The Trail of Shadows

The northern path stretched before them, a winding road of dirt and scattered stones leading into the dense expanse of the Lumarian forest. The air was thick with tension, the only sounds being the occasional rustling of leaves and the distant cawing of crows overhead.

Tharion moved with purpose, his senses sharpened. The villagers' fate rested on how quickly they could find them. He glanced at Ceyla, who had been silent since they left Windfell. Her hands gripped the bow tightly, her knuckles white.

"They can't be far ahead," Tharion said, scanning the trees for tracks. "If they took an entire village captive, they'll be moving slowly."

Ceyla gave a sharp nod. "Then we have to catch them before it's too late."

Following the Trail

The path showed signs of a struggle—broken branches, trampled grass, and deep footprints in the soil. Someone had been dragged.

Ceyla knelt beside a particularly deep mark. "These prints are uneven. Some of the villagers were resisting."

Tharion examined the pattern. "And whoever took them didn't care. They just forced them forward."

The sight of the struggle lit a fire inside him. This wasn't just an attack—it was a display of dominance. Whoever had done this wanted to make the villagers feel powerless.

But Tharion would not let that stand.

A Dangerous Encounter

As they pressed deeper into the woods, an unnatural chill settled over them. The birds had stopped singing. The air was too still.

Ceyla raised a hand, signaling for Tharion to stop. "Do you feel that?"

Before he could answer, a shape moved between the trees—a shadow, too fast for the eye to track. Then another. And another.

They were being watched.

Tharion barely had time to react before a figure lunged from the underbrush. He twisted, dodging just in time as a blade slashed past him. Ceyla loosed an arrow, striking one of the attackers in the shoulder, but more emerged from the darkness.

There were five of them—cloaked figures with masks obscuring their faces, moving with trained precision.

Tharion raised his glowing blade. "You don't want this fight."

One of them chuckled. "We do."

Battle in the Forest

The first attacker lunged again, twin daggers flashing. Tharion parried, countering with a brutal strike that sent the masked man sprawling. Another swung a curved sword at him, but he ducked low, driving his elbow into the enemy's ribs.

Ceyla moved with deadly efficiency, her arrows finding their targets with ruthless precision. She dropped one enemy instantly, but the others kept coming.

One of them rushed toward her, and Tharion reacted on instinct. He extended his hand, and a golden pulse of energy shot forth, striking the attacker mid-charge. The masked figure was thrown back, slamming into a tree with a sickening crack.

For a moment, everyone froze. Even Ceyla looked stunned.

Tharion flexed his fingers, staring at the lingering golden light on his palm. "That was new."

The remaining enemies hesitated—just long enough for Ceyla to put another arrow through the leg of one. The final two, realizing they were outmatched, retreated into the forest.

Tharion turned to Ceyla. "Are you hurt?"

She shook her head, breathing heavily. "I'm fine. But who were they?"

Tharion knelt beside one of the fallen attackers, ripping the mask from their face. A pale, gaunt man stared lifelessly at the sky. Around his neck was a black sigil, the same markings as the ruins.

Ceyla cursed under her breath. "They're connected to that place."

Tharion rose, gripping his sword tighter. "Then they're connected to the ones who took Windfell."

He turned his gaze north, where the trail continued into the shadowed woods.

"We keep going."