For days now, Dalia had been riding alongside Mariella’s carriage, accompanying the princess on their journey to Traturia. The road stretched long and tiresome, with landscapes that, while beautiful, soon blurred into repetition. Though they kept a steady pace, frequent stops were necessary to rest the horses and give the travelers a brief reprieve.

The journey was made no easier by Mariella’s restlessness and seasickness. Her pale face and the dark circles beneath her eyes bore silent witness to her discomfort. Inside the carriage was Lucia, a young maid with delicate features and a shy demeanor. Like Mariella, Lucia had also been sent away from the kingdom—her presence marked an indefinite exile. For days, she buried herself in books, losing herself in tales of distant lands and legends. Dalia suspected that Lucia used the stories as a shield, avoiding the princess's gaze and her mercurial moods that bred unease. Mariella was known for being temperamental and demanding, and her shifting tempers had already unsettled the young maid.

During one of their stops, Dalia had tried to engage Lucia in conversation, but the girl’s wary glances made it clear she was still learning whom to trust. Though young, streaks of gray already wove through Lucia’s mousy hair.

Dalia found solace in the passing scenery—fields and woods that promised fleeting moments of peace. Riding next to her was Torus, one of the mounted guards. He was practically a boy, likely her age or just a touch older. His hay-colored hair stuck out from beneath his helmet, and his cheeks were perpetually flushed. Every time he spoke, his amber eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

“Aren’t you worried you’ll feel out of place in Renil?” he asked for what felt like the hundredth time that hour. Dalia wasn’t sure what he was driving at. He too was bored by the long journey, eager for any distraction, even if it led nowhere.

Dalia glanced at him sideways, debating if she should humor him.

“As an acolyte?” she finally replied. “Traturia is a secular country. They don’t worship any gods, so I suppose I might feel out of place,” she finished with a note of uncertainty. She wasn’t sure where this conversation was headed, but she decided to give him a chance.

“That’s why they’re so eager for an alliance,” Torus said, lifting a finger as if making a grand point. “They want to claim our gods for themselves.”

Dalia exhaled a quiet sigh.

“I think they’re more interested in our access to the sea,” she countered. “It would open up new trade routes for them.”

Torus’s eyes drifted as if he hadn’t quite heard her.

“I think you should teach them the ways of Astra, become their guide,” he said, this time with an exaggerated confidence that made his eyes twinkle.

“I doubt Astra is looking for new followers,” Dalia said, stifling a yawn. “She has me, after all.”

“Never say never,” Torus replied, rolling his eyes dramatically before falling silent. He looked as if he was already plotting his next line of questioning. After a pause, he leaned forward with genuine curiosity. “Do you sleep with that mask on?”

Though Dalia had grown used to questions about her order—small and obscure even in Eldania—they still managed to irritate her. The mask was a symbol of her belonging, carrying meaning she did not wish to explain.

“No,” she answered curtly. “Do you sleep in your helmet?”

Torus laughed but quickly realized that Dalia wasn’t in the mood for jokes. Even her horse seemed weary of the conversation. Perhaps it was time for another break. Torus seemed to make a mental note, likely planning his next round of questions.

A familiar voice rumbled from behind them, deep and seasoned. Marius, one of the older soldiers in their retinue, drew closer on his gray stallion. He had the bearing of a man who had seen a lifetime of service, with salt-and-pepper hair and a thick mustache. Though Dalia doubted he’d been in any major battles, his demeanor commanded respect.

“I’ve heard there’s a false prophet wandering Traturia,” Marius said, guiding his horse alongside theirs.

“I heard he was in Bogart,” Torus added, furrowing his brow. “Do you think he’s Astra’s prophet, doing her dirty work for Dalia?”

“I don’t know who he serves,” Marius said with a shrug. “But people are falling for it. Heard it from the villagers at our last stop. They say he performs miracles and draws crowds wherever he goes.”

“Sounds serious,” Torus said, stretching lazily atop his white mare. The horse snorted softly, as if sharing his skepticism. “If he’s so great, why hasn’t anyone actually seen him?”

“Who? The prophet?” Marius echoed, surprised.

Dalia pondered this for a moment. Stories of prophets and miracles were not uncommon, but they rarely held any truth.

“I think it’s just rumors,” she said cautiously. “People always seek something sensational.”

Their conversation was cut short by a sudden thudding from inside the carriage. The small window flew open with a bang, revealing Mariella’s pale, sweat-dappled face. Her wide eyes were filled with panic.

“We need to stop!” she cried out, clutching her stomach. “Now!”

Dalia urged her horse closer to the carriage.

“We’re approaching the village of Radun,” she said soothingly. “You’ll be able to rest in a proper bed and wash up there.”

Mariella’s expression crumpled.

“I feel awful,” she muttered weakly.

Lucia’s face appeared behind Mariella’s, equally troubled.

“Perhaps we should stop, even if just for a moment,” she suggested in a whisper.

Dalia opened her mouth to respond, but Marius’s sudden shout cut through the air.

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“Bandits!” he roared, his voice slicing through the din of hoofbeats and the creak of the carriage wheels. Ahead of them, a broken-down wagon blocked the path, its driver waving frantically for help.

The merchant’s companions were likely hidden in the nearby thickets. Most of Mariella’s treasures had been sent ahead to the capital weeks earlier, leaving only one valuable cargo in the carriage: the princess herself.

Alongside Marius and Torus, three additional guards accompanied them, making an ambush unlikely. Torus, however, seemed thrilled that something was finally happening. Marius signaled the driver to slow down, then advanced alongside Torus. Dalia followed at a safe distance, her eyes scanning their surroundings.

“My good lords!” The merchant began with exaggerated politeness, his voice trembling beneath a veneer of cheer. Sweat trickled down his temples, and his eyes darted nervously. “Would you spare some aid for a poor merchant? I’ve been traveling alone from Bogart to the capital and lost a wheel.”

Torus raised an eyebrow, eyeing him skeptically.

“You’re traveling such a long way alone?” he asked, his tone laced with mockery. His hand hovered close to the hilt of his sword. Marius remained stoic atop his horse, his gaze fixed on the thickets lining the road. He caught a glimpse of movement—shadows slipping between trees. Peering out from the dense undergrowth were people, unarmed by the looks of it, dressed more like peasants in tattered clothing than bandits.

“No,” the merchant stammered, looking even more flustered. “I had two guards with me, but they disappeared.”

“Disappeared? With half your cargo, I bet?” Torus continued sarcastically.

“No...” The merchant’s eyes widened with fear. “They didn’t take anything. We made camp for the night, and when I woke up, they were gone.” He looked genuinely bewildered, as if he struggled to believe his own story.

Marius edged closer to the underbrush, his hand gripping his sword. What is he doing? Dalia spurred her horse to catch up.

“And what are you transporting from Bogart?” Torus pressed, sounding almost amused as he maintained the conversation. Dalia’s horse quickened, closing the distance to Marius.

“Fabrics and books,” the merchant said, his voice a thin whistle of air. His gaze remained locked on the thickets, where Marius now moved steadily forward.

“What are you doing?” Dalia shouted, close enough now to reach him if she hurried.

“Agh!” Marius’s startled cry pierced the air. His horse, spooked, reared up and threw him before bolting back toward the carriage in panic. The guards drew their weapons, confused and unsure where to aim. Torus, now fully alert, unsheathed his sword and pointed it at the merchant, who stood frozen, eyes wide and blankly staring into the forest.

Dalia jumped off her horse and rushed to Marius, who lay conscious but dazed on the ground. She fought down a surge of panic, straining to see what had terrified the veteran guard. Her eyes combed the thickets, a chill creeping up her spine as she tightened her grip on her sword.

For a moment, everything stilled. The only sound was the rustling of leaves, a haunting whisper that almost mimicked the cries of small children. Dalia’s fingers clenched and unclenched around the hilt. If she waited any longer, she’d be paralyzed by fear. With a swift motion, she parted the dense brush, revealing a field of small wooden figurines—dozens of them, none taller than a meter, their carved mouths twisted into sinister grins.

Behind her, a heavy thud signaled the merchant collapsing to the ground before Torus could reach him.

“What the hell is going on?” Torus muttered, his jaw clenched.

“Are you alright?” Dalia asked softly, kneeling beside Marius. His face was pale, his eyes staring blankly ahead. She waved her hand near his face, but his gaze didn’t follow. A frown etched across her features as unease gnawed at her.

“What’s wrong with him?” One of the guards—a tall, lanky man who Dalia recalled as one of the brothers—ran over.

“He’s conscious, but…” Dalia sighed, eyes flicking back to Marius. “Can you help get him to the carriage?”

The guard carefully helped Marius up. Though unsteady, the older soldier managed to reach the carriage with assistance. After a brief discussion, they decided to take the unconscious merchant along as well, securing him beside the driver to prevent him from falling off during the ride.

Torus, now grim-faced, rode beside Dalia. A search of the merchant’s cart revealed it was completely empty—no fabrics, no books, only barren crates and dust.

Dalia didn’t want to admit it, but she had felt a sense of foreboding for many miles. She didn’t know her fellow travelers well, but she noticed a strange change in their behavior. At the last stop, she had asked Lucia what book she was reading, only to find that the girl couldn’t recall a single detail despite hours spent with it. At the time, Dalia assumed Lucia was faking it to avoid Mariella’s endless complaints. But as their journey continued, Lucia’s gaze grew increasingly vacant, and conversations dissolved into disjointed sentences without any clear thread.

A sharp intake of breath drew her attention. Torus was gasping like a fish trying to find words. Gently, Dalia touched his arm to snap him out of it.

“Are you alright?” she asked. Torus glared at her, eyes wild, but said nothing. She pressed on, breaking the silence, “We should be at the inn soon. We’ll need to check on Marius and that merchant and—”

“What the hell was that?” Torus cut her off, staring at her as if she held all the answers. Dalia’s face tightened; vague replies wouldn’t suffice.

“Those figurines...” she began carefully. “I know they’re scattered throughout these woods.”

“Why?” Torus’s brows knitted together, disbelief and anger coloring his voice.

“There are different theories,” Dalia continued calmly. “Some say they’re meant to ward off evil spirits; others believe they’re warnings to invaders. I’ve only read about them and never seen them in person. I imagined they’d be different,” she added thoughtfully. “At first, I thought they were wooden, but when I looked closer, they seemed to be made of metal crafted to mimic wood, probably to better blend in with the forest.”

Torus’s face reflected both accusation and disbelief.

“I really don’t know more than that. The rest is just speculation,” she added, trying to reassure him.

“I spoke with the others,” Torus finally shifted his gaze to the guards ahead. “Things have been strange ever since we entered this part of the forest. Czyży said he felt... shifts.” Dalia glanced at Czyży’s back. Had he really sensed shifts? It wasn’t impossible.

She turned back to Torus, studying him closely. He didn’t look like an ordinary soldier, yet she had never seen him before.

“Torus, what are you really doing here?” she asked, curiosity sparking in her eyes.

He looked momentarily caught off guard by her question.

“I come from a large family,” he said, averting his gaze. “This is my only chance.”

Dalia eyed him thoughtfully. Did he truly think that serving a princess on an exile-like journey would bring him glory? No one had volunteered for this mission; she assumed everyone knew what they were getting into.

“Hmm,” she murmured, nodding. “Looking to prove yourself?” She smiled, though the mask obscured it. “Well, you’re in the perfect place for that.”

Torus’s eyes widened, as if he hadn’t expected such an answer.

“We’re here!” someone shouted from ahead. Dalia couldn’t tell if it was Czyży or Rady—the brothers’ voices were so similar, they were almost indistinguishable.

Night had fallen, and the road was lit only by sparse, twinkling stars. Dalia had expected a fortified settlement, but instead, a tiny village clung to existence, straining against the surrounding forest. The ground around the village appeared recently scorched, though creeping moss had already started reclaiming it. The scent of pine needles filled the air, lending a fleeting sense of coziness. Most of the houses were dark, their inhabitants long asleep, though one villager threw open his shutters with a crash, glanced out suspiciously, then slammed them shut with even more force. The sight of a few armed men likely didn’t alarm them; this village was accustomed to travelers.

The inn, set slightly apart from the cluster of homes, buzzed with unexpected activity