Looking up from beneath the forest in Àilean is like a drowning person trying to gaze at the surface of the sea. Sunlight, like a cry from above the water's surface, passes through thick fog and reaches the ears mixed with bubbles, ringing, and the surge of deep-sea giants. The drowning person longs for a breath of fresh air, but fears that once they open their mouth, death will rush into their body. An unusual calm envelops the towering coniferous forest, almost causing those trapped within it to fall asleep, but they are quickly awakened by the hidden silence within the fog.
Suddenly, a few small but sharp chuckles are carried from the mist, probing and wandering around the edge of the fog. As the voices gradually approach, the laughter also gradually distorts, revealing its true nature - the neighing of horses. Normally cautious, the horses now recklessly reveal their positions, as if they too know they should not venture into this place.
The earth trembles, and the hooves of the horses seem to approach as if belonging to a single creature. Confusion, sadness, anger, and fear are intertwined, mixed with the roots of all chaos. At first, the low roar of men was like distant thunder, vague and unclear, but as they approached, it became more and more deafening. The more the men wielded their whips and shouted, the more tense and high-strung the horses became, and their galloping iron hooves almost crushed the ground.
Soon, the knights' positions were no longer distinguishable, and the surroundings seemed to be covered by dark clouds, with wind and rain swirling and thunder deafeningly filling the sky. From the tune of the horses' neighs, one could feel the sharp and vicious gaze of the knights sweeping past like lightning.
After who knows how long, the dark clouds dissipated, and the wind and rain gradually receded. The men's angry roars turned into distant thunder, the shattered ground stopped trembling, and the horses' mournful neighs turned into chuckles and disappeared into the damp and thin air.
It wasn't until the mist engulfed the forest again, from a fallen tree trunk half-buried in the mud, that a tiny figure crawled out.
The figure draped in a brown cloak lowered its posture, pulled out her sandals from the mud and struggled to climb over the roots. Even covered in dirt, it couldn't hide the occasional glimpse of silver hair braids that flowed from the edge of her cloak, as well as the pure white chiton long skirt that wrapped around her legs. She carried a sheepskin bag over her shoulder, a few small glass bottles on her belt, and a sheath for a dagger, nothing else. Despite being clearly unprepared, the traveler stepped forward with determination, struggling to make her way through the mist.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
She arrived at a lightning-struck fallen tree, carefully examined it, and pulled out a straight branch with both hands. She then raised her hands to the sky to express gratitude to the gods, and using the branch as a walking stick, hastened her pace to cross the forest, which gradually rose.
As the slope became steeper and the spacing between the conifers became more sparse, the flowing wind also blew away the thick mist. While this allowed those who had been drowned to breathe again, the fresh air entering the body also reawakened the tired body and hypnotized mind - without the hiding seaweed and murky seawater, the clearest waters are often the most dead.
The traveler looked around warily, unconsciously quickened her pace, and looked back frequently. Finally, amidst the cacophony of startled crows taking flight from their perches on the branches, she stepped out of the coniferous forest. A flat, colorless, and rocky mountain range extended bumpy in front of her, until it was swallowed up by the clouds from the highlands.
Just like a cave-dwelling creature accustomed to blindness, she timidly stepped out of the shade of the trees. What kept her eyes shut was not the sunlight, but the strong wind that made her cloak and chiton dress flapping behind her. She leaned on her walking stick, clenched the edge of her cloak with one hand, and struggled along the cursed and noisy creek, climbing up to the flat and dead realm at the top of the hill.
Through the swiftly flowing clouds, the fierce wind howled the loudest at the mountaintop. The traveler squinted her golden eyes through the tangled strands of hair, scanning the scene before her. Strangely, this area was different from other parts of the mountain; there are no boulders scattered about, but instead piles of rubble scattered among the weeds. The traveler extended two fingers, pointing at different mounds or stone circles, walking among them and murmuring under her breath.
"Tonnach (rampart)". She pointed at her feet, crossed the remnants of the arched wooden stakes embedded in the ground.
"Cùirt-lios (courtyard)". She lowered her fingers, pointing at the gravel road beneath her feet. Despite the overgrown weeds, a strong smell of rust could still be detected.
"Cotan laoigh (cowshed), faing (sheep pen)". She walked forward, pointing at two piles of charred wood chips on the left.
"Taigh (main house)". She reached the center of the mountaintop, stepping on the large circle formed by gravel, and then continued forward, crossing the remnants of the wooden stakes, arriving at the back of the mountain. Here, several artificially carved megaliths were erected, and the cold wind from the forest below made the windward north slope even more humid.
"Cladh (graveyard)". The traveler muttered, slowing down her steps among the heavily weathered tombstones, searching for something. In the distance, a white rock caught her attention. As she approached it, the shape of the rock seemed to change constantly, sometimes resembling a pale human body, sometimes a mottled armor, until the traveler stood in front of it and confirmed that it was a coffin embedded in the ground. The relief sculpture knight on top looked as if he was sleeping on the faded grass.