of his neck. "Grum dragged us to look for you when he saw you weren't coming back. And for some reason, all of us ended up going in too."
"All of them!?" Eden thought. He had seen them sitting there, yes, but the idea that the whole group had gone after him genuinely threw him off.
"Yeah… and well, since we're here, I'll tell you properly. Come," Alaric said, walking under the foliage and motioning him forward.
Even though everyone was sitting near the fire, Eden looked for a bit of distance. He dropped down on the opposite side, where only a low branch shielded him from the rain.
"H-hi," he greeted, raising his arm awkwardly.
"Look who's back," murmured Cecilia through her teeth, with no humor at all.
Eeden scanned the group with his eyes. Most were asleep. Only Alaric and Cecilia remained awake, their eyes open wider than usual.
"What the hell happened to you?" she asked, curling in on herself and leaning closer to the fire to warm her hands.
Eden swallowed and kept an uncomfortable silence.
Alaric broke it, but not before staring at a fixed point in the darkness.
"You heard it too?" he said, stretching his legs as if that would ease the tension anchored in his back.
"The whistle? Yeah… but it also showed up," Eden rubbed his forearm without realizing, uneasy. "It told me its name was P—"
"Shut up!" Cecilia snapped, hugging her knees tightly. "We can't say his name. He told us… he told us that if we say it…"
Her voice trembled. Not from cold. From fear.
"That we'll stay here, trapped in his game until we manage to take his talisman," Alaric continued, and for the first time his voice lacked its usual calm. This time he sounded genuine. And scared.
Cecilia rested her forehead against her knees, almost hiding behind them.
"He only showed his hand to show us what we had to take from him. That talisman belonged to Prince Lumel…" she murmured, breathing fast. "But that thing… that thing we saw… it wasn't of Lord Lumel. He would never allow his children to use that name. Or to do… this."
The fire crackled then, as if the sentence had been too much for the silence. The noise stirred several of those who were resting.
"You're bleeding," Gundar said with a blunt, direct tone as he noticed Eden's wound. "What did you do?" He stood up without haste and crossed the fire to check on him, more out of duty than concern.
Eden lowered his gaze. From pressing too much and moving his hand, the blood had started flowing again, thin threads slowly staining the rope that had been washed clean by the rain.