The sun cast long shadows across the rugged, barren landscape as Silas, Rowan, and Layla, accompanied by Goldie and Trickster, neared Bitter Creek. The forest had given way to jagged cliffs and patches of dry grass, the terrain harsh and unforgiving. Trickster slithered lazily by Rowan’s side while Goldie trotted along beside Silas, his curious eyes darting from side to side.

Been a while since we last set foot here,” Rowan muttered, kicking at the dusty ground.

Silas, now fully rested after a hearty dinner the previous night, grinned as they reached a flat, open area. “Yeah, but this time, we’re here for something a little more exciting.”

Silas grinned wide, turning to his friends. “Alright, Breeze, let’s show them what you can do.”

A light chuckle echoed in his mind as Breeze emerged, her ethereal form shimmering in the air. Without warning, Silas felt a gentle tug on his body as he began to rise slowly, his feet leaving the ground.

Rowan’s eyes widened as Silas began to float above them, suspended by the invisible wind. “What the…?”

“Wow!” Goldie exclaimed, his round eyes even wider than usual.

Trickster, as ever, remained composed, his forked tongue flicking in and out as he observed the scene.

Breeze’s voice came, still slightly broken but more fluid than before. “I have… more control now. I can hold you… in the air longer.”

Silas’s grin widened as he floated higher, the sensation of weightlessness exhilarating. He looked down at Rowan and Layla, who watched in awe. “Those two look shocked, I’ve never shown them that you can float me up in the air!”

Silas hovered for a good five minutes with a slight adjustment from Breeze before gently lowering back to the ground. When his feet touched down, his friends gave him a round of impressed looks.

“That was incredible,” Rowan said, his tone filled with admiration.

Layla tried to downplay her astonishment and raised an eyebrow. “Floating is one thing, but what else can she do now?”

Breeze, responding to Layla’s curiosity, formed a swirling gust of wind around Silas. It wasn’t just for show; the air around him thickened, creating a translucent shield. The wind hummed as it circled, clearly potent enough to repel attacks.

“This will… slow enemies and projectiles,” Breeze said. “Even heavier things… no problem.”

To demonstrate, Breeze focused on a large boulder nearby. With a subtle shift in the air, the boulder lifted a few inches off the ground, and then Breeze sent it tumbling in the air. It flew far away with frightening speed before Breeze stopped it. She then recalled it with an air current just as quick and gently placed it in its original spot.

Rowan whistled, impressed. “That’s some serious speed and control for something so big.”

But Breeze wasn’t finished. With a flicker, she conjured several sharp edges of wind, their outlines barely visible as they took form. Silas directed them toward a small hill in the distance, and within seconds, the wind edges sliced through the hill with an audible whoosh, causing the earth to crumble in a neat, devastating line.

“Whoa,” Silas murmured, his eyes wide as he took in the destruction. “That’s… crazy.”

Rowan and Layla stood silently momentarily, taking in the full extent of Breeze’s abilities. Even Trickster, usually indifferent, let out a low hiss of approval.

Goldie simply nodded with flooded arms, as if this was the greatest sign of approval.

“I’d say she’s more than transformed,” Layla said, her tone filled with awe and admiration.

Silas nodded but couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. “Guess the risk was worth it after all.”

Still, despite the excitement, his thoughts lingered on the Water Spirit. “But thinking back… that Water Spirit, the one whose magic froze half the forest—she might’ve been a Greater Spirit. No way a Lesser Spirit could leave behind magic strong enough to do all that damage.”

He then glanced at Breeze, who hovered quietly beside him, her form flickering in the soft light of day. They had just scratched the surface of what a wind spirit could do. There was a long path ahead.

“Well,” Rowan said, clapping Silas on the back, “we’ve got a strong backer now.”

Silas smiled, feeling a renewed sense of confidence as they stood together at Bitter Creek. “Looks like we do.”

☪︎ ･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･⋆˖⁺‧₊☽◯☾₊‧⁺˖⋆･ﾟ ･ﾟ·:｡･ﾟﾟ･❂

After several days of anticipation, the awaited call finally came for Rowan and Layla. The Elder Council had reached a decision regarding the Darkwood Hollow incident, and both were summoned to receive the verdict. Silas, naturally, accompanied them on their way to the council hall.

The sky was overcast as the trio made their way through the bustling streets of Amberheart. Silas glanced over at Rowan and Layla, noticing the tense air around them.

“Hey,” Silas broke the silence as they walked. “When you’re in there, could you ask the elders if we can meet the survivors of Darkwood Hollow? They might be in a shelter here in the city, and I think talking to them could give us more insight about what happened.”

Rowan and Layla exchanged glances, then nodded in agreement. “We’ll ask,” Layla replied, her tone firm yet thoughtful.

The familiar stone walls loomed over them as they neared the grand Elder Council hall. The guards at the entrance, dressed in their gleaming armour, recognized Layla immediately, their posture stiffening in respect. One of them bowed slightly and gestured for Rowan and Layla to enter.

“You’ll have to wait out here again, Silas,” Rowan said apologetically.

“Guess so,” Silas shrugged. “I’ll hold down the fort. Let me know what happens.” He gave them a quick smile, though his eyes betrayed a sliver of concern. Silas leaned against the outer wall as they disappeared inside, watching the passing crowds. At the same time, the city’s noise faded into a dull hum in the background.

Rowan and Layla were led down a long, dimly lit corridor before arriving at the chamber where the council awaited. The elders sat in their usual crescent formation, their faces stern but not hostile. The air was thick with authority, and a sense of finality loomed over the hall.

“Rowan Amerion, Layla Shone,” began the silver-haired elder, his gaze steady. “We have completed our investigation into the events that transpired at Darkwood Hollow.”

The elder on the far right, a softer-looking man with kind eyes, continued, “Given the circumstances and the dangerous nature of what you encountered, the council has decided that your trial will be considered passed under exceptional circumstances.”

Rowan’s heart leaped. He shared a glance with Layla, who gave a small, relieved smile.

“We have also uncovered evidence supporting your claim that the trial was far more dangerous than anticipated. Our investigation team found traces of dark magic, as well as disturbing remains that matched your description,” the elder added gravely. “The presence of refined blood and the wooden figure you mentioned were confirmed.”

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Layla gave a deep breath of relief. “Thank you, honoured elders,” she said softly.

As they prepared to leave, Rowan cleared his throat nervously and stepped forward. “Honoured elders,” he began, his voice a little hesitant. We were wondering if we might be able to meet with the survivors of Darkwood Hollow. They’ve been through so much, and we’d like to offer whatever assistance we can, financial or otherwise.”

The elders exchanged glances, clearly surprised by the request. After a brief pause, the kind elder from earlier nodded thoughtfully. “That is a compassionate offer, young man. I see no reason to deny such a request.”

Another elder with a harsher, more calculating expression leaned back in his chair. “Very well. We will have a guard escort you to the shelter where the survivors are currently staying.”

The meeting concluded with a collective nod of approval from the council. Rowan and Layla bowed respectfully before walking towards the exit.

They stepped out of the council chamber, the cool air outside hitting their faces like a rush of reality. For a moment, neither spoke—just a shared glance of disbelief. It was over, but the weight of everything still clung to them.

Silas immediately straightened up when they stepped outside, eyeing them with expectation. “Well?” he asked.

Rowan smiled. “We passed. Under exceptional circumstances, but we passed.”

“And,” Layla added, “they’re letting us meet the survivors of Darkwood Hollow. A guard is going to take us there.”

Silas grinned widely. “That’s great news! Both parts.”

Moments later, a guard arrived to guide them. He led the group through the winding streets of Amberheart, heading east toward the commoners’ district. As they walked, the scenery began to change. The grand buildings of the wealthier areas gave way to more humble, worn-down structures. Eventually, they reached an area where several camps had been set up. The survivors of Darkwood Hollow were living in one of these camps for the time being.

The camp stretched out before them like a village of the forgotten. Makeshift tents sagged under the weight of weariness, and the survivors’ faces were etched with pain that went beyond hunger or loss. This wasn’t just a camp—it was a graveyard of hope.

The guard stopped at the edge of the camp. “My task is done here,” he said politely. “I will take my leave.”

Silas, Rowan, and Layla stood at the shelter’s entrance as the guard departed. A sense of somberness settled over the group as they observed the weary faces of the survivors scattered among the tents and simple structures. This was a world far removed from the trials and tribulations of noble life.

“Let’s see what we can find out,” Rowan said quietly. The three of them stepped forward into the camp, ready to hear the stories of those who had lived through the horrors of Darkwood Hollow.

They walked deeper into the camp, scanning the faces of the survivors. They had no clear plan, only hoping someone might share something helpful. After a few minutes, Silas caught sight of a woman sitting alone near one of the tents. She was in her twenties, her tanned skin marred with dirt, and her black hair messy and unkempt. Her eyes were hollow, staring off into the distance as if she had retreated far into her own thoughts.

“Should we ask her?” Rowan whispered, noticing Silas’s gaze.

“Looks like she’s been through hell,” Silas murmured. “But yeah, let’s try.”

The trio approached cautiously. Silas knelt slightly to meet her eye level. “Excuse me,” he started gently. “Do you know anything about the incident at Darkwood Hollow?”

The woman didn’t respond. She kept staring forward as if they didn’t exist. Layla and Rowan exchanged awkward glances.

Silas tried again, this time with a firmer voice. “We’re trying to figure out what happened to everyone who was there. Do you know anything?”

Suddenly, she snapped. Her dark eyes glared up at them with fury. “You nobles put us in this miserable place, and now you come asking questions?” Her voice was laced with venom. “You take everything from us, leave us to rot in the dirt, and then have the nerve to ask about it?”

Silas and the others froze, startled by her outburst. Layla stepped forward, raising her hands in a gesture of peace. “Wait, you’ve got it wrong,” she said softly. “We’re not here to make things worse. We’re the ones who finished that trial.”

The woman’s glare faltered, her brow furrowing as if she were trying to make sense of their words. “Finished…? What do you mean?

“It means that we dealt with the situation at Darkwood Hollow,” Rowan said, stepping forward. “The locusts are gone, but we’re trying to understand what really happened.”

The woman’s shoulders slumped, the fire in her eyes dimming. She stared down at the ground for a moment, and when she spoke again, her voice was hoarse. “You can ask your questions… but only if you tell me what you know first.”

Silas looked at Rowan and Layla, who both nodded subtly. He exhaled slowly, rubbing his temple as if the memory weighed heavy on him. “We saw things, horrible things. People... butchered. Not just dead, but like something twisted had gotten to them. It didn’t feel natural—more like something cursed the entire place. I’m not sure what we’re dealing with, but it’s not just some freak accident.”

The woman trembled, tears welling in her eyes. Before they could react, she crumpled to the ground, sobbing uncontrollably. Her thin body shook as years of suppressed anguish poured out of her.

Rowan knelt beside her, his hand hovering uncertainly over her shoulder, unsure how to console her. “Hey, it’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Silas stood back, frowning, while Layla knelt on the other side, softly stroking the girl’s hair.

“We’re here to help,” Layla said gently. “Please, tell us your name.”

The woman’s sobs subsided slightly, her voice trembling. “Elle. Elle Heysham.”

“Elle,” Silas repeated softly, trying to get her attention. “Do you have any idea who could have done that? The person who killed twenty people and left them headless?”

Elle shuddered. She stared at the ground, her hands gripping the dirt as though to anchor herself. “It was the priest… from the sanctuary. It has to be him.”

Rowan frowned. “The priest?”

She nodded shakily, her words halting but full of bitter emotion. “It was a sanctuary built in the name of an Old Goddess called Frig. A Goddess of marriage and childbirth… I think. The priest… he believed in her with all his heart. His family had served that sanctuary for generations. He always preached that Frig hated that the people stopped worshipping her, that she was furious they had lost their way… having affairs, children out of wedlock… He said we’d forgotten the Goddess… turned our backs on the old ways.”

She stopped, wiping her tears with dirty hands. “But… no one listened. Why would they? Everyone thought that he was deranged. The old gods were myths… or so we thought.”

The tension between them was palpable. Silas’s face hardened as Elle continued, her voice growing softer.

“Then, a few years ago… his daughter… she was raped and murdered.” She swallowed hard, her voice barely a whisper. “And someone left a message… in her blood. ‘What does your Goddess think about this?’, this was the message.”

Rowan’s hand tightened into a fist at his side, his jaw clenched in anger, but he said nothing.

Layla’s eyes darkened, her fingers curling around the fabric of her sleeve as though grounding herself.

“After that… the priest went mad. He locked himself in the sanctuary, refusing to talk to anyone. Some villagers tried to help him, but all he ever talked about was a dream. He said… his daughter was with the Goddess now, and that she would give him the power to punish everyone who had… tarnished her. He said he would be the medium for her reckoning.”

Silas clenched his fists. “And the village just left him there?”

“Yes,” Elle whispered. “At first, they pitied him. Then… he started getting worse. The dreams became… more vivid. He talked about killing, about revenge. People got scared and left him alone.”

“And then the locust swarm came,” Layla murmured, beginning to connect the dots.

“Yes,” Elle cried out, gripping her hair with both hands as if the weight of the memories was crushing her. “Maybe… maybe we are sinners,” she murmured, her eyes darting nervously. “Maybe it’s true. The locusts, the deaths… maybe it’s all because we didn’t listen. It all makes sense now!”

Her voice became shrill, hysterical. “The reckoning! The priest was right! It’s all happening! And… and what if… what if the scum who raped his daughter is still here, still in this camp!? Hahaha, we’re all going to die! The reckoning has come!!”

Silas, Rowan, and Layla were horrified by the spiral of her thoughts. Elle’s eyes were wide, her grip on reality slipping away. Layla quickly dug into her pouch, pulling out a gold coin and a few silver ones. She pressed them into Elle’s hand, forcing the girl’s grip to loosen.

“This is all we can offer,” Layla said softly. “Take it… and try to rest. You’ve been through too much.”

Elle didn’t respond. She stared at the coins in her hand, her eyes empty as she slowly unclenched her fingers.

Silas’s thoughts churned as they walked away from the camp in silence. The reality of what Elle had told them was sinking in. Rowan and Layla kept quiet as well, each processing the horror of the situation.

‘People can sometimes conjure their own nightmares,’ Silas thought with a shudder. ‘But the horrors and wickedness that exist beyond our minds, out in the real world, might be even more terrifying.’