Chapter 35: "Veil of Shadows"
The forest seemed to close in tighter with every step they took, shadows stretching long and twisted under the canopy. Mist clung to the ground, swirling around their boots, muffling even the crunch of leaves and the rasp of labored breathing. The air was damp and cold, carrying a silence so profound that even their whispers felt like echoes.
Lyrian's grip tightened around the hilt of his sword, knuckles white and aching. His side burned where claws had grazed him, the wound hastily wrapped but still seeping through the fabric. He could feel the Evernight Ember stirring beneath his skin, a dark pulse that ebbed and flowed with each breath—hungry, impatient. It whispered in a voice only he could hear, urging him to let go. To burn it all.
He bit the inside of his cheek, focusing on the pain to drown out the insidious murmur.
Ahead, Reynard moved with restless energy, eyes scanning every shadow with a sharpness that bordered on paranoia. His blade was still slick with blood, dark stains splattered across the once-polished metal. Dorian followed, one hand pressed to his shoulder where crimson bled through his cloak, spatial energy flickering unsteadily at his fingertips.
Elyreina took up the rear, a slight limp in her step despite her attempts to hide it. Her dagger was sheathed, but her eyes were wary—tracking every flicker of movement between twisted branches. Blood stained the sleeve of her coat, dripping steadily with each stride, but her expression remained impassive.
"We need to rest," Dorian muttered, voice strained and raw. "Or at least heal. I can barely keep my magic steady, and I swear I've seen the same damn tree three times."
"We stop, we die," Reynard shot back without looking, his tone clipped. "That howl wasn't a coincidence. Something's herding us."
Dorian scowled. "Fantastic. Just what we needed—more things trying to kill us."
Reynard's jaw tightened, but he kept moving, boots crunching over gnarled roots and damp leaves.
Elyreina sighed, a faint tremor in her voice betraying her exhaustion. "Keep it down. We're already loud enough as it is."
Lyrian stayed silent, eyes flicking to the shadows that seemed to breathe and shift. There was something wrong with the forest—something more than the beasts that lurked within. Trees loomed too tall, branches twisting in unnatural angles, and the air itself felt tainted, heavy with a faint metallic tang. More than once, he caught glimpses of darkened plants and animal corpses, fur matted and eyes glassy, throats torn out with savage precision.
The Evernight Ember pulsed sharply, a wave of dark fire flickering at the edge of his vision. Lyrian stumbled, vision hazing with black flame, and Elyreina's hand was suddenly at his arm, steadying him with a frown.
"You okay?" she asked, eyes narrowed with concern.
Lyrian nodded tightly, swallowing past the dry ache in his throat. "Just… tired."
Her gaze lingered, brow creasing, but she said nothing, fingers reluctantly slipping from his sleeve.
A low growl echoed from the darkness—distant but unmistakable. Reynard halted abruptly, one hand raising in warning, muscles coiled and taut. His eyes narrowed, blade shifting to a defensive grip.
"Great," Dorian muttered, a bitter edge to his tone. "Because things weren't bad enough."
They pressed on, breaths shallow and hearts pounding, the growls growing louder—closer. Lyrian's heart drummed a frantic rhythm, each beat rippling dark fire beneath his skin, a barely contained storm. He clenched his fists until nails bit into flesh, focusing on the sting to drown out the whisper that curled in his mind, seductive and dark.
Release me. Burn them all.
A chill that had nothing to do with the mist slithered down his spine.
"We're running blind," Elyreina whispered, eyes darting to the shadows that seemed to multiply with every step. "This feels… wrong."
"It's a trap," Lyrian said quietly, voice flat but certain. "We're being herded."
Reynard's jaw tightened, but he didn't argue, fingers flexing around his sword hilt. "Then we break through."
Dorian scoffed, voice shaking despite the bravado. "Brilliant plan, really. Why didn't I think of that?"
"Shut up," Reynard snapped, but there was no real heat to the words—only a frayed edge of fear.
The mist thickened, cloying and cold, turning every breath into ice and every shadow into a threat. The growls were all around now—dozens of eyes glinting between the trees, low snarls rumbling through the darkness.
Lyrian's hand trembled around his sword, vision wavering with black flame. He exhaled slowly, grounding himself—focusing on the solid weight of the blade, the chill of metal beneath his fingers. The Evernight Ember snarled, dark fire lashing in protest.
A howl tore through the silence—chilling, furious, far too close.
Then they were moving—swords flashing and blood spraying, snarls and screams mingling in a brutal symphony. Claws raked, fangs snapped, and dark fire pulsed in time with Lyrian's heartbeat, scorching his veins with every beat.
A beast lunged for Elyreina, jaws gaping, and she twisted sharply—dagger cleaving through muscle and sinew with lethal precision. Blood sprayed, staining the ground dark, but another was already leaping, claws glinting in the fractured light.
Reynard's blade cleaved through a wolf-like beast, wind howling around him with lethal force. Blood dripped from a cut at his temple, but his eyes were sharp—focused. Dorian's hands were aglow with spatial energy, barriers flaring to deflect snapping jaws and raking claws, but the magic was unsteady, faltering with each strike.
Lyrian's sword flashed, severing limbs and carving through fur and flesh, movements sharp and precise. He avoided the dark fire, refusing to give in to the whispers that clawed at his mind—no matter how tempting it was to burn it all to ash.
But the beasts kept coming—endless, relentless, eyes glinting with savage hunger. For every one they felled, three more seemed to take its place, claws raking and fangs snapping.
Elyreina staggered back, blood soaking her sleeve, breaths sharp and uneven. Reynard's strikes were slowing, each swing of his blade less precise, movements growing sluggish with exhaustion. Dorian's barriers flickered, eyes wide and frantic, magic sputtering with each pulse.
A beast lunged—too fast, too close. Lyrian spun, sword arcing, but claws caught his side, tearing through fabric and flesh. Pain flared sharp and blinding, breath punched from his lungs. He stumbled, vision hazing, the dark fire roaring beneath his skin—wild and furious.
The last beast fell, head severed, blood splattering dark and steaming. Silence fell, broken only by gasping breaths and the drip of blood to soil.
Lyrian swayed, knees trembling, side burning where claws had raked deep. His breaths came shallow and ragged, dark fire simmering dangerously close to the surface, craving release.
Elyreina moved to his side, eyes sharp with concern. "You're bleeding," she said, voice tight.
"I'll live," he replied, forcing the words past gritted teeth, swallowing back the dark pulse that clawed at his control.
Her eyes narrowed, but she said nothing, fingers brushing his arm briefly before she turned away.
In the distance, the darkness seemed to pulse—alive and watching.
Lyrian's fingers tightened on his sword, eyes narrowing at the shadows that shifted in the trees, whispers curling at the edge of hearing.
And somewhere, deeper in the forest, something howled.