Shadows on the Horizon

The rhythmic beat of hooves against the dirt road was almost soothing, a steady cadence as we rode through the vast southern lands of Valerya. The wind carried the scent of wildflowers and damp earth, but beneath it lingered something else—something off. It was subtle, like the tension before a storm, an unease that settled in my chest and refused to leave.

Or maybe that was just because Valtor was riding beside me.

I adjusted my grip on the reins, glancing sideways at him. He rode with the effortless confidence of someone born into nobility, his storm-gray eyes scanning the horizon, unreadable as ever. I had no doubt he was aware of the growing tension in the air, but he said nothing.

Which meant I had to be the one to break the silence.

"You look constipated," I said, keeping my tone light. "Something on your mind?"

Valtor's gaze flicked toward me, unimpressed. "Must you always talk?"

"Must you always glare like you're plotting my untimely demise?"

He exhaled sharply, more of a scoff than a sigh. "You mistake focus for hostility."

"Ah. So this is just your face, then." I smirked. "Tragic."

Seraph, who had been riding just ahead of us, turned in his saddle with an amused grin. "You two bicker like an old married couple."

I nearly choked on air. "Absolutely not."

Valtor's expression darkened, but he didn't refute it, which only made it worse.

Herold, ever the instigator, laughed. "No wonder there's so much tension. If you two need some alone time to work things out, just say so."

I shot him a glare. "I hate you."

"I know."

Elara, riding just a little behind us, sighed. "Can we not do this the entire trip?"

I cleared my throat and straightened in my saddle. "Fine, fine. Back to more pressing matters—like the fact that we're riding straight into potential danger with no plan other than 'hope nothing goes wrong.'"

Valtor's grip on the reins tightened. "We follow the Queen's orders. We're to observe, gather information, and report back. Not engage."

I raised a brow. "You say that like you actually plan on listening."

He gave me a look that wasn't quite a denial.

Seraph grinned. "I mean, what's the worst that could happen? We see a shadow monster, and we run. Simple."

"Simple," I echoed dryly. "Right."

The journey continued, and the further we rode, the more the land changed. The lush greenery of central Valerya gave way to sparser fields, the trees thinning, their branches twisting in ways that made my skin crawl. The sky remained clear, yet there was an odd dimness to the light as if the sun was struggling to shine as brightly as it should.

It didn't take long before we reached the first signs of trouble.

The village was smaller than I expected, barely more than a cluster of wooden houses nestled against the hills. But there was no warmth here. No laughter, no movement. The streets were empty, doors bolted shut, windows dark.

So, this is Erin, then. What happened to this place?

A deep, unsettling silence hung over everything.

Seraph's usual grin faded. "Okay. That's... ominous."

Elara frowned, slowing her horse. "Where is everyone?"

We rode cautiously through the main path, scanning for any signs of life. There was none. Even the livestock pens were empty.

"This place wasn't abandoned," Herold murmured, pointing to a cart tipped on its side, its contents scattered across the dirt. "They left in a hurry."

Valtor dismounted, tying his horse to a post before stepping toward one of the doors. He knocked once. No response.

I followed suit, knocking on another door. "Hello? Anyone home?"

Silence.

Then—a faint rustling sound from within.

I stiffened, motioning for the others to stay back as I pressed my ear to the door. Faint breathing. Someone was inside.

"Open up," I said, keeping my voice calm but firm. "We're here from the capital. We mean no harm."

A long pause. Then, slowly, the door creaked open just enough for a pale, wrinkled face to peek through. An old man, his eyes clouded with fear.

"You shouldn't be here," he whispered. "It's not safe."

Valtor stepped forward. "What happened here?"

The man's gaze darted between us before settling on me. "You're the thirteenth prince."

I blinked. "You—know who I am?"

"The whole kingdom's been whispering about you." His eyes flickered with something I couldn't place. "But this isn't the time for that. You need to leave. Now."

Seraph frowned. "Why? What's going on?"

Before the man could answer, a distant noise cut through the silence—a low, echoing howl.

Not a wolf. Not anything natural.

Something cold crawled down my spine.

The man's face paled further. "They're here."

The howling grew louder, closer.

Valtor unsheathed his sword. "Inside. Now."

We barely had time to react before the shadows at the edge of the village began to move.

At first, it was subtle—a ripple in the darkness, a flicker of something shifting against the dim light. Then, they took shape.

Tall. Twisted. Hollow eyes that burned like dying embers.

The same creatures from the forest.

Elara cursed under her breath. "But the Queen said—"

"I know," I muttered. "We weren't supposed to engage."

Too late for that.

The creatures moved fast, faster than anything that size should.

I barely had time to register the movement before one lunged straight for me.

Instinct took over.

I threw up my hands, magic flaring to life. A burst of light exploded from my palms, colliding with the shadowed form and sending it skidding back.

But it didn't fall. It didn't even falter.

Its burning eyes locked onto mine.

Recognition.

A chill ran through me.

These things—they knew me.

And they weren't afraid.

Valtor was already moving, his sword slicing through one of the creatures, but the blade passed through it like mist, barely slowing it down.

"Great," Seraph muttered, electricity crackling at his fingertips. "They're immune to regular weapons."

A bitter wind howled through the crumbling streets of Erin, carrying the cries of the desperate and the dying. The Shadows—wraith-like figures of pure malice—poured through the ruined alleys, their distorted forms shifting and twisting as they struck down any who dared to stand against them.

Elara sprinted ahead, putting distance between us before leaping onto the remnants of an old stone well. Balanced and poised, she drew her bow taut, frost creeping along her fingers and spreading down the shaft of her arrow. The very air around her shimmered with ice, crackling with an almost unnatural chill.

She released.

The arrow whistled through the night, a streak of frozen light, and struck one of the creatures dead center. For the first time, the wraith staggered, ice crawling up its form, slowing its movements—proof that magic was the key to wounding them.

But it wasn't enough!

A flash of silver, a gust of wind—Valtor moved like a storm given form, his blade an extension of the tempest swirling around him. With each strike, he unleashed razor-sharp currents of wind, slicing through the wraiths as if he were cutting through fog. The creatures recoiled, their forms flickering as the force of his attacks disrupted their very essence.

He whirled, parrying a shadowy claw with his blade before twisting the wind into a sudden updraft, sending two more creatures soaring into the air before slamming them into the ground with crushing force. The way he fought was terrifyingly precise, controlled—the storm at his command, not the other way around.

"Stay close!" he barked, his gaze sharp as it flicked to the others.

Herold stepped forward, his presence unsettling even among allies. With a mere flick of his wrist, the air seemed to shudder and warp. The streets twisted, their edges fraying like an unraveling tapestry. To the wraiths, the world had become a labyrinth of shifting illusions—streets stretched endlessly, walls closed in, phantom figures appeared and vanished like whispers in the dark.

Seraph, ever opportunistic, took full advantage. Lightning crackled down his arms, wild and untamed, as he laughed in the face of the oncoming horde. "Let's see how well you fight when you can't tell what's real!" he shouted.

He unleashed a torrent of crackling arcs, striking down the confused creatures, their bodies writhing before bursting into black smoke.

Elara, now moving unseen within Herold's illusion, loosed another volley of frost-laced arrows, each one striking true, each one met with a shriek as ice froze the shadows in place.

For a moment, it seemed they could turn the tide.

But the villagers... the villagers were not warriors.

A desperate father, his arms wrapped around his young daughter, swung wildly with a rusted blade—only for the shadow to phase through it and sink claws into his chest. He gasped, collapsing. A young boy with a pitchfork tried to stand his ground, only to be yanked into the darkness. A mother screamed. A child sobbed.

The men who had picked up arms fought with all they had, but it was not enough. The shadows were endless, multiplying like creeping death.

And we—we were losing.

I had no time to think. No time to second-guess.

Darkness coiled around my fingers, mingling with the light. A chaotic, unstable force. The only weapon I had.

I unleashed it!

The air shattered, rippling like glass as my magic surged outward in a pulse of raw energy. Two of the wraiths were caught mid-strike, their forms disintegrating into a swirling mass of smoke and shrieking void.

But they did not die. They reformed. Slower this time, but still there.

Valtor's gaze snapped to me, something unreadable in his expression. Not fear. Not quite awe, either. Something more dangerous.

I could worry about that later.

Right now, we needed to save these people and get out of here alive.

An elder, her frail frame standing strong despite the horror around her, grasped my arm. Her eyes, weary with decades of wisdom, held a painful truth. "Go. You must report this to the crown. Valerya must know what is happening here."

I clenched my fists. Everything in me rebelled at the thought of leaving.

But we had no choice.

Even as we fought, more shadows slithered through the cracks, creeping along rooftops, emerging from the very darkness itself.

Seraph gritted his teeth, reluctant but aware. "Damn it all," he spat. "Fall back!"

The fight was not ours to win. Not tonight.