Chapter 8

"Hold on tight or you'll fall!"

Simon shouted, his voice heavy with urgency. Elana kept her eyes tightly shut, gripping Simon's back as he urged the horse into a reckless speed. There was no time for complaints; they understood that lives depended on their swift return to town to report the incident.

For Simon and Elana, the ride back felt infinitely long. They once relished the journey as a chance to forage, but now thoughts of the fruits collected in the Filoa forest were far from their minds. As they finally neared the town's gate, Simon exhaled a deep sigh of relief. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows on the cobblestone path. Three soldiers stood guard at the entrance, their vigilant eyes scanning the surroundings, their uniforms displaying the emblem of their King and exuding authority.

Elana took a steadying breath. Her heart raced as she reached into her satchel and retrieved her residence identification. The document bore signs of wear but was still legible—evidence of her loyalty to the town. Stepping forward confidently, she presented it to the soldiers.

One soldier, a tall man with a stern glare, examined the document closely. He squinted, then looked up at Elana. His brows furrowed as he took in her uneasiness. The other two soldiers remained poised, hands resting on the hilts of their swords, ready for any sudden developments.

"You may enter," he stated flatly.

"N-no sir, I'm sorry, but we need your help," Elana replied, her voice firm despite the nerves.

"And what gives you the idea to issue commands?" one soldier challenged, an edge of anger creeping in.

Recognizing the tension, Simon stepped protectively in front of Elana. "We are not issuing commands, sir. We just returned from Filoa's forest—"

"Ah, the Filoa? Is it that time of the season again?" one soldier sneered, a smirk crossing his face.

"Were your baskets so full that you now require assistance? You ought to have sought help from your own kind. We have no time for such trivial matters—we're here to guard the gate—"

"There is a half-dead man in the forest! He's a soldier in desperate need of immediate assistance, so stop the mockery and help us. That's why we came back!" Simon snapped, his voice unwavering and his eyes blazing with intensity.

The soldiers were momentarily caught off guard, taken aback either by Simon's fierce declaration or by the news itself. Elana felt the tension rise. They might be arrested if they pushed the soldiers further.

"You dare raise your voice to us, fool—"

One of the soldiers, his face contorted with rage, began to draw his sword, a guttural threat forming on his lips. But before the blade could leave its scabbard, a powerful hand clamped down on his arm, halting his movement. The soldier froze, his eyes widening in terror at the sight of the imposing figure behind him.

"What is the meaning of this?" boomed a deep voice, his eyes shifting from the soldiers to Elana and Simon.

"C-Commander Tahl, sir," the three soldiers stammered, their faces paling, snapping to attention, fists clenched against their chests.

Commander Tahl, a towering figure clad in gleaming armor, surveyed the scene with a cold, assessing gaze. His disappointment was palpable. He turned to Simon and Elana, his expression softening ever so slightly.

"I apologize for my men's unprofessional conduct. I am Tahl Oslon, Commander of King Dalton's army, and a Knight of the realm. You are obligated to receive aid in times of need, especially as subjects of King Dalton Sydren."

Elana and Simon exchanged grateful glances, and the weight of their fear momentarily lifted with the unexpected presence.