After a quick shower, Caelus moved back into the bedroom. He took his time pulling on his armour, the familiar weight of it settling comfortably around him. The routine, the precise movement of donning each piece, felt grounding. When he finally finished, he stood for a moment, surveying the room. Lorian remained still, curled up in his blankets, with Cheese nestled against his chest, as peaceful as one could be after such a night.
Caelus yawned, stretching the tension from his limbs, then moved to the window, glancing out at the first light of day. The world was still, bathed in the gentle warmth of morning. He turned back to Lorian just as the soft glow of sunlight crept through the curtains, stirring the young man from his sleep.
Lorian began to shift, his eyelids fluttering open. The faint glow in his eyes reflected the quiet worry that lingered within, but his gaze softened when he saw the room, the familiar faces around him.
“How’re you feeling?” Caelus asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. His tone was calm but carried an undertone of concern. He knew Lorian was the youngest among them, and the ordeal had clearly shaken him deeply.
“I don’t know,” Lorian admitted, flopping back onto the bed and staring at the ceiling. After a beat, he curled into himself, hugging his knees to his chest. “I was so scared,” he whispered. His voice cracked, and his face tightened as he remembered the figure in the mirror, the way its grin seemed to stretch impossibly wide. He glanced at Caelus hesitantly. “Am I gonna…” He trailed off, the fear too great to finish the thought.
Caelus leaned forward, resting his forearms on his knees. His eyes softened, but his voice was firm, leaving no room for doubt. “No,” he said, his tone resolute. “Not on my watch. No one’s going to harm you, Lorian. Not while I’m here.”
Lorian looked at him, his eyes searching for reassurance. After a moment, he gave a small nod. “Okay…” he murmured, rubbing at his face as if trying to erase the fear. Cheese gave an encouraging wiggle, its gelatinous body rippling softly against Lorian’s cheek. The subtle gesture drew a faint, reluctant smile from him—a fragile crack in the wall of unease that had built overnight. With a quiet exhale, Lorian straightened, pushing back the lingering fear as he began to get ready for the day.
By the time the group gathered downstairs, the inn’s creaky floorboards groaning under their weight, everyone was accounted for—everyone except Elira. A tense silence hung over them as Caelus frowned, glancing toward the staircase.
“I’ll check on her,” he said, his tone tinged with worry. Without waiting for a response, he climbed the stairs, his boots muffled against the worn wood.
Reaching Elira’s door, he rapped his knuckles against it firmly. “Elira? You up?” he called, pausing to listen. Silence.
Caelus knocked again, louder this time. “Elira, come on. We’re waiting,” he said, a note of unease creeping into his voice. Still, there was no reply.
His concern deepened as he pressed his palm flat against the door. Was something wrong? Memories of the strange innkeeper’s unsettling grin flickered through his mind like a shadow at the edge of his vision. His heart quickened.
“Elira?” Caelus called again, his voice firmer now. He pounded his fist against the door, the thudding echoing down the hallway. The lack of response only made the quiet feel heavier, like a storm about to break.
Tension gripped him as he glanced over his shoulder, silently signalling the rest of the group with a tilt of his head. Footsteps approached, and Darius was the first to reach him, his expression stoic but serious.
Without a word, Darius gently pushed Caelus aside, his bulk filling the narrow hallway. He sized up the door, then planted his shoulder against it. With a sharp grunt, he shoved forward, the wood splintering under the force. The door swung open violently, crashing against the wall.
Inside, the room was bathed in the dim morning light filtering through threadbare curtains. Elira lay sprawled across the bed, her limbs flung in every direction, her mouth slightly open as a faint snore escaped her lips. Her armour was scattered haphazardly across the floor, her sword propped precariously against a chair.
“She’s sleeping?” Caelus muttered, relief and irritation battling for dominance in his voice.
Riven stormed past him, her brow furrowed in exasperation. Without hesitation, she delivered a sharp jab to Elira’s gut.
Elira jolted awake with a gasp, clutching her stomach as her eyes snapped open. “Hey! What the—oh…” She paused, looking at the unimpressed faces surrounding her.
“Uh… sorry?” she offered sheepishly, rubbing the sleep from her eyes as she sat up.
Caelus shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Get ready. We’re leaving,” he said curtly, turning to descend the stairs again.
The staircase groaned under their weight as the group descended into the dimly lit common area. Shadows clung to the corners of the room like they belonged there, untouched by the faint morning light filtering through the grime-streaked windows.
Behind the counter, the innkeeper waited, her grin impossibly wide, stretched just beyond the realm of what felt human. Her eyes glinted with an unsettling sharpness, as though she could see far more than she let on.
“Going somewhere?” she asked, her voice smooth as silk but laced with an undercurrent that sent an involuntary shiver through the room. The tone wasn’t one of curiosity—it was as if she already knew the answer and was waiting to see if they’d lie.
Caelus paused mid-step, the weight of her gaze pinning him in place. His mind raced for a response that wouldn’t arouse suspicion—or at least not more than they already had. He forced a smile, though it felt like it might crack under the strain.
“Uh… just checking on our dragons,” he said, his voice steady enough, though his unease bled through in his stiff posture. “Thought they might need some air,” he added, the excuse tumbling out awkwardly.
The innkeeper inclined her head slowly, her eyes never leaving him. The silence stretched, a taut string that could snap at any moment. Finally, she spoke, her words dipped in mock cheerfulness. “Ah, I see. Have a nice day.”
Her tone was light, but the way she said it felt wrong, as if the phrase had been rehearsed and stripped of sincerity. The group exchanged uneasy glances, none daring to voice their discomfort.
As they shuffled toward the door, the innkeeper’s smile remained fixed, her head tilting ever so slightly as she watched them go. It wasn’t until the heavy wooden door closed behind them with a hollow thud that the tension in their shoulders began to ease—but only slightly.
“Is it just me, or is she… watching us?” Lorian muttered under his breath, casting a glance over his shoulder.
“She’s definitely watching us,” Seraph said grimly, her fingers brushing the edge of her silver circlet, a habitual gesture when her nerves were frayed. The faint glow of the artefact seemed to pulse slightly, as though responding to her unease.
Caelus didn’t respond, his gaze locked ahead as he walked. His hand subtly tightened around the strap of his back scabbard, the familiar weight offering a small measure of comfort amid the tension. Whatever lay ahead, he had a sinking feeling that leaving this town wouldn’t be as simple as walking away.
The group stepped out into the daylight, the soft golden rays of morning illuminating Ashenbrook in stark contrast to the shadows of the previous night. The town stood in quiet decay, as if time itself had forgotten it. The buildings sagged under the weight of years, their wooden frames warped and splintered, their roofs slanted as though tired from bearing the burden of too many seasons. Some were completely abandoned, windows dark and empty, while others clung precariously to life, their weathered walls barely standing.
The streets, though less threatening in the light of day, still seemed to pulse with an unsettling quiet, the distant sound of birds and wind doing little to break the feeling of something just out of reach, lingering beneath the surface. Scattered villages dotted the landscape, seemingly preoccupied with their own quiet routines. However, as the group passed by, the villagers’ gazes would shift—subtle at first, then unmistakably wary. Suspicious eyes followed their every move, casting sidelong glances filled with unease, as if their mere presence disrupted the fragile equilibrium of these isolated settlements. The heavy, suffocating atmosphere that had gripped them the night before had lifted just enough to allow them to breathe easier, but the undercurrent of unease remained, a quiet whisper that gnawed at the back of their minds.
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As they made their way toward the stables, the familiar clink of armour and the soft shuffle of boots were the only sounds breaking the stillness. Caelus walked beside Lorian, keeping his voice low and careful, as if speaking any louder might shatter the fragile calm. He recounted Lorian’s encounter in the bathroom, his words tinged with caution, recounting every detail with a careful precision that belied the concern etched into his features.
Lorian walked in silence beside Caelus, his steps slow and heavy, as though the weight of his thoughts was too much to bear. His eyes were distant, haunted by the memory of the man’s twisted grin, the suffocating chill that had crawled into his bones during that terrifying moment in the bathroom. The image of that face, warped and unnatural, lingered in his mind like a shadow he couldn’t escape. He didn’t speak, but the tension in his posture said everything—the tightness in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched at his sides, all spoke of a deep unease that wouldn’t let go.
Cheese, sensing the heavy weight of Lorian's silence, bounced up onto his shoulder. The little slime’s translucent body shimmered a faint shade of blue, its large, black eyes fixed on Lorian’s face with quiet concern. It gently nudged Lorian’s cheek, then looked down at the ground, a soft, worried whimper escaping its gelatinous form. Cheese seemed to sense that something wasn’t right, that Lorian’s heart was heavy, and the little creature, in its own way, tried to offer what comfort it could.
As the last words left Caelus's lips, Seraph’s expression shifted, the calmness in her demeanour giving way to something darker, a shadow passing across her face. Her usually composed and serene features tightened as if she were trying to recall something from a distant dream, her gaze far-off for a moment.
“The man you described…” Seraph spoke softly, her voice barely more than a whisper carried by the wind. Her words hung in the air, pregnant with a certainty that made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. “He looked exactly the same in my vision.”
Her voice was firm now, no longer uncertain, and the intensity in her eyes was unmistakable. It was as though the pieces of a puzzle were snapping into place, a realisation dawning with cold clarity. She wasn’t just recalling a memory; she was connecting something far deeper, something beyond the veil of simple coincidence. Her hand moved to rest on the circlet that adorned her brow, an instinctive gesture, as if the trinket could somehow lend her more focus or strength in the face of this unsettling revelation.
The words seemed to reverberate in the air, and a chill swept through the group. The sun, high in the sky now, cast a bright light over Ashenbrook, yet there was a sudden, undeniable feeling that the warmth wasn’t enough to drive out the shadows that lingered in the corners of their minds.
Their unease deepened, and they quickened their pace, reaching the stable. The dragons seemed normal, resting peacefully in a open, large pen, but their relief was short-lived.
“Where are you heading today?”
The voice came from behind them, and they whirled around to see the stablekeeper. He stood unnervingly still, his grin wide and fixed.
“Uh… lunch?” Caelus stammered, forcing a laugh.
Elira scoffed, stepping up beside the stablekeeper with a dismissive wave. “You guys are acting so weird,” she said, rolling her eyes as if to brush off the tension that clung to the air. Without a second thought, she casually draped an arm around the stablekeeper’s shoulders, her demeanour carefree, almost playful. “See? Nothing wrong—”
But the moment her words left her lips, a strange shift seemed to ripple through the air. The world held its breath. The stablekeeper’s smile twisted into something darker, but before Elira could register the change, it happened. In an instant, as though her very form had been erased from existence, her body vanished.
One moment, she was there—arm around the man, her confident grin in place—and the next, she was gone.
Her armour clattered to the ground with a hollow, metallic thud, the heavy plates of steel rattling across the dirt. Her cape, once flowing proudly behind her, crumpled in a heap beside the discarded armour, fluttering slightly in the sudden gust of wind that seemed to rise from nowhere. It pooled on the ground, an inky shadow against the sunlit dirt, as if her very presence had been consumed by the earth beneath her.
The air grew still, thick with an unnatural heaviness. The group stood frozen, horror creeping across their faces as they watched the space where Elira had been, now empty—no trace of her but the crumpled armour. It was as if she had never been there at all.
A tense silence hung between them, the reality of what just happened sinking in with chilling clarity. The stablekeeper’s grin widened into something far more sinister, his eyes gleaming with malevolent delight as the world around them seemed to grow darker, colder.
“Elira!” Caelus unsheathed his sword in a single fluid motion, the blade gleaming briefly before the skies above twisted and darkened, as if the very sun had been swallowed whole. Shadows deepened around them, consuming the faint warmth of morning and plunging the group into an unnatural night. A chill crept into the air, sharp and oppressive, as though the darkness itself was alive, closing in on all sides.
The champions instinctively tightened their formation, moving shoulder to shoulder, their weapons—or powers—at the ready. Each one guarded their flank, their breaths measured but tense. The eerie silence was broken only by the faint rustle of wind through unseen trees, a sound that felt more like whispers than nature’s song.
Lorian stood frozen, his wide eyes reflecting the encroaching void. His chest rose and fell rapidly, panic rooting him in place. Cheese, perched on his shoulder, wiggled anxiously, its gelatinous form turning a pale shade of purple.
“Lorian, move!” Darius barked, his deep voice steady but urgent. Seeing the boy paralyzed, Darius reached out with a firm hand, grabbing Lorian’s arm and pulling him into the centre of their defensive circle. Cheese followed with a worried bounce, huddling close to its companion.
The ground beneath their feet seemed to ripple unnaturally, and the outlines of Ashenbrook dissolved like mist under a rising sun. Lorian’s gaze darted upward, his breaths shallow and ragged as the town vanished completely. All that remained was an endless canopy of twisted, blackened trees, their gnarled branches clawing at the smothering sky. The champions found themselves standing in a dark, unfamiliar forest, the ground beneath them damp and uneven, the scent of decay heavy in the air.
“Your soul shall be mine,” the creature hissed, its voice a twisted rasp that echoed with malice. Dark smoke billowed from its eyes, thick and inky, swirling in the air like a living thing. The man’s smile stretched unnaturally wide, his teeth sharp and blackened, jagged like broken bones. His face contorted, the skin cracking and peeling away, revealing an abyss of blackness beneath, a swirling vortex of nothingness that seemed to hunger for more.
With a sickening crack, its form began to unravel, the edges of its body dissolving into tendrils of shadow, stretching and warping as if it were being consumed by its own darkness. The smoke thickened, coiling around the creature’s body, twisting it into a wraith-like form, a thing of pure malevolence. It no longer resembled the man at all—he was gone, replaced by a swirling mass of void and shadow, a living nightmare made of smoke and hunger.
The air grew heavy with the stench of decay, and the temperature dropped, a chill creeping into their bones as the wraith's presence filled the space. Its eyes, now glowing with an eerie, unnatural light, fixed on Caelus, burning with an ancient, insatiable hunger. The very ground beneath them seemed to tremble, as if the earth itself feared the dark force that had risen. The wraith’s voice came again, a whisper like the rustling of dry leaves, "All of you will fall. Your souls... mine." Caelus jerked back, his instincts screaming at him to escape, but the man’s grip tightened like iron, holding him in place. The air around them thickened, the smell of decay and something far worse filling the space. It was as if the very ground beneath them had turned to ash, the town of Ashenbrook itself reacting to the malignant presence now taking over the man.
"What’s happening?" Magnus demanded, his voice sharp with urgency, but the answer came too late. Pip squeaked in fear, quivering as it hid further into Magnus’s hair.
Seraph’s body tensed as she sensed the overwhelming surge of dark magic radiating from the Dragonborn’s being. She could feel it—the creeping presence of Myrkos, the malevolent force that had haunted their journey, now beginning to take root in this very place. The air pulsed with power, and the world seemed to hold its breath as if time itself was caught in the grip of something ancient and evil.
The Dragonborn’s mouth curled into a cruel, twisted smile. "You are too late," he sneered, his voice now a haunting echo, as if many voices were speaking through him, all speaking with the same intent: to break them.
In a flash, the fog of black smoke thickened, swirling violently, forming tendrils that snaked toward Caelus, wrapping around his arms and legs. His heart pounded in his chest as he struggled to pull away, but the darkness was suffocating, pulling him deeper into its grip.The figure's voice turned sharp, cruel, cutting through the oppressive silence like a blade. "I was this close to stealing your soul, Vorrath," he hissed, his tone dripping with venom. He raised a hand, his fingers curling as if clutching an invisible prize. His grin widened unnaturally, revealing jagged, blackened teeth. "So close I could taste it. But your dear little dark elf friend over there," he spat, jerking his head toward Seraph, "had to interfere at the last second."
The creature’s form flickered, his voice dropping to a sinister whisper that seemed to echo from everywhere at once. "No matter. I was prepared. You think I wouldn’t plan for meddling champions?" His laughter started low, a guttural sound, and built into a dark, twisted chuckle. "You’ve been dancing in my illusion since you set foot in Ashenbrook. All of it—the smiles, the shadows, the man in the mirror—it was my design. A trap, to ensnare all of you."
The shadows around him surged, twisting into clawed tendrils that seemed to devour the faint light in the clearing. His glowing, malevolent eyes fixed on Caelus, burning with satisfaction. He stepped closer, the ground beneath him blackening with each step. His voice was cold and mocking as he spread his arms wide, his silhouette blending into the dark forest like a spectre of despair.
"And now, welcome," he intoned, his voice thick with malice, "to the Withered Woods."