In The Wilderness

After laying my father to rest with the honor he deserved, I gathered the children and set out to scavenge for anything that might aid us on this journey. There was nothing left for me in a kingdom that had already fallen. A princess without a domain was nothing more than a commoner, standing at the lowest rung of the hierarchy.

Among the ruins, I managed to salvage gold and clothing—surprisingly untouched by the aftermath of battle. I drew water from the wells, storing it in copper containers to sustain us through the wilderness. For now, my only goal was to ensure the children's safety, guiding them away from the dangers that lurked beyond these desolate lands.

I knew I wasn't strong enough to face every threat that awaited us, but I swore to protect these children from the ever-present shadow of death, biding its time to strike.

As we ventured beyond the ruins, the weight of silence pressed upon us. The wind carried the scent of scorched earth and lingering embers, whispering of the lives that had once thrived here. The children walked close, their small hands clutching at my cloak as if afraid that letting go would mean vanishing into the void.

Our path soon led us to the edge of a jagged cliff, overlooking a dense forest shrouded in mist. The only way forward was down. The thought of leading the children through such a treacherous descent sent a wave of uncertainty through me, but hesitation was not a luxury I could afford.

I knelt beside them, brushing away the dust from their tear-streaked faces. "Hold on to me," I whispered.

Lifting the youngest onto my back and securing another against my chest, I guided the others to grip the rough rock face. My fingers burned as I found footing along the uneven surface, carefully maneuvering down each narrow ledge. The wind howled against my ears, a cruel reminder of the sheer drop that loomed at our side. One misstep, and we would be lost to the abyss below.

The children trembled, their soft whimpers nearly drowned by the rustling leaves below. "Just a little more," I assured them, though the tightness in my chest betrayed my own fears.

At last, my feet met the damp earth of the forest floor. I exhaled sharply, my arms aching from the strain. One by one, I helped the remaining children down, steadying them on the soft undergrowth. The forest welcomed us with an eerie stillness, its towering trees casting shadows that stretched endlessly into the unknown.

Our path was uncertain, but the wilderness offered no mercy for hesitation. Every rustling leaf and distant howl reminded me that we were prey in unfamiliar lands. I kept my senses sharp, eyes scanning for signs of both danger and shelter.

The road ahead stretched endlessly, winding through a desolate expanse where remnants of war still scarred the land. I pressed forward, each step a silent promise—I would not let them succumb to the fate that had claimed so many.

But as the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of crimson and violet, I knew we needed refuge before darkness swallowed us whole. And so, with weary limbs and aching resolve, I led them toward the faint outline of an abandoned outpost in the distance, praying it would offer us even a sliver of safety.

As we drew closer to the abandoned outpost, I noticed faint movements in the distance. The once-desolate structure was not as empty as I had hoped. Shadows shifted behind crumbling walls, the glow of makeshift campfires flickering against the ruined stone.

We were not alone.

Scattered throughout the ruins were men—weathered, hollow-eyed figures who had also been cast adrift by war. Survivors, deserters, or perhaps remnants of a fallen army, each carried the weight of countless lost battles. Their ragged cloaks clung to them like ghosts of the past, their gaunt faces barely illuminated by the dim firelight.

I tightened my grip on the children's hands, my instincts screaming caution. The wilderness was ruthless, but men with nothing left to lose could be far worse.

Would they welcome us? Ignore us? Or see us as easy prey?

I exhaled, steadying my nerves. We had no other choice—nightfall was upon us, and the forest behind us held dangers far greater than desperate men. If we were to make it through the night, I would have to tread carefully.

With slow, deliberate steps, I led the children forward, hoping that whatever fate awaited us in the outpost was one we could survive.

As we stepped into the ruins of the outpost, the men barely reacted. Their hollow eyes followed us, but none spoke a word. Their silence was heavier than the night itself, a suffocating presence that made my skin crawl. Though they remained still, I could feel their gazes pressing upon me—measuring, questioning, perhaps even coveting.

Then, a sudden scream tore through the heavy air.

A woman, wild-eyed and frantic, came sprinting toward us from the depths of the ruins. Her clothes were tattered, her hair tangled like a madwoman lost to despair. She wailed incoherently, her shrieks echoing off the crumbling walls.

The children cowered behind me, clutching at my cloak. My instincts flared, and without thinking, I raised my hands. A familiar tingling sensation surged through my fingertips as my nails extended into sharp, curved claws—my only natural weapons.

The woman's frantic steps sent dust flying with each desperate stride. Her eyes burned with a manic terror, but whether it was fear or madness that drove her, I couldn't yet tell.

One of the men finally moved, stepping forward to intercept her. "Enough, woman," he growled, his voice hoarse with exhaustion.

But she did not stop. Her desperate eyes locked onto mine as if she saw something in me that the others did not.

"You shouldn't have come here," she gasped between ragged breaths, her body trembling. "The night… The night is cursed!"

Her words sent a chill down my spine. My claws remained bared, ready for whatever darkness she feared lurked beyond the ruins.

The man who had interrupted her slowly approached, his steps deliberate, eyes heavy with scrutiny. He was older than most of the others, his face lined with hardship, his tattered armor hinting at a past life as a soldier.

"Where did you come from?" he asked, his voice rough, yet steady. The other men remained motionless, their silence pressing in from all sides, waiting for my response.

I forced myself to stand firm, my claws slowly retracting as I glanced at the frightened children beside me. Revealing my true identity as a fallen princess was out of the question. In a place like this, names held weight—some could offer protection, while others invited death.

I met his gaze, keeping my tone measured. "From the ruins beyond the valley," I answered, choosing my words carefully. "We barely made it out."

His eyes flickered with something unreadable—doubt, perhaps, or understanding. He looked past me at the children, his gaze lingering on their worn faces.

"The war left no safe place," he muttered, more to himself than to me. Then, his sharp gaze returned. "And where are you headed?"

I hesitated. The truth was, I didn't know. My only goal was to get the children to safety, away from the horrors that had already claimed so much. But safety was a fragile thing in a world that had long since forgotten mercy.

"Somewhere far from death's reach," I finally said.

The man exhaled, as if hearing those words exhausted him. "Then you've come to the wrong place." He motioned toward the woman who still trembled at the edge of the firelight. "She's not wrong. This place—" He glanced at the darkened ruins around us. "—it's cursed."

The children flinched at his words, their small fingers tightening around my cloak. I felt a shiver crawl down my spine, but I refused to let it show.

Cursed or not, the night had already fallen. Leaving now would be far more dangerous.

"Then we'll stay until morning," I said, my voice unwavering. "Just for the night."

The man studied me for a long moment before nodding. "Fine. But if you hear the whispers… don't answer them."

His warning lingered in the cold air, unanswered, as I led the children deeper into the ruins.

The man sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as if weighed down by a silent burden. Then, after a brief moment of hesitation, he stepped closer and lowered his voice.

"I'll guide you," he said. "And guard you, at least for the night."

I narrowed my eyes, wary of his sudden offer. "Why?"

His gaze flickered to the children before settling back on me. "Because most of the people here aren't just survivors," he admitted. "They're wanted criminals, deserters, and men with nowhere left to go. Some are just lost souls… but others?" He shook his head. "They'll do anything to survive."

A cold chill ran through me. I had already felt the weight of their stares—hollow and hungry, as if gauging whether we were worth the trouble. If even one of them decided we were easy prey, this night could turn from uneasy to deadly in an instant.

The children huddled closer, sensing the shift in the air. I took a slow breath, keeping my stance firm.

"Then I'll take your offer," I said, my voice calm but guarded. "For tonight."

The man gave a slow nod. "Name's Garran," he muttered. "Used to be a soldier once. Now I'm just another ghost in this place."

A former soldier. That explained his stance, the weight in his voice, the way the others seemed to recognize his authority without words.

"Aminah," I replied, offering only my first name. The rest, my lineage, my past—it was safer left buried.

Garran gestured toward a partially collapsed structure at the edge of the outpost. "Stay close. There's an old barracks still standing. It's not much, but it'll keep you out of sight."

I nodded and gathered the children, following him into the shadows of the ruined outpost. I could still feel the weight of unseen eyes upon us, but for now, at least, we had a guide through the night.

As we settled into the dimly lit barracks, the children clung to me, their small bodies exhausted but too wary to sleep just yet. The air was thick with the scent of damp wood and old stone, mingling with the faint traces of ash from past fires.

Garran sat across from us, rummaging through a worn leather pouch before pulling out strips of dried meat. He tossed a few toward me without a word.

"Not much," he muttered. "But it'll keep you from starving."

I caught one, inspecting it carefully. The texture was rough, the scent unmistakably gamey.

"What is it?" I asked, wary.

"Scavenged meat," he replied. "Monsters, animals… even the small ones."

The children hesitated, their gazes flickering between me and the food. I could tell they were starving, but the thought of eating unknown creatures made them uneasy.

I took a slow breath, then tore off a small piece and placed it in my mouth. The flavor was tough, slightly metallic, but not entirely unpleasant. It wasn't human flesh—of that, I was certain.

"It's safe," I said, giving the children a reassuring nod. "Eat."

Hesitantly, they took the dried meat from Garran's outstretched hand, nibbling at it with slow, deliberate bites. Hunger quickly overcame their fear, and soon they were eating in silence, their small hands gripping the food tightly.

Garran watched them for a moment before leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms.

"You're strong," he said, his gaze shifting back to me. "Not many can walk into a place like this and still carry themselves like they belong."

I met his stare, keeping my expression unreadable. "I don't belong anywhere."

He smirked at that, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then you'll fit right in with the rest of us."

A silence stretched between us, broken only by the soft chewing of the children and the distant wind howling through the ruins.

Outside, the night pressed in, and somewhere in the darkness, something moved.

My senses screamed at me, an unsettling prickle crawling down my spine. I narrowed my eyes, trying to make out the movement beyond the crumbling walls of the outpost.

Then I saw them.

A mass of figures lurking in the shadows, their ragged forms blending into the night. Their eyes gleamed with something primal—desperation, hunger, madness. The scent of unwashed bodies and damp earth clung to them, thick and suffocating.

They were men. Dozens of them. Perhaps more.

But these weren't just wanderers seeking shelter. No, these were men who had long since abandoned reason, driven only by the raw need to survive—at any cost.

I felt my breath hitch, my claws flexing instinctively.

Garran noticed my change in posture and followed my gaze. His face darkened instantly.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath. He stood, grabbing the hilt of a worn blade at his waist. "I was afraid of this."

The children huddled closer, sensing the shift in the air. Their tiny hands clung to my cloak, their breathing uneven.

I kept my voice low. "Who are they?"

"Scavengers," Garran said grimly. "Or what's left of them. When men have nothing left, they become worse than beasts."

As if in response, one of the figures let out a hoarse, guttural sound—half a growl, half a broken laugh. The others stirred, stepping forward, their footsteps crunching against the dirt and shattered stone.

I counted their movements, measured the distance between us and the exits. We were outnumbered. Fighting them head-on would be suicide.

Garran shifted beside me. "We need to move. Now."

I nodded, clutching the children tighter. The night had just turned into a hunt. And we were the prey.

We ran, our feet pounding against the rough earth as the scavengers surged behind us like a relentless tide. The children clung to me, their small hands trembling as I pulled them forward, desperate to keep them from falling behind.

Then, a sharp whistle cut through the air.

Arrows.

I barely had time to react before a volley rained down upon us. My instincts took over—I turned, spreading my arms wide as I shielded the children with my body.

Garran moved like a seasoned warrior, his blade flashing as he deflected the arrows mid-flight. The force of each impact sent shudders up his arm, but he didn't falter.

"Keep moving!" he barked, gritting his teeth as he knocked another arrow aside. "They're trying to slow us down!"

I could hear the scavengers behind us—laughing, shouting—like hungry wolves closing in for the kill.

One arrow tore through the edge of my cloak, but I didn't stop. The children's frightened whimpers were all that mattered now.

A sharp pain grazed my shoulder, the sting of a near-miss, but I pushed forward, tightening my grip on the little ones.

Garran turned to me, his expression fierce. "We can't outrun them like this! We need cover!"

I scanned our surroundings frantically. The trees ahead—if we could just make it to the forest, we could disappear into the darkness.

"Head for the trees!" I shouted.

Garran didn't hesitate. He took the lead, slashing through low branches to clear a path as I carried the children behind him.

The arrows slowed, but the scavengers didn't.

They weren't giving up. And neither could we.