Chapter 8: Shadows on the Wind

The assassins moved like shadows, swift and silent, with only the faintest whispers of their presence left in their wake. Their cloaks billowed in the wind as they traveled through the night, their faces hidden beneath hoods that obscured their intent. They were strangers to the cities they passed through, moving from one land to the next with only a single purpose in mind: to find the one sent by God. They didn't know who he was, nor his face, but they had been given a mission—one they would not fail.

The cult's leader had decreed that the child must not survive, and the assassins were the means to an end.

In just ten days, they had covered vast stretches of land, moving from country to country in search of any sign of the child. They asked no questions, spoke to no one, and left only death behind them. Towns and villages had seen their fair share of strange occurrences, and the air in every kingdom was thick with whispers of the impending disaster that would accompany the arrival of the one sent by God. The cult had made it clear that the child's very existence posed a threat to their power and influence, and so, they hunted.

No stone was left unturned. No place was deemed safe. But they had found nothing, not even the faintest trace of their quarry. Still, they pressed on, heading toward the city of Erisia, where rumors had begun to surface—rumors of a strange light from the Tower of Light, the same light that the legends spoke of. It was their only lead.

They arrived in the city under the cover of night, slipping into the shadows as the gates closed behind them. The streets were quiet, and the people unaware of the impending storm. The assassins moved quickly, searching the city with deadly precision. They spoke to no one, but their eyes scanned every face, every corner, every shadow. They even infiltrated the royal palace, whispering in the corridors, careful to remain unseen.

But after days of searching, they found no sign of the child. The city was large, and their search had turned fruitless.

It was then that they felt it.

The faintest trace of power.

It was a tingling sensation, a hum beneath their skin, as if the very air had been charged with magic. They traced it to the edge of the forest that bordered Erisia, a place known to the locals as the Enchanted Forest. None dared enter it, for it was said to be protected by ancient guardians who would kill any who ventured too far.

But the assassins were not afraid. They had a mission. And they would not be deterred.

As they approached the forest, they saw the shimmering barrier that surrounded it. The guardians had placed an enchantment, one that had held for centuries, ensuring that only those with pure intent could enter. But the assassins were trained in the arts of magic and stealth. They had come prepared.

With a simple, practiced gesture, the leader of the assassins raised his hand, muttering an incantation under his breath. The air crackled with energy, and the barrier rippled. Slowly, it began to weaken, faltering under the force of the spell.

Unbeknownst to the assassins, the guardians had already felt the disturbance.

Deep within the heart of the Enchanted Forest, hidden from prying eyes, the guardians had been watching over the child—Ethan. They had long known of the coming threat, and they had placed layers upon layers of protective magic around the sacred land. But it was not only the enchantments that shielded Ethan; the very essence of the forest itself seemed to pulse with life, attuned to his presence.

The moment the assassins began their incantations, the guardians, who had always remained vigilant, felt the pulse of the magic that began to push against the protective barrier. One of the older guardians, an elven man with silver streaks in his dark hair, stood still for a moment, his eyes narrowing as he focused on the disturbance.

"It's happening," he murmured, his voice grave.

The younger guardians gathered around him, their senses on high alert. They, too, could feel the disruption—a wave of dark magic creeping over the edge of the forest, threatening to break the barrier.

"It's the assassins," said a young woman, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. "They're getting closer."

The leader of the guardians nodded, his brow furrowed in concentration. "The magic is growing stronger. The barrier is weakening. We need to act now."

Together, they pooled their power, strengthening the wards that protected Ethan and the forest. The ancient spells pulsed in the air, but even as they tried to reinforce the barrier, they could feel the strain. The assassins' magic was potent, and it was only a matter of time before the barrier would shatter completely.

"Ethan must not be found," the guardian leader said, turning to the others. "We will hide him. Take him deeper into the heart of the forest. Only the oldest trees can shield him now."

The guardians moved swiftly, enveloping Ethan in a cloak of magic so powerful that even the most skilled of sorcerers would be unable to locate him. The boy, sensing the urgency of the moment, followed without question. As the guardians led him to a hidden grove, they raised their hands in unison, weaving a final protective spell—a veil of illusion that cloaked the boy's presence from any who might search for him. To the outside world, the grove would seem empty, nothing more than a quiet, peaceful clearing.

Meanwhile, the assassins, oblivious to Ethan's true location, continued their relentless pursuit. As they crossed the threshold of the forest, they saw the shimmering barrier, its glowing light fading under the pressure of their magic. With a final burst of power, the barrier cracked, and the assassins surged forward, slipping through the weakening enchantment into the sacred land beyond.

It was only moments before the guardians confronted them.

A battle erupted in the clearing, the clash of steel and magic filling the air as the guardians fought with unmatched fury. The assassins, skilled as they were, found themselves caught off guard. They had underestimated the power of those who protected the forest.

The leader of the assassins bellowed orders, but it was too late. The guardians were too strong, too swift. One by one, the assassins fell, their bodies crumpling to the earth. The guardians fought with honor and precision, protecting the sacred land from those who would desecrate it.

In the end, only one assassin remained—his face bloodied, his cloak tattered. He had witnessed the death of his comrades, the failure of their mission. But he was not one to give up easily. He knew he had to report back to the cult, or he would face the same fate as those who had fallen before him.

With a final glance at the fallen bodies of his comrades, the last assassin turned and fled, vanishing into the forest before the guardians could strike him down. He moved swiftly, as shadows at the edge of the night, determined to make it back to the cult and deliver his report.

Days later, he stood before the leader of the cult, his eyes hollow and his body bruised from the battle. The leader of the cult sat on a throne of dark stone, his eyes glowing with malevolent power.

"You have returned empty-handed," the leader hissed, his voice like the rasp of a serpent.

The assassin bowed, his voice trembling. "We found him. The one sent by God. But we were unable to capture him. The guardians protected him. We… we lost them all."

The cult leader's expression twisted with rage, his eyes narrowing as he glared at the assassin. "Fool," he spat. "You have failed me. You have failed your purpose."

Without a word, the leader stood, raising his arms toward the heavens as dark energy swirled around him. The assassin watched in horror as the leader's power grew, the air around them thick with the stench of blood and death.

The cult leader's voice rang out, cold and commanding. "You are no longer of use to me. You will serve as an offering."

Before the assassin could react, the leader struck, his power surging through the assassin's body. The man crumpled to the ground, his life snuffed out in an instant.

The cult leader raised his hands once more, chanting in an ancient tongue. The assassin's lifeless body was consumed by dark flames, offering itself as a sacrifice to the demon that the cult worshipped.

The leader's lips curled into a cruel smile as he lowered his arms. The demon's presence stirred, its power responding to the offering.

The cult leader knew that the failure of his assassin would not be the end. The child would be found. And when he was, the world would tremble.