Alex leaned against a gnarled tree, its rough bark digging into his back as he caught his breath. The midday sun pierced the dense canopy above, scattering golden patches across the forest floor. Lyra sat a few feet away, her sword balanced across her knees, the whetstone in her hand gliding along the blade with a steady shink-shink. The sound grounded him, a quiet rhythm amid the wild unknown of Eryndor.
"So, how far to Eldergrove from here?" he asked, brushing dirt from his hands.
Lyra paused, tilting her head as if measuring the distance in her mind. "Two days, maybe, if we don't dawdle. The path splits up ahead—one way cuts through the Whispering Woods, the other skirts around it."
Alex quirked an eyebrow. "Whispering Woods? That sounds… cheerful."
She smirked, sheathing her sword with a flourish. "Oh, it's a delight. Trees that murmur secrets, shadows that move on their own. People go in and don't come out—or if they do, they're muttering gibberish."
A chill crawled up Alex's spine despite the warm air. "Right. So, we're avoiding that?"
"Unless you want to test your luck," Lyra said, standing and slinging her pack over her shoulder. "The long way's safer. Adds half a day, but we'll keep our sanity."
Alex chuckled, pushing off the tree. "Sanity's overrated, but I'll take it."
They gathered their gear and set off, the dirt path crunching beneath their boots. The forest thickened around them, branches knitting together overhead until the sky was a patchwork of green and gold. As they walked, silence settled, broken only by the rustle of leaves and the occasional birdcall. Alex found his thoughts drifting—back to Earth, to Mikey, to the life he'd left behind.
"You know," he said, his voice softer than he intended, "back home, I never really belonged anywhere. Foster homes, group homes—always bouncing around. Mikey was the only thing that stuck."
Lyra glanced at him, her sharp green eyes softening. "That sounds rough. What was he like?"
Alex smiled, a bittersweet ache tugging at his chest. "A dreamer. Always spinning big plans—'We'll make it big, Alex, you'll see.' Eryndor was his shot at that, I think."
"And yours," she said, stepping over a gnarled root.
"Yeah." He kicked a pebble down the path. "Didn't expect it to involve cursed forests and giant wyrms, though."
Lyra laughed, a bright sound that cut through the stillness. "Welcome to Eryndor. It's never what you expect."
They crested a low hill, and a figure emerged from the trees ahead—a traveler, cloaked in faded brown, leaning on a gnarled staff. The stranger raised a hand, their voice raspy but warm. "Greetings, wanderers. Where are you bound?"
"Eldergrove," Lyra replied, her hand resting lightly on her sword hilt—a habit Alex had noticed she never shook.
The traveler nodded, their hood shadowing their face. "A wise destination. But beware—the Whispering Woods are restless, and bandits prowl the passes."
"We're taking the long route," Alex said, crossing his arms.
"Smart lad," the traveler said. "Though even that road has its perils. Keep your eyes sharp." With a dip of their staff, they shuffled past, disappearing into the trees.
Alex frowned, glancing at Lyra. "Think we should worry?"
She shrugged, adjusting her pack. "Always. But we've faced worse than whispers and thieves."
The path stretched on, the forest growing quieter as the sun dipped lower. By late afternoon, they reached a fork. To the left, the trail plunged into the Whispering Woods, where the trees loomed like sentinels, their branches twisted into claw-like shapes. To the right, a rockier path curved around the forest's edge, dotted with boulders and crumbling stone.
"Right it is," Lyra said, veering toward the safer route.
As they walked, the terrain shifted. The ground grew uneven, littered with mossy stones and broken pillars—remnants of something long forgotten. Alex slowed, running a hand over a weathered column. "What are these?"
"Ruins," Lyra said, her tone matter-of-fact. "Eryndor's full of them. Old cities, temples—some say they're cursed, others say they hold secrets."
His curiosity sparked. "Think there's anything worth checking out?"
She hesitated, scanning the area. "Could be. Could also be trouble. Up for a detour?"
"Always," he grinned.
They veered off the path, following the trail of ruins until they reached a larger structure—a shrine, maybe, its arched doorway yawning into shadow. Vines clung to its walls, and the air carried a faint hum, like a distant heartbeat.
"Stay close," Lyra whispered, drawing her sword.
Alex nodded, his hand on his own blade as they stepped inside. The air turned cool and damp, thick with the scent of earth and rot. Faint light seeped through cracks in the ceiling, illuminating murals on the walls—figures in flowing robes, hands raised toward a glowing orb.
"Look at this," Alex said, tracing the faded lines. "Mages, maybe?"
Lyra nodded. "Powerful ones, by the looks of it. This could've been a sanctum."
They pressed deeper, boots echoing on the stone floor, until they reached a central chamber. An altar stood at its heart, bearing a dusty tome and a small, ornate box. Alex's pulse quickened as he approached.
"Trapped?" he asked, hovering over the tome.
"Probably," Lyra said, peering over his shoulder. "Go slow."
He brushed off the dust and lifted the cover. The pages crackled, covered in swirling runes that blurred before his eyes—then shifted, forming words he could read. "It's a skill book. 'Arcane Shield.'"
Lyra's eyes widened. "That's rare. Grab it."
He tucked it into his pack, then turned to the box. Holding his breath, he eased it open. Inside, on a faded velvet cushion, lay a silver amulet, its blue gem pulsing faintly.
"Mana amulet," Lyra breathed. "Stores extra mana. That's a find."
Alex fastened it around his neck, the gem's warmth settling against his skin. "Could come in handy."
A low growl rumbled through the chamber, cutting off his next thought. Shadows peeled from the walls, shaping into sleek, wolf-like forms with glowing red eyes.
"Shadow wolves!" Lyra shouted, raising her sword. "Shadow Wyrm's minions!"
Alex drew his blade, the amulet flaring as adrenaline surged. The wolves lunged, their bodies flickering like smoke. His first swing sliced through one, but it reformed, snarling. Lyra's blade glowed faintly, carving into another with a sizzle.
"Magic!" she yelled. "Hit 'em with a spell!"
Alex focused, mana surging through him. He thrust out his hand, and a Fireball erupted, slamming into a wolf. It shrieked, dissolving into ash. Lyra danced through the pack, her strikes precise, while Alex alternated between sword and flame. Sweat beaded on his brow, but the amulet pulsed, feeding him just enough mana to keep going.
Finally, the last wolf fell, its howl fading into silence. Alex slumped against the altar, chest heaving. "Too close."
Lyra wiped her blade, her expression grim. "The Shadow Wyrm's onto us. It's sending scouts."
"Then we need to be ready," Alex said, straightening. Resolve hardened his voice. "No more surprises."
They stumbled out of the shrine, the setting sun painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. The path to Eldergrove lay ahead, shadowed and uncertain. Alex gripped the amulet, feeling its steady pulse. With Lyra at his side and new tools in hand, a flicker of hope stirred in him. Whatever waited—bandits, wyrms, or worse—they'd face it together.