Chapter 31: Into the Ashen Wilds
Mist clung to the ground in thick swirls, curling around roots and stones like spectral fingers. The canopy above, dense and interwoven, allowed only slivers of daylight to pierce through, painting patches of pale light on the forest floor. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves or distant growls that reverberated through the Ashen Wilds.
Lyrian adjusted the grip on his sword, the metal cool against his palm. He moved silently, boots brushing over damp earth without a sound. Ahead of him, Elyreina's form shimmered faintly as she led the way, her Spectral Mirage casting brief, translucent shadows that melded with the mist.
Reynard, a few paces behind, muttered under his breath. "They call this a trial? Feels more like they're tossing us to the wolves."
"Considering what we've faced in the simulations, this might actually be tame," Dorian replied dryly, eyes scanning their surroundings. His fingers flexed subtly, a faint shimmer betraying the readiness of his Spatial Control.
Selene moved with quiet precision, her amethyst eyes glinting as she nocked an arrow. "Stay focused. We need to conserve our strength," she murmured.
They moved as a unit, years of training and instinct weaving them into a seamless formation—Reynard and Lyrian at the front, Elyreina and Selene covering the sides, and Dorian at the rear.
A low growl cut through the silence. From the underbrush, eyes glinted—feral and unblinking. The bushes parted as a pack of Ravager Wolves emerged, their fur bristling and fangs glistening with saliva. They moved in a coordinated manner, flanking the group with a hunter's precision.
"Great. They hunt in packs," Reynard scoffed, twirling his sword with a flourish. "Guess we're doing this."
Elyreina's eyes narrowed, and her form flickered, vanishing in a ripple of light. Illusory copies of herself sprang forth, darting between the wolves with deceptive speed. Confused, the beasts snapped at shadows, their snarls filling the air.
Selene's fingers released the bowstring with a soft twang, arrows slicing through the mist with lethal accuracy. Each shot found its mark, burying deep into throats and eyes.
Reynard's Zephyr Dance activated with a gust of wind, his form blurring as he cut through the wolves with rapid, precise strikes. Blood misted the air, but he moved too quickly to be touched.
One wolf lunged at Lyrian, jaws wide. He sidestepped, eyes glinting coldly, and slashed in a smooth arc. Blue flames licked the blade's edge, searing through flesh and bone effortlessly. The wolf dropped with a yelp, smoke rising from its charred wound.
The skirmish ended swiftly, bodies sprawled and lifeless amidst the roots. Breathing slightly ragged, Elyreina reappeared beside Lyrian, concern flickering in her gaze. "You're alright?"
Lyrian nodded once, expression unreadable. "Fine."
Reynard exhaled, flicking blood off his sword. "Well, that wasn't too bad."
Dorian snorted. "You're grinning like a fool."
"It's called confidence, spatial boy."
"Idiocy sounds more accurate."
Before Reynard could retort, a faint glimmer caught Selene's attention. Kneeling beside one of the wolves, she pried open its jaws to reveal a beast crystal—small, jagged, and pulsing with dim light.
"First one," she announced, tossing it to Reynard, who caught it with a smug grin.
Dorian's eyes narrowed slightly. "Be cautious. The stronger the beast, the brighter the crystal. These are dim—low-tier at best."
"Meaning the real threats are further in," Lyrian noted, voice calm.
Silence settled over them for a moment before Elyreina's quiet voice broke it. "Then we keep moving."
They pressed deeper, the air growing heavier, thick with the scent of damp earth and something metallic—like blood long dried into the soil. Sunlight dimmed further as the canopy thickened, casting everything in shades of gray and green.
Scattered bones littered the path ahead, some split and gnawed clean. Deep claw marks gouged the trunks of ancient trees, bark stripped away to reveal raw, splintered wood.
Reynard's grin faltered. "Charming."
Dorian crouched by a twisted root, fingers brushing over a bloodied fragment of armor—stained and warped, the insignia too smudged to recognize. His gaze darkened. "This is recent."
Selene's eyes flickered, bow taut and ready. "We should be careful. Whatever did this might still be close."
A chill ran down Lyrian's spine—a prickle of warning that made his grip tighten on his sword. He glanced at Elyreina, who met his gaze with a small nod, her eyes sharp and alert.
They found a temporary reprieve in a clearing ringed by jagged rocks. The silence was uneasy, heavy with unspoken concerns.
"Alright," Reynard started, leaning against a boulder, "we've got a few crystals, but if we want enough points, we'll need to take down higher-tier beasts."
"Not without a plan," Dorian countered, voice cool. "Rushing in blind is a sure way to get killed."
Reynard scoffed. "Oh, forgive me for wanting to actually win this thing."
"It's not about winning. It's about not dying," Dorian replied flatly.
The two glared at each other, tension sparking.
Elyreina sighed softly, stepping between them. "Let's focus," she urged. "We have enough supplies for a few days. If we pace ourselves, we can cover more ground and find stronger beasts without risking too much."
Reynard huffed but relented, crossing his arms. "Fine. Miss tactical has a point."
Lyrian, quiet as ever, leaned against a tree, gaze drifting to the shadows between trunks. A faint hum pulsed beneath his skin—Evernight Ember stirring with a restless heat, as if sensing something deeper in the forest.
He kept it contained, unwilling to risk the questions it might raise. Even now, the blue flame felt unpredictable—dangerous in a way that left him uneasy.
They resumed their trek, weaving between roots and thorn-laden bushes. The light dimmed further, shadows stretching long and twisted.
A roar split the air—low and rumbling, causing the ground to vibrate beneath their feet. Birds scattered in a flurry of wings, silence snapping back in their wake.
They froze, breaths held, eyes scanning the darkness.
Dorian's voice was low. "That… wasn't low-tier."
"No kidding," Reynard muttered, knuckles white around his sword.
Lyrian's eyes narrowed, grip steady but tense. He could feel it—a presence deeper within, heavy and ancient, watching them with an almost sentient malice.
Elyreina inhaled slowly, jaw set. "We need to move. Quietly."
They pressed on, the path winding deeper into shadow. But the feeling lingered—the certainty that something was following, eyes glinting in the dark, waiting for a moment of weakness