As soon as the black crescent moon mark appeared on Silas’s forehead, far away on the frozen continent of Frostheim, the cavern stirred. The shadowy being convulsed, its swirling miasma rippling as though caught in some invisible wind. Tendrils of darkness lashed violently around the chamber.

Its form twisted unnaturally, coiling inward like a serpent preparing to strike. Then, in broken words, its rasping voice slithered from the inky void, disturbing the eerie silence.

“I... can feel... the connection,” it hissed. The miasma pulsed, thickening with anticipation as if savouring the newfound awareness. A grotesque smile stretched across its formless face, more felt than seen.

“Soon...” it rasped again, the promise lingering like a dark omen.

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

Far across the land, in Amberwood Grove, Silas suddenly felt a chill run down his spine. He shook it off as the remnants of battle, but it was more—a distant echo of something stirring far beyond his sight...

Silas, Rowan, and Layla were on the move, their pace hasty but burdened by exhaustion. Trickster slithered close to Layla, keeping pace despite the tension in its Cloudform serpent form. At the same time, Goldie rode on Trickster’s head. It seemed their relationship had improved quite a bit since they first met. Both creatures sensed the urgency, their instinct guiding them forward alongside their companions.

The fight had taken its toll on all of them. The clearing where they had battled was far behind them now, but its aftermath still clung to their minds.

Their provisions—along with their horses—had vanished into the night. They had left their gear strapped to their mounts when the ambush struck, and in the chaos, the horses bolted, leaving them stranded without food, maps, or basic supplies.

Silas walked ahead, his gaze flickering between the dimly lit path and his companions. “We’ve gotta get out of here. Fast,” he said, his voice tense.

Rowan nodded.“Ironvale’s still weeks off, and we’re in no shape to keep going through the night,” he added, his steps sluggish, betraying his exhaustion.

Silas glanced up at the dark sky, his face pale. “The forest ends not far from here. Once we reach the edge, we’ll be near Darkwood Hollow.”

At the mention of that name, Rowan and Layla exchanged uneasy glances. Darkwood Hollow was a place none of them wanted to return to. Their last visit had unearthed horrifying secrets, and memories of refined blood and headless corpses were still fresh in their minds.

Silas stopped, turning to face them, his expression firm. “Look, I know it’s the last place we want to be, but we need shelter. Just one night. We’ll rest, and at first light, we’re gone.”

Rowan hesitated, but as he surveyed their surroundings, the darkness of the grove encroaching, he realised they had little choice. Layla swallowed hard and gave a reluctant nod.

As the group trudged toward the edge of the forest, Trickster slithered silently beside Layla, his movements tense, his body stiff. Though he couldn’t speak, there was an unmistakable unease in his posture. Goldie got down from Trickster’s head and started padding alongside Rowan, occasionally bumping into his legs. His large eyes blinked slowly as he glanced around the eerie remnants of Darkwood Hollow. The little cub remembered this place, too, the dangers they had faced not so long ago.

The familiar eerie silence of Darkwood Hollow greeted them like an unwelcome ghost, the broken remains of the old houses barely visible against the starless sky.

“Wow,” Goldie murmured softly, his voice a low rumble of concern.

Rowan looked down, offering a gentle pat on the bear’s head. “Yeah, little guy… I feel it too,” he muttered, glancing around the dark landscape. There was a weight in the air, the remnants of the previous horrors still clinging to the broken village.

“I’ll take the first watch,” Silas muttered, though his own exhaustion was evident. He led them into one of the broken-down houses, its roof half-collapsed and walls covered in thick, creeping vines. They settled down on the cold stone floor, gathering what little warmth they could.

Silas positioned himself by the doorway, his eyes scanning the dark horizon beyond the dilapidated walls. Despite his fatigue, he forced himself to remain alert, gripping his sword for reassurance.

After a couple of hours, Rowan stirred, rubbing his eyes. “I’ll take over,” he offered, his voice low. Silas nodded gratefully, his shoulders slumping as he handed over the watch.

Exhausted, Silas settled down beside Goldie and Trickster. His mind, however, refused to rest. As he drifted into an uneasy sleep, he found himself floating in a dark abyss—pitch black and endless. His body floated, weightless, but he could feel invisible tendrils of darkness coiling tighter around him.

His heart raced as he looked around, trying to make sense of his surroundings, but nothing happened. No ground, no sky—just a yawning, oppressive emptiness. His breath quickened.

Then, without warning, something cold and wet clamped around his ankle. His eyes widened in shock, and before he could react, the force yanked him downward, pulling him into the depths of the abyss. He struggled, but the more he fought, the tighter the grip became.

A faint, almost imperceptible whisper drifted through the dark like the wind brushing against his ears.

“It’s all... in your head...”

The words coiled around him, wrapping his mind in their soft, insidious embrace. He gasped for air, but the sensation of drowning overwhelmed him. Water—no, darkness—poured into his lungs, suffocating him.

In the real world, Silas’s breath quickened. His body jerked as if wrestling with something unseen. His face twisted into a grimace, struggling as though locked in combat with the nightmare.

Rowan, who had taken the second watch, leaned over, his eyes widening in concern. “Silas!” he called out, shaking him firmly by the shoulder. “Silas, wake up!”

The dream began to unravel, the darkness fading into nothing as Silas felt himself being pulled back to the surface. With a sharp inhale, his eyes shot open, his chest heaving as though he’d truly been drowning.

Rowan knelt beside him, his expression filled with worry. “You alright? You were thrashing around like you were fighting someone off.”

Silas wiped the cold sweat from his brow, his breathing still laboured. The remnants of the dream clung to him—vivid, unsettling. “Yeah... I’m fine,” he lied, still shaken. He glanced out the shattered window of the house. “It’s daylight?”

“Yeah. We should get moving,” Rowan said, helping him to his feet.

Layla was already gathering what little remained of their belongings. They were still weak, hungry, and drained but couldn’t stay in this cursed place any longer.

As they prepared to leave, Silas couldn’t shake the memory of the dream nor the haunting whispers that still echoed faintly in his mind.

“It’s all in your head.”

But was it?

They began their journey again with heavy hearts and tired bodies, unaware that the shadowy creature in Frostheim had felt the stirrings of Silas’s presence.

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

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

After hours of trudging through rough terrain by mid-day, Silas, Rowan, Layla, Goldie, and Trickster arrived at a small village nestled in a lush, green valley. Their exhaustion from hunger and the lingering effects of the ambush weighed heavily on them.

The air in the village smelled of fresh earth and damp grass, a welcome change from the heavy, suffocating silence of the cursed forest. The distant bleating of sheep and the murmur of quiet voices brought a strange sense of normalcy, despite the weariness weighing them down.

Most of the villagers worked in the fields or tended to their livestock, casting curious glances at the newcomers.

As they approached a group of villagers, Silas reached into his pocket and pulled out a worn cloth. He quickly wrapped it around his forehead, ensuring the crescent moon mark was completely hidden. The fabric was rough against his skin, but it did the job. He knew the mark would draw unwanted questions, and strangers would likely be noticed in a small village like this. His fingers tugged the cloth tighter, ensuring it wouldn’t slip.

Rowan wiped the sweat from his brow and looked around. “Let’s see if we can find a place to stay,” he said, his voice tired but determined.

As they approached a group of villagers, a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile greeted them warmly. “Welcome to Rosside,” she said, “not many travellers come through here.”

After briefly introducing and explaining their situation, Silas offered payment in return for lodging. Thankfully, their coin sacks were still on their person despite the chaos with the horses. They managed to negotiate a price of fifty bronze Grand Era coins for the night for two rooms, which included dinner and breakfast. The villagers were more than happy to accommodate them, and the group also bought extra provisions for the road for fifteen more coins. Silas also tried buying some horses, but all of the villager’s horses were used for tending fields, and there were none for sale.

One of the villagers, a kindly older man with a straw hat and a weathered face, led them to their room in the local inn. It was a modest place, with simple wooden furniture and a large window overlooking the fields outside. Though small, it felt cosy.

Silas leaned back against the wall as they settled in, his mind racing. Ever since the ambush at Amberwood Grove, he’d felt something strange—an inexplicable pull in his blood toward Rowan and Layla. The sensation was constant and unsettling, a reminder that something beyond their understanding was at work.

He had an idea.

Pulling out the old leather-bound book he’d taken from Temptshire, Silas handed it to Rowan. “Here, I want you to try something.”

Rowan gave him a puzzled look but accepted the book. For a few moments, he turned it over in his hands, studying the worn cover. Nothing. No strange sensation, no connection. He looked up at Silas and shrugged. “I don’t feel anything.”

Silas nodded, his suspicion weakening. “Alright. Pass it to Layla.”

Rowan handed the book to Layla. Layla’s fingers barely brushed the book’s surface before she gasped and jerked her hand back. Her eyes widened as she stared at it, shock written across her face. “It—it feels like my blood is boiling...”

Silas nodded, surprised but excited. “That’s exactly what I felt. This book is connected to elemental magic, and I think it’s reacting to something in you, Layla.”

Layla’s eyes widened, her initial surprise giving way to excitement. “Does that mean I could gain elemental magic too?”

Silas smiled, his heart lightening at her enthusiasm. “Possibly. I went through an elemental bond ceremony to unlock mine, and I think this book could guide you through something similar. It won’t be easy, but if it’s reacting to you, you’re a good candidate.”

Rowan, watching the exchange, couldn’t help but smile at Layla’s excitement. He was truly happy for her, especially after everything they’d been through. Layla’s excitement warmed his heart, but that same joy tugged at the ache deep inside. The memory of Darkwood Hollow surfaced—the moment when Layla had been trying to apply a recovery salve to his wounds and nearly lost her life because of it. She had been caught off guard, distracted by his injury. The guilt weighed heavily on him. He hadn’t been able to protect her.

Now, seeing her on the verge of unlocking something as powerful as elemental magic, he couldn’t help but feel left behind. Everyone was surpassing him. During the ambush, he hadn’t done much—if anything, he’d been a burden. Layla had suffered because of his weakness. He wasn’t weak, not by normal standards; it was just that Silas was too strong and now, Layla seemed ready to leave him in the dust. He shifted on his feet, trying to suppress the rising tide of doubt.

He sighed inwardly, feeling the familiar knot of insecurity tighten in his chest. But this was no time for self-pity. He had promised himself that he would stay with them and support them however he could. No matter what, he’d be by their side—especially Layla’s.

Layla, noticing the flicker of emotion in Rowan’s eyes, placed a hand on his arm. “Rowan,” she said softly, “we’re in this together. Always. And I know you’ll find your own path—just like Silas and me.”

Rowan’s lips twitched into a smile, but it never quite reached his eyes. “I know. I’m happy for you, Layla. Truly.”

The tension in his chest remained, but he pushed it aside. He was resolved to continue the journey, no matter how difficult it got. He wouldn’t let his doubts hold him back.

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

By the time Silas and his group reached the small town of Grinsley, the sky had started to turn a dusky orange. It was the evening of the next day, and their weariness from the journey was palpable. The town was larger than Rosside, with more people milling about and a small marketplace still open despite the fading light.

Their first priority was securing lodgings for the night. After asking around, they found an inn with several rooms available. The innkeeper, a middle-aged man with a gruff voice and a thick beard, informed them that it would cost one silver coin and 50 bronze coins for two rooms—one for Rowan and Silas and another for Layla. Silas paid without hesitation, the weight of the remaining coin in his pocket reminding him of the upcoming expenses.

After securing their lodgings, the group dropped their sparse belongings into the sparse yet clean rooms. Silas leaned against the window, watching the dwindling light outside. "We should probably find horses and the other provisions before it gets too late," he said, breaking the comfortable silence.

Rowan and Layla nodded. They needed horses to replace the ones lost in the ambush and supplies for the remainder of their journey to Ironvale. Grinsley's market was small but bustling, with stalls selling everything from food to trinkets.

With that sense of purpose, they headed to the market.

"Let's find a horse breeder or merchant willing to sell," Silas suggested as they walked through the narrow lanes between the stalls.

After some inquiries and a bit of wandering, they eventually found a villager willing to part with a few horses. He was an older man with a sunburnt face, standing near the outskirts of town with a small pen of horses behind him. The animals weren't anything special—certainly not the robust warhorses they had once used—but they would serve their purpose.

Silas stepped forward to negotiate. After several rounds of back-and-forth haggling, they settled on a price of seventeen silver coins per horse. It was a hefty sum, but they had few other options.

Silas counted the silver with a small sigh, feeling the weight of each coin leaving his hand. "They'll get us where we need to go," he muttered, more to reassure himself than anyone else. The villager's eyes gleamed as he pocketed the silver, handing over the reins with a too-wide grin.

In addition to the horses, the group also stocked up on provisions for the road—dried meat, bread, and other non-perishable foodstuffs. They also purchased maps of the region, a couple of new communication stones, tents for camping, and other valuable supplies for the journey ahead. The total cost for the goods set them back nearly a whole gold coin, and Rowan, always mindful of their finances, couldn't help but grumble.

Rowan sighed at the amount of money being spent, but there was nothing to be done.

Silas chuckled, patting Rowan on the shoulder. "We'll be fine. Besides, we’re out of options."

With their supplies purchased and the horses ready, they returned to the inn to rest for the night. After a quick breakfast, they saddled up the following day and resumed their journey toward Ironvale.

As they rode through the countryside, the difference between their new horses and the warhorses they had once ridden immediately appeared. These were smaller, less muscular animals, bred for farm work rather than battle. The ride was bumpier, and the horses didn't have the same endurance as their previous mounts. But they carried on, determined to reach Ironvale.

The group rode for most of the day, the landscape shifting from open fields to rolling hills dotted with patches of trees.,

By late evening, they found a suitable spot to set up camp—a quiet area, with tall trees arching overhead, their branches whispering in the breeze. The fading light bathed the hills in golden hues, and the air was cool, with a bite that hinted at the coming night. Silas could smell the damp earth as he drove the stakes into the ground for his tent.

Silas dismounted and began setting up his tent, his thoughts briefly drifting to the days ahead. Ironvale was still a few days' ride away, and though they had already faced challenges, they didn't know what else the journey could spring up on them.

As Layla set up her tent, her thoughts wandered back to the book tucked in her bag. The symbols inside still swirled in her mind, tantalisingly out of reach. Could she really unlock her elemental magic? The uncertainty gnawed at her, but also... the excitement.

Though still grumbling about the cost of the horses, Rowan was more focused now, helping Layla with her tent and occasionally casting glances toward her. Layla was too caught up in her own thoughts and didn’t notice it.

As the evening settled in, the group finished setting up camp, preparing themselves for another night on the road.