The shop’s warmth clung to Arien like a fragile shield, the soft orange glow of lanterns and candles stretching across the wooden floors. The faint crackle of the hearth was a gentle counterpoint to the crashing tumult of thoughts in his mind, each breath he took weighed down by the memory of what they had just escaped. The heavy scents of lavender and sage drifted through the room, tinged with a lingering note of charred herbs—a reminder of his aunt Ael’s more experimental concoctions. Usually, those smells brought him comfort. Tonight, they seemed dulled and distant, as if the world had shifted beneath his feet and nothing was quite the same.
Beside him, Lila stood pale and trembling, her slight shoulders quivering beneath the worn cloak she clutched at her throat. Her breaths came shallow and fast, as though she expected some horror to lunge at them from the dark corners of the shop. In her wide brown eyes, there was a mixture of disbelief and raw terror that had yet to subside. The flickering light accentuated the faint sheen of sweat on her temples, and for the first time since Arien had known her, she looked utterly fragile, stripped of the carefree joy she once carried like a personal emblem.
Now, within the shop, the hush was absolute. Silence pressed in, a weighted blanket of tension making their ragged breathing even more pronounced. Then Ael’s voice lanced through the quiet.
“What were you thinking?” she snapped, her emerald eyes blazing with fury as she bore down on Arien. Even the flames in the hearth seemed to flare at the sound of her anger, casting sharp shadows across her angular features. “Do you have any idea how close you came to—” She stopped, lips pressing tight. For an instant, Arien could have sworn he saw a flicker of guilt or fear—or both—flicker across her face, there and gone. He tried to steady his breathing, but each gulp of air felt thick, as though some invisible pressure lingered in the room.
Before Arien could defend himself, Kael stepped forward, placing a hand lightly on Ael’s shoulder. Despite his gentle touch, there was an undercurrent of command in his voice. “Ael,” he said, the single syllable laden with meaning. “Focus. Look at the girl.”
As though a switch had been flipped, Ael’s anger receded, replaced by a calculating stillness. Her gaze shifted to Lila, softening with concern as she assessed the girl’s condition. Slowly, she moved closer, exuding a calm concentration that Arien recognized from watching her practice healing rites. The faint rustle of Ael’s robes coincided with a subtle hum that filled the air, so light it was almost imperceptible—a sign that she had begun weaving her magic.
The shift in atmosphere was palpable. Arien’s skin prickled, an electric tingle running from the back of his neck to his fingertips. He sensed the gentle current of power circulating around Lila, brushing against Arien’s awareness with its primal edge. It wasn’t the carefully structured and methodical rune-work he had studied under Kael’s tutelage. This was older, rooted in the heartbeat of the earth. It smelled of crushed pine needles and dew on mossy stones—a raw, natural aura unique to Ael’s craft.
“She’s been…” Ael started, her gaze flicking to Arien. He saw a momentary flash in her eyes, as though she was deliberating what she could or should say. Instead of finishing her sentence, she simply drew in a measured breath. With fluid, practiced motions, she lifted her hands over Lila’s head. A soft glow radiated from her fingertips, spreading like moonlight seeping through a thin cloud. When that gentle illumination touched Lila’s temples, the girl’s eyes fluttered and shut, her tense body giving in to an exhausted collapse. Arien caught her in time, easing her to the floor. Lila’s breathing, moments before frantic, now settled into a deeper, calmer rhythm. A wave of relief flooded him.
“She’ll have to come with us,” Ael said, straightening as though she had declared something self-evident. “If she’s to live, I need to treat her. And we can’t remain here.”
Kael, stoic in his posture, let out a slow exhale. “The girl too? What’s next? Are we to invite the entire hamlet along on this little journey?” There was a faint quiver of amusement in his voice, though it was undermined by obvious concern. He ran a hand through his thick, silvering hair, eyes darting to the shuttered windows, as though expecting a renewed threat from beyond the safety of the shop.
Ael’s glare could have melted steel. “Do you think I want this?” she hissed, her frustration coiled taut. “But they’ll be together!”
Though she didn’t elaborate, Arien felt those words slam into him. Together. Her comment resonated with an unspoken implication that Lila’s fate was somehow bound up with his own. He pressed his lips into a thin line, the pulse in his throat still fluttering from the remnants of fear.
Kael lifted his hands in a gesture of appeasement. “Ah, young love,” he said, tipping his head in an almost theatrical display of irony. “So sweet, so fleeting.” The remark earned him another glare from Ael, quashing the joking lilt in his tone. Her eyes flashed, and he coughed, offering a resigned nod. “Fine, fine. Arien, gather your things. Quickly. We don’t have all night.”
A lump formed in Arien’s throat. He glanced down at Lila’s slumbering form. Outside, the night pressed against the walls, filled with who-knew-what horrors that might still be lurking. He inhaled sharply, nodded at Ael, then carefully lifted Lila to a small cot in the corner. Her lashes fluttered as if she dreamed, but otherwise, she remained still, her features slowly regaining some of their normal color.
As Arien darted to his alcove—a modest nook by the back wall, partitioned by a tattered curtain—he hurriedly scooped up the few personal items he owned: an extra tunic and a small bag of carving tools for runes. He paused just long enough to gaze at a small wooden horse, carved with childish inaccuracy, perched on the rough wooden shelf. Swallowing the knot in his throat, he tucked the token carefully into his pack.
When he emerged, he saw Kael, rummaging through the shop’s shelves with methodical haste. Vials, flasks, and bundles of herbs all vanished into an old leather satchel marked with arcane symbols. The pungent aroma of combined potions hung in the air. His brows were drawn, lips muttering half-formed words as he verified each item.
“You’ll thank me later,” Kael said abruptly to no one in particular. “Maybe not today, but eventually.”
Arien managed a faint smile, though tension still coiled in his muscles. He recalled countless afternoons spent watching Kael experiment with runes, from simple light spells to more complex illusions. Kael’s humor had always seemed a shield against the seriousness of their studies. Tonight, that shield was thinner, threatened by encroaching shadows.
A burst of cold night air spun into the shop as the door swung open. Ael stepped through, her silver-streaked hair catching the lantern glow, followed by Tharvik, the blacksmith whose broad shoulders nearly filled the entire doorway. With every heavy footstep, the old floorboards creaked in protest.
“Ms. Ael,” Tharvik said, his voice solid as an anvil strike, “I’m coming with you.”
In the flickering lanternlight, his face was a stoic mask etched with unwavering resolve. Arien had never known Tharvik to speak much, but when he did, it was with deliberate purpose.
Ael’s expression hardened. “You can’t be serious,” she started, clearly about to protest.
Kael, however, interjected with a calm authority. “Tharvik, your protection would be welcome. If you’re prepared to leave everything behind.”
Without hesitation, Tharvik nodded. “If Ael is leaving, then so am I.”
There was no bravado in his statement, only the unwavering devotion of someone who had clearly made up his mind. Ael began to argue, but Kael silenced her with a gentle nudge. She pressed her lips together, annoyance flaring in her gaze before she conceded.
In the flurry that followed, Arien barely had time to think. He double-checked the contents of his satchel: spare clothing, small carving knife, the wooden horse, a bag of dried fruit, and a single piece of bread. It felt woefully inadequate for any long journey, but there was no time to procure more. Meanwhile, Ael carefully plucked key vials and pouches from cupboards, ensuring she had the herbs and tinctures necessary to tend to Lila. Kael grabbed last-minute trinkets—focusing crystals, an old ritual dagger, and something that resembled a curved piece of polished bone. Tharvik lifted Lila off the cot, cradling her with surprising gentleness.
Finally, they stepped outside into the night. The hamlet slept around them, the few distant lanterns already extinguished or low. The air was crisp, holding a faint bite of impending frost. Under normal circumstances, it would have felt exhilarating to be out under the vast sweep of stars. Tonight, it felt as though those stars were distant watchers, bearing silent witness to the world’s darkness. A hush had fallen across the narrow streets and crooked houses, as if the village itself was holding its breath.
Arien paused for a moment, glancing over his shoulder at the shop’s darkened interior. It had been his home for as long as he could remember.
No one spoke as they set off, the crunch of their footsteps on packed dirt the only sound in the silence. Each step away from the shop felt heavier than the last, as though the path itself tried to tug them back. Ahead, the road stretched into darkness, illuminated only by the faint starlight and a single rune lantern Kael carried. The hamlet’s low cottages and winding lanes receded behind them, swallowed by the night.
They kept a hurried pace, conscious of the lingering threat. The outskirts of the hamlet were a patchwork of farmland and thin woods, where the wind rustled the tall grasses, and the silhouettes of gnarled trees stood like ghosts. A chill scuttled across Arien’s neck as he recalled just how swiftly monstrous forms had melted into the undergrowth. He kept glancing at the edges of the road, half-expecting something scaled and clawed to burst from the shadows. But all remained quiet, save for the rustle of wind-tossed leaves.
The walk continued for half an hour, maybe more—Arien had difficulty tracking time. Adrenaline still surged through him, and every random shape in the darkness looked like a threat. At last, the village lights were lost behind them, and only open country lay ahead. The gentle slopes of farmland gave way to an expanse of fields and the promise of deeper forests further on.
Eventually, they paused to regroup, collecting themselves in a small clearing near a weathered milestone. The stone bore runic inscriptions so faded that Kael had to trace them carefully with a finger to identify the region. The faint glow of his lantern fell on ancient glyphs: a testament to countless travelers who had passed this way.
They pressed on, crossing the threshold that officially marked the end of the village’s territory. Somehow, stepping beyond that stone felt like crossing into another world. The darkness of the open road pressed around them, and the vulnerability of being so far from shelter hit Arien with an almost physical force. The night sky stretched overhead, a massive dome of glittering stars that seemed as remote as the swirling voids of distant realms.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Kael moved to the front, staff in hand, while Arien and the others followed in a rough line. Tharvik carried Lila carefully, watching his steps so as not to jar her, and Ael moved close behind, her gaze darting back and forth between the road and Lila’s sleeping face. For a time, their only companions were the crunch of footfalls, the sigh of wind in the tall grass, and the nocturnal chorus of unseen insects chirping from the brush.
As the hours wore on, fatigue gnawed at Arien. His legs grew heavy, and the strap of his satchel chafed at his shoulder. Once or twice he thought he saw flickers in the corners of his vision—shadows that danced along the treeline, or shapes that dashed under the moonlit sky. Fear churned his stomach, but each time he scanned the darkness, the shapes vanished. He wasn’t sure if it was exhaustion or remnants of panic playing tricks on him. If there were truly monsters tailing them, they stayed hidden, as silent and unknowable as the night.
The monotony of walking stretched time into an indistinguishable blur—step after step, minute after minute—until a new glow caught Arien’s attention. At first, he thought it was a trick of the moonlight, but as they drew nearer, he recognized the familiar luminescence of a rune lantern, like Kael’s but larger. The flickering light cut through the darkness, revealing a group of wagons stationed at the roadside.
They approached cautiously, with Kael slowing to a careful pace. Even from a distance, Arien could discern three wagons arranged in a semicircle, as if they had halted for the night. The wooden sides bore marks of heavy travel—scrapes, dents, and patched repairs. One wagon still smelled faintly of hay and dried apples, an earthy sweetness that drifted toward them on the breeze.
Near the lantern, two figures stood talking in low voices. One was of medium height and lean build, wearing a dark cloak that fluttered in the night air. His angular face and sharp features reminded Arien of a fox or a rat: cunning and quick. The other was much taller and broader, wrapped in thick furs and sporting a formidable braided beard that glinted a fiery red under the lantern’s glow. An impressive broadsword was slung across his back, and an axe dangled at his belt, the polished metal reflecting blue-tinged glimmers of rune-light.
A jolt of trepidation ran through Arien, pooling ice-cold in his gut. After the night’s earlier horrors, he was in no shape to meet more strangers with unknown intentions. Before he had time to think it through, his body betrayed him. Fear spiked, and he turned on his heel, sprinting back down the road. The memory of unearthly shrieks and monstrous silhouettes still lingered in his mind, fueling his flight.
“Arien!” Ael’s voice whipped through the night. It had the razor edge of command, but Arien’s limbs remained locked in panic. Step after step, he pelted down the dusty road, feeling as though a thousand hungry eyes were upon him.
Then, almost impossibly fast, the wiry man in the cloak was in front of him. Arien didn’t even see him move. One moment, the man was by the lantern. The next, he was blocking Arien’s path, as silent as a cat. With a deft twist, he caught Arien’s wrist and forced the knife from his grip. The blade clattered to the ground, the metallic echo lost in Arien’s ragged breathing.
“Whoa, easy there,” the man said in a voice that slid around the darkness like smooth oil. His features softened just enough to be disarming, a half-smile gracing his thin lips. “I’m not here to hurt you, kid. Relax.”
The suddenness left Arien too stunned to resist. His cheeks burned with embarrassment, and his heart pounded like a drum. He glanced back at Ael, who was striding toward them with fury glinting in her eyes.
The man released Arien with a gentle pat on the shoulder, as though dealing with a startled animal. “See? No harm done,” he said lightly, gesturing for Arien to follow him back toward the wagons. “Let’s go before your aunt decides to flay me with her glare.”
In mute agreement, Arien allowed himself to be guided, though his pulse still raced. He was acutely aware of the night around them, how easily something could emerge from the darkness. But no further threats presented themselves. When they returned to the group, Ael shot Arien a look that conveyed both anger and relief. She opened her mouth, likely to chastise him for running, but Kael intercepted with a calm, measured voice.
“His instincts were sound,” Kael said, glancing meaningfully at Ael. “He’s still young. Better he runs from danger than freezes.”
Ael clamped her mouth shut, turning her indignation on Kael with a heated glare. Arien stood there awkwardly, scuffing the dirt with his boot. The tension in the air crackled, not unlike the suppressed magic in Ael’s healing practice.
The wiry man chuckled, exchanging a mischievous wink with Arien. He meandered back to the lantern, reclaiming his spot near the tall man with the braided beard, who had watched the entire exchange with a calm, discerning gaze.
With the immediate crisis over, Arien finally looked closer at the giant, who radiated a quiet steadfastness. Where the wiry man carried himself with twitchy energy, the broad man was like an immovable boulder—steady, unhurried, and quietly formidable. Arien got the sense that if the creature from earlier attacked now, the giant would simply plant his feet and hold off the entire onslaught by himself. A strange, comforting thought, despite everything else swirling around them.
The tall man’s eyes flicked to Arien, studying him without accusation. If anything, there was an air of empathy in that fleeting glance, as though he understood the fear that still coiled in the boy’s gut.
Silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the rune lantern and the quiet shift of wagon wheels settling in the dirt. The night pressed in around them all, a thick velvet curtain that revealed no more monsters or lurking foes. At length, the wiry man cleared his throat.
“Name’s Riven,” he said, smoothing a hand over the collar of his cloak. His voice carried that same silken edge Arien had noticed before. “And this big fellow here is Ulfgar.”
Ulfgar offered a nod, the braids in his beard shifting over his broad chest. “Evening,” he said simply, his voice a low, resonant rumble.
Kael introduced himself with a slight bow, staff in hand. He kept his tone genial, though his eyes remained watchful. “Kael,” he said, nodding toward the silver-haired woman at his side, “and this is Ael.”
Riven’s gaze flicked to Ael, and for a moment, Arien saw surprise spark in the sharp depths of the man’s eyes. Then Riven’s lips quirked into a smirk, as though amused by some secret knowledge. Ulfgar likewise inclined his head, his gaze lingering on Ael.
Kael continued, his voice taking on a lighter note as he gestured to the hulking blacksmith. “This is Tharvik, a rune blacksmith of considerable skill.” Tharvik nodded, still cradling Lila, who remained in a deep, magic-induced sleep.
Kael’s tone subdued. “And these two,” he said, nodding to Arien and Lila, “are young travelers in need of some…guidance.”
Arien bristled at the vagueness of Kael’s words. He had grown used to the old man’s penchant for half-truths, yet it still bothered him to be presented in such an offhand manner. He swallowed his frustration, focusing instead on Lila’s pallid complexion.
Tharvik carried her to the nearest wagon, while Riven strolled over, casually pointing to a spot where Tharvik could lay her down on some folded blankets. “Make yourselves comfortable,” Riven said, with an air of practiced hospitality. “We don’t bite.”
It didn’t take long for them to settle on who would ride where. Riven, with a flourish and a grin, hopped up into the driver’s seat of the first wagon, beckoning Arien to join him. Arien hesitated, uncertain if he wanted to sit so close to the slippery rogue, but when he glanced around for an alternative, Kael gave him a firm nod. Resigned, Arien climbed up.
Tharvik and Ulfgar took the second wagon, a sturdy contraption that smelled faintly of livestock. Ulfgar tested the reins, and Tharvik busied himself making sure Lila was as comfortable as possible on a bed of cushions. The soft rise and fall of her chest was the only indication that she was merely asleep. Arien found himself quietly thankful for Tharvik’s gentleness.
Ael and Kael claimed the third wagon. The sides bore scorch marks and arcane symbols scrawled in chipped paint, evidence of whatever journeys it had weathered in the past. Ael hovered protectively over Lila for a moment, double-checking the girl’s condition. Satisfied, she swept into the third wagon with a swirl of her cloak, Kael following behind, still faintly smiling as though amused by the entire situation.
The wagons lurched into motion, drawn by sturdy, if somewhat weathered, horses. Arien felt each bump in the road rattle his bones as Riven steered them into the night. The rune lanterns attached to the wagons gave off soft halos of light, painting shifting shadows against the roadside trees. Arien kept his hand near his knife, though he knew he had little chance of besting Riven if it came to another confrontation. The man’s reflexes were simply too quick.
For the first hour, the caravan moved through a hushed landscape. The moon had risen higher, bathing the surroundings in ghostly silver. Patches of mist drifted across the open fields like lost spirits. Occasionally, Arien caught glimpses of distant shapes—a lone deer darting through the grass, or the outline of an owl perched on a fence post. The monstrous forms from earlier seemed absent, at least for now, though Arien’s heart did a little jolt whenever something rustled in the undergrowth.
Beside him, Riven sat relaxed, casually humming under his breath. It was an odd, lilting tune, something Arien didn’t recognize. Each note threaded through the rhythmic creak of the wagon wheels. Though Riven’s posture exuded ease, there was a watchfulness in his eyes. He would flick a glance at the trees, the road, the sky, and then return his attention to the reins, the hum never faltering. Arien guessed the man was sharper than he cared to let on.
Eventually, the awkward silence grew too heavy. Riven broke it with a quip, leaning back and eyeing Arien with mild amusement. “So,” he began, “you two lovebirds in trouble? Or is it just your aunt that’s got you spooked?”
Arien stiffened, not sure how to answer. Part of him wanted to tell Riven everything—about the monstrous shapes, the fear that still clung to him like a film of cold sweat—but he forced the urge down. Something about Riven made him wary. The man was too glib, too smooth.
“Neither,” Arien lied through a forced shrug. “We just needed to leave.”
Riven narrowed his eyes, the corners of his lips lifting in a mocking smile. “Sure, kid. And the reason you ran screaming into the night back there had nothing to do with fear, I suppose?”
Arien flushed, glaring at the reins. “It wasn’t… I mean…” He closed his mouth, deciding it was better not to fan the rogue’s amusement.
Riven chuckled, the sound low and conspiratorial. “Don’t fret. I’m not judging you. If I saw some scaly terror creeping around my camp, I’d be running too.” There was something pointed about the way he said “scaly terror,” as though referencing the very monsters Arien was sure lurked beyond the hamlet. Riven’s eyes glimmered with a teasing edge, but also with knowledge. Did he already know what had spooked them?
Arien frowned, unconvinced Riven was telling him everything he knew. “We saw…something,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. He glanced at the dark shapes of the trees that lined the roadside. “Out there.”
Riven’s smile faded slightly, replaced by a more serious expression. “We’ve all seen something out there,” he said quietly. “And if we haven’t yet, we’re bound to eventually.”
Arien weighed those words, not sure if he found comfort or dread in them. The night rolled on, and the wheels of the wagon turned, while overhead, the moon rose higher still, flanked by distant stars that seemed to twinkle with cool indifference.
Time slipped by slowly. Arien’s eyelids grew heavy, and for a moment, he considered letting sleep claim him. But each time he caught himself drifting, a jolt of adrenaline would spike in his chest, the memory of monstrous eyes looming in his thoughts. So he stubbornly fought off slumber, determined to remain vigilant. Riven seemed to sense his restless state and left him mostly in peace, returning to his quiet humming.
Behind them, Arien occasionally heard the rumble of Ulfgar’s voice mingling with Tharvik’s deeper baritone. The two men seemed to be getting along, likely comparing stories of forging metal or runic weapons. A faint clank of metal rang out now and then, as though Tharvik were showing Ulfgar a piece of gear or a small trinket. In the last wagon, Ael and Kael’s silhouettes moved in the lanternlight, presumably discussing Lila’s condition or the best route to their destination. A single rectangular aperture revealed the soft glow of lamplight within, flickering as the wagon swayed.
The road continued, winding and dipping through gentle valleys. Occasionally, Arien spotted distant farmhouses with no lights in the windows, only silent silhouettes against the horizon. The farther they traveled, the more he felt the weight of the wide world pressing in around them—an expanse of uncertain roads and hidden dangers.
He squinted at the tree line again, half-expecting to see a loping, clawed figure. Nothing emerged except the wind, rustling leaves and carrying the scents of damp soil and cold dew. Still, his mind replayed the earlier chaos. The shop, Lila’s panic, Ael’s fury, Kael’s brisk command to prepare… and the fleeting glimpses of monstrous shapes that had slithered, crawled, or bounded into the night. Arien could still hear their guttural hisses, sense their hot breath on the wind. Though the night seemed serene now, he knew better than to assume safety.
