Trust No One

### **Chapter 9: Trust No One**

*Trill's Point of View*

The clearing was silent now, but the tension in the air still crackled like a live wire. The remnants of the battle hung in the air—smoldering earth, the smell of burnt tendrils, the quiet hum of an ancient power that seemed to pulse through the trees. It was unnerving. Something was wrong, and Trill could feel it deep in his bones. He had seen enough in his life to recognize when things didn't add up. But what unsettled him the most wasn't the forest, nor the shadowy creature they had just killed, but Bren herself.

She wasn't the same person she had been when they first met. Her power had erupted from her like an unstoppable force, raw and dangerous. She had killed the Shadow Beast with ease—too much ease. Magma surged around her like it was second nature, and the very earth obeyed her will. But what did that mean for their survival?

His sword was still in his hand, and he couldn't help but grip it tighter as his gaze slid toward Bren.

She was silent, staring at the ashes that used to be the beast. Her face was hard, almost distant, like she was lost in her own thoughts, wrestling with something Trill couldn't see.

He didn't know her.

And that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.

"Bren," he said, his voice low, more to himself than to her. "Why didn't you tell me about that power? You could've saved yourself—saved us—long before now. Why didn't you?"

She didn't answer at first. Instead, her eyes lingered on the last wisps of smoke rising from the clearing. There was a flicker in her gaze—something sharp, almost painful—but it quickly disappeared. "Some things," she said, her voice calm but with an edge to it, "are better left buried."

*Buried.*

Trill narrowed his eyes. That was the problem. No one, not even himself, could bury their past forever. Everyone had skeletons hidden in the closet, and some of those skeletons had claws.

He couldn't trust her, not completely. She had held back information from him before, and she was doing it again.

Just like when the Shadow Beast had attacked. He had asked her why she didn't fight back, why she didn't use whatever power she clearly had. She could've stopped that creature in its tracks, but she had waited, letting it get too close before finally taking it down.

Why?

The words that had passed between them earlier echoed in his mind. *You're not ready*—that's what she had said. But Trill wasn't a fool. He didn't believe in coincidences. He didn't believe it was by chance that they had crossed paths in the first place.

A mercenary. An assassin. Two souls with blood on their hands, drawn to the same cursed forest by forces unknown. And now this—the power she had displayed. Magma? She was hiding something dangerous, something that could kill them both if she wasn't careful.

But if there was one thing Trill had learned over the years, it was this: trust no one.

Not even yourself.

As Bren turned away, preparing to head toward the stone structure that loomed in the center of the clearing, Trill's eyes narrowed. The guides had already vanished, disappearing into the dense trees, leaving only silence in their wake. They hadn't said a word after the battle, hadn't even moved. They had just… *watched*.

This wasn't some random meeting. No, this was orchestrated. Every step they took, every encounter, was part of some plan—someone's plan. Trill's fingers twitched around the hilt of his sword as a cold dread began to settle in his chest.

"I don't trust them," Trill muttered to himself.

Bren, who had been walking a few paces ahead, stopped and glanced over her shoulder, her eyes sharp. "Them? The guides?"

He nodded. "The whole damn thing. Something's not right. You know it too, don't you?"

Her expression was unreadable. For a moment, Trill wondered if she had even heard him, but then her lips parted slightly, revealing a knowing smirk.

"They've led us this far," she said quietly, her tone oddly detached. "What more do you need?"

"I need to know why." Trill's gaze darkened as he looked around the clearing, trying to shake the creeping sense of being watched. "I don't buy their story. The forest may be ancient, but so are the lies that come with it."

"Lies?" Bren's eyebrows rose, but her voice stayed calm. "Are you accusing them of something?"

Trill stepped forward, his boots crunching on the damp ground as he closed the distance between them. "I'm saying nothing happens by chance, Bren. This isn't some forgotten place of magic. We're being herded here, like cattle to a slaughterhouse. And those guides... they're not what they seem."

Bren's eyes met his, and for the first time, he saw something in them—a flicker of doubt, of fear perhaps—but it vanished quickly, hidden beneath her hardened exterior. "I don't need you to protect me, Trill. I can handle myself."

Trill's heart tightened at her words, but he didn't let it show. "I'm not protecting you," he snapped. "I'm protecting *myself*. The second I let my guard down, we both die."

Her gaze softened, just a fraction, and she nodded, though the walls between them remained intact.

"Then stop waiting for an answer to drop from the sky," she said with a sigh. "Things will never be as simple as you want them to be."

Trill opened his mouth to argue, but the ground suddenly trembled beneath them. A low growl reverberated through the clearing, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Bren's eyes narrowed. "We're not alone."

Trill instinctively stepped in front of her, sword drawn. His pulse quickened as the air around them thickened. The forest itself seemed to be alive, its magic pulsing and swirling like a living creature, closing in on them. The trees bent unnaturally, their branches moving like fingers reaching toward them. Something was watching—something was coming.

"You knew this was coming," Trill muttered to Bren, his grip tightening on his sword. "You've known from the beginning."

Bren didn't answer right away. Instead, she took a slow, deliberate step backward, her hand brushing the hilt of her sword. But Trill saw the flicker of unease in her eyes, the same unease he had felt since the moment they entered the forest.

"I didn't know," she said finally, her voice cold. "I knew *something* would come, but not this."

Trill's mind raced as he scanned the clearing, every shadow, every whisper of wind sending alarms ringing in his head. This wasn't the time for uncertainty.

A shape emerged from the darkness at the edge of the trees, its eyes glowing a dull green. A figure cloaked in tattered robes, its face hidden by a hood.

The figure raised a hand, and the air around them thickened even more, as if the forest itself was reaching out to bind them.

*This is no coincidence,* Trill thought again. *We were brought here. Trapped.*

The figure's voice, raspy and cold, echoed through the clearing. "You are too late."

Bren stiffened, her eyes narrowing. "Too late for what?"

The figure didn't answer directly. Instead, it stepped forward, revealing more of its twisted form. What was once a human shape was now marred by dark, twisting branches that grew from its back and arms, veins of black magic pulsing through its skin.

"Too late for you to leave the forest unscathed," the figure said, its voice like a whisper of doom. "You are part of the cycle now, mercenaries. No one escapes the heart of the woods."

Trill felt a cold shiver crawl down his spine as the figure's gaze turned toward him. "And you… you are the key to it all."

Bren's hand twitched on her sword hilt. "What do you want from us?"

The figure's laugh was slow, deep, and hollow. "Everything."

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**To be continued…**