Chapter 36: The Shadows of Ghostwoods

"We are heading to Ghostwoods. Are you sure?" Liria asked, her voice barely audible over the pounding hooves of their horse.

"Yes, we are," Dastan answered briefly, his grip tightening on the reins as he urged the horse forward.

Liria turned her head to look at him, disbelief flickering in her hazel eyes. "You can't be serious."

"Oh, don't give me that look." Dastan sighed, his gaze fixed ahead. "I know Ghostwoods well. In fact, all the Alassins do. We train in it. It could be our advantage in a situation like this."

As they neared the infamous forest, an eerie mist thickened around them, curling like ghostly fingers around their path. The dense fog clouded the horse's vision, forcing it to slow down. The towering trees of Ghostwoods loomed over them, their ancient trunks disappearing into the endless darkness above. The air grew damp, filled with the scent of moss and decay.

"I do not want to keep running. I do not run away from things. I run toward them," Dastan muttered under his breath, his voice low but edged with something unyielding.

Liria furrowed her brows, studying him. His grip on the reins was tight, his knuckles white against the worn leather. The muscles in his jaw tensed, a flicker of something dark passing through his eyes—determination, rage, or perhaps both.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dastan's gaze remained fixed ahead, his expression unreadable, but there was a fire behind his eyes, one that had been burning long before this night. "I will kill them," he said, the words coming out slow, deliberate. "One way or another."

A chill ran down Liria's spine. The air around them felt heavier, thick with tension and something unspoken. The rhythm of pursuing hoofbeats behind them grew louder, pounding against the forest floor like a war drum, each beat a reminder of the danger closing in.

Then, without another word, Dastan pulled on the reins, bringing the horse to an abrupt stop. The sudden jolt nearly sent Liria forward, but she caught herself, her fingers digging into the saddle. Dastan dismounted in one swift motion, his movements precise, purposeful. He reached for the rope coiled at his belt and tied the horse to a thick, gnarled root that jutted out from the earth like an ancient claw. His fingers worked quickly, looping the reins with practiced ease, but his shoulders were rigid, every muscle in his body coiled as if ready to strike.

When he turned back to Liria, his expression softened just enough to mask the storm raging within him. He extended his hand, palm up, his fingers slightly curled in silent insistence. "Come on," he said, his voice steady despite the chaos around them.

She hesitated before taking it, her feet barely touching the ground before Dastan grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward the cover of a massive tree. The trees in Ghostwoods were nothing like ordinary ones—they were giants, their thick roots curling and tangling above the ground like the grasping hands of the dead. The canopy was so dense that only slivers of moonlight managed to pierce through, casting eerie blue reflections upon the mist.

"What if they find us?" Liria whispered, her fingers curling around her cloak.

"I will attack first," Dastan said. He pulled out his dagger and pressed it into her palm. "Take this, just in case. Stay hidden. It won't take long."

Liria swallowed hard as Dastan disappeared into the darkness. The distant sounds of hoofbeats ceased. Silence followed, thick and suffocating. Then voices.

"The horse is here."

"They must be close. Spread out."

Liria pressed herself against the tree, holding her breath. Through the veil of mist, she spotted Dastan. He moved soundlessly, like a wraith, emerging from the darkness behind the first guard. His blade glistened as it sliced through flesh. The man collapsed with a muffled gasp.

Chaos erupted. The remaining guards dismounted, drawing their swords. But Dastan was faster. He darted between the trees, striking with precision. One by one, the guards fell, their bodies laid on the ground, lifeless.

Then a voice whispered behind her.

"There you are."

Liria's blood turned cold. She spun around, dagger clutched tightly, to find a guard standing mere steps away, his sword gleaming.

"There is no running away anymore, princess," he sneered.

Liria raised the dagger in trembling hands.

A second guard emerged from the mist, his smirk cruel. "How naive. Do you even know how to use that?"

Liria swallowed her fear. "How could you betray my family?"

The first guard chuckled. "Betray? No. I betrayed your mother and her children."

Liria's grip tightened. "Does my father know?"

The second guard laughed mockingly. "Your father? The king knows nothing. We swore loyalty to Queen Celeste. Your father has grown weak, his ambition dead. He could have ruled the entire realm, yet he settled for peace."

Liria stepped sideways, her back against the rough bark of the giant tree. "And has Queen Celeste given you what you want?"

The guards exchanged a glance before grinning. "More than your father ever could. She's stronger than him now."

A low, guttural sound rumbled through the air.

The first guard frowned. "Stop stepping on my foot."

The second looked at him, confused. "I'm not."

Before they could react, roots slithered from beneath them like living serpents. The first guard gasped as his legs were yanked from under him. The second staggered back, only for another vine-like root to coil around his ankles, tightening like a noose.

Panic flashed in their eyes.

"What the hell is this?!"

Liria stood frozen, watching in horror as the roots dragged them down. The ground opened like a hungry mouth, swallowing them whole. Their screams faded, muffled by the earth. Within seconds, there was nothing left. No sign that they had ever stood there at all.

The forest returned to silence.

Her neck felt warm, an unsettling heat blooming beneath her skin. She reached up instinctively, her fingers brushing against the warmth, only to flinch at the unexpected sting. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, her breath hitching in her throat as a shiver ran down her spine. The sensation wasn't painful, but it was unnatural, foreign—like something inside her was waking up.

Her gaze dropped to her chest, and her pulse spiked. The ruby pendant her mother had given her pulsed faintly, a dim glow seeping through her fingers like the last embers of a dying fire. The light flickered, swelling and fading in an eerie rhythm, as if responding to the rapid beat of her heart.

Panic clawed at her chest. She clutched the pendant tightly, pressing it against her skin in a desperate attempt to smother its glow. But the warmth didn't fade. It seeped into her palm, threading through her veins, making her feel as though something ancient and unknown was coursing through her. Her breaths came in uneven gasps, shallow and unsteady, as if the very air around her had thickened.

What was this? Why was this happening now?

A cold dread pooled in her stomach, but beneath it, something else stirred—something she couldn't name.

Magic.

It couldn't be.

Magic had disappeared centuries ago.

Or so she had been told.

A sharp pain struck her chest, and she staggered forward, gripping the pendant tighter. The mist around her thickened, swirling unnaturally. A whisper echoed in her ears, though no one was there.

It has begun...