Chapter 8: Iron in the Grass

It began with silence, a heavy shroud that wrapped around Camp Alvus like a fog.

One patrol unit. Four apprentices. Two days overdue.

At first, the senior knights dismissed the unease, attributing the delay to the unpredictable nature of the wilderness. Perhaps the trail had taken an unexpected turn, or the map had turned unreliable in the thick woods near the north ridge. But as the sun dipped below the horizon for the third night, the mood in Camp Alvus shifted.

Whispers proliferated, sprouting like weeds in the thickening gloom.

"This was supposed to be a training camp."

"Bandits wouldn't hit a scout group."

"Then what did?"

Zeppelin sat quietly on the edge of the training circle, eyes trailing the anxious glances and taut postures of the other apprentices. Even the campfires burned smaller than usual, as if they too were fearful of the encroaching darkness

Despite the unease, training continued.

Zeppelin had begun practicing more regularly, guided by supportive peers and occasionally watched by Saya. Her sword strikes felt clumsy at first, but an instinct thrummed beneath her skin, a strange familiarity that pulsed with each movement. The way she pivoted, the grip of her hand, the stance she instinctively took, it felt as if her body remembered something that her mind had yet to grasp.

Saya noticed the shifts.

An unspoken awareness settling between them. She kept silent, though she lingered a moment longer whenever correcting Zeppelin's posture. On one occasion, she murmured softly, "You're not starting from zero."

Zeppelin didn't know what to say.

She just kept swinging.

Yet even the sharp clang of wood against wood could not drown out the ever-present anxiety that lurked in the corners of their minds.

As dusk cloaked the camp in shadows, a tense horn echoed through the stillness, a low, mournful note that sent shivers racing down their spines.

An emergency call.

Everyone gathered in the central circle. Senior Knight Varmund, a grizzled veteran with a storm-grey beard and fire-wrought armor, stood before the crowd. His expression was stony.

"A scouting group has failed to return. We've confirmed signs of a struggle, blood, broken steel, no bodies."

A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd.

"We're assembling a small expedition at dawn to investigate. Only the most capable apprentices will be chosen. The rest, remain on alert."

Without hesitation, Saya stepped forward, her resolve unwavering.

No one argued.

Then, just as Varmund turned to leave, a voice, a quiet yet resolute sound, broke through the circle.

"I want to go too."

It was Zeppelin, her voice steady and clear.

All eyes turned to her, a mix of surprise and skepticism in their gaze.

"You're not a knight," someone muttered, skepticism lacing their tone.

"She's barely trained." another scoffed.

But Zeppelin stood firm, fists clenched at her sides. "If the enemy is still near, I want to help. Even if it's just to watch our backs."

A heavy silence fell over the assemblage, and then Varmund's piercing gaze locked onto hers.

"Perhaps she's right," Saya spoke up calmly, standing beside him. "She knows these forests better than most of us."

Varmund paused, weighing her words. 

After a moment, he nodded once, his expression resolute. "You'll stay at the rear. First sign of trouble, you fall back."

With dawn's first light, the expedition departed, five apprentices, two seasoned knights, and Zeppelin, wrapped in a borrowed cloak with her sword secured at her side. The ancient trees loomed around them, their branches arching overhead like the ribs of a great beast, casting long, eerie shadows on the forest floor.

By noon, they stumbled upon what remained of the bandit camp.

What was left of it.

Tattered tents fluttered weakly in the wind, splattered with blood in chaotic patterns. Broken spears lay scattered, half-buried in clawed earth. Yet, there were no signs of the scouts, no bodies, no bandits, only an unsettling silence.

And tracks.

Massive, unnatural footprints sank deep into the soil, leading into the darker recesses of the forest where no maps dared to tread.

"This… wasn't human," one apprentice whispered.

"No," Varmund replied grimly, his brow furrowed with concern. "Nor beast."

Zeppelin knelt beside the claw marks, her fingers trembling as they brushed against the cold, damp earth. Something within her stirred, an echo, a flicker, a pulse that whispered of recognition.

Something had passed through here.

Something ancient.

Something hungry.

And it had only just begun.