Leaving traces of himself imprinted on the moss, Derrick groaned and forced himself to rise. The moss bathed his surroundings in a shimmering green glow. His red cheeks lost colour and turned white as chalk, and his blue lips twitched from the bitter cold.

The sight before his blue eyes befuddled him. He looked around himself with his mouth wide open while the cold evaporated his irregular, shallow breath as if he had run up a steep hill and barely caught his breath.

It was dead quiet around him. His thumping heartbeat drowned out the mournful chant of the icy windblasts. He wheezed.

Though he was uncertain of what awaited him at the bottom of the tree, he sensed something amiss upon scanning the area. Everything was in absolute darkness here. Even the dismal tranquillity gave him goosebumps. It was as if he had been buried alive, except he wasn’t.

He advanced, unsure of his destination, and found a group of boys in the murk.

They were too scared to pay attention to him as he approached. He followed them at a close distance and surveyed the grim vicinity, trying to figure out where he was all the while.

A pathway appeared before them and split into two smaller trails. The pathway itself was carpeted with an unnaturally glowing moss. The right trail led to a crooked mountain trail, while the other led up a moss-covered hill.

Patches of thick fog shrouded both trails, obstructing their view ahead. It was impossible to determine the better path. Derricks turned left. After all, being on the ground was safer than being stranded on a jagged mountain track.

He stayed close behind the boys the entire time and didn’t dare to linger alone in the endless darkness for a second, even though the moss, which appeared to be lit up by thousands of mystical orbs, helped him see through the thick mist and place his foot somewhere safe.

Who knew what lurked in the shadows and watched their every move, perhaps hiding a trap or two further ahead?

The only thing that seemed to help them was the glowing moss itself, which illuminated the darkness and was ready to guide them through the narrow trails, or so Derrick hoped, from the depths of his heart.

They became fewer and fewer as the seconds passed, which was obviously strange, but he had heard nothing unusual – no screams or cries for help, so he didn’t notice it at first.

The boys, however, had indeed vanished and turned into thin air in a matter of minutes. As he was observing what remained of the boys, pondering on what was going on, a rattling noise cut through the silence and they all broke off. That was when he noticed them.

Dark figures emerged from the shadows all around them, watching their every move and tracing their scents. In the silence, the boys’ pulsing veins and pounding hearts were too loud to be ignored; their bloodshot eyes were wide like the full moon, fraught with sheer fear, and their chattering teeth were too loud for their own good.

Anyone could see that the boys didn’t know where the tree had taken them. Perhaps the uncertainty scared them more than the realisation that they had been lured into the nocturnal darkness and were being pursued by strange creatures.

Derrick, however, knew where they were, and this insight gave him some comfort. Although he had been just as clueless as the others for a moment.

Upon opening his eyes in this gloom, he was as confused as the rest of the boys. But the full moon gave this vast land away – this hideous land where the sun never set and where the moon devoured the twinkling stars…

You see, there was only one place where the sun never rose above the horizon. Scholars described this place as a dark cave made of coal and pitch-black rocks on a highland, recounting how everything smelled of ashes like the sorcerers and rotten like the beasts that lived here since the dawn of time.

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It was also described as being shrouded in a hazy mist that kept the grim fortress hidden at all times and provided cover for the creatures.

Freyskul and Lordôm were the only kingdoms on the west side of Yiraál that fit this description. But Freyskul belonged to the dark elves and was in the woods between Jewarta and Lordôm, where massive trees and bushes blocked the rays of the sun.

He was in Lordôm, the Forgotten Land of Beasts in the west, where the imprisoned Queen of Hezakhal ruled over her vicious children. He had no doubts at all. Even if he were wrong about everything else, he wasn’t wrong about this.

Hezakhal was a dungeon, a prison for the dead and rotten, although it appeared to be a massive fortress from the outside. To escape this vast land, he had to cross a boiling moat cast with powerful spells by using a dreaded bridge – the Salkire.

He awoke from his dreadful thoughts just then and cast an anxious glance over his shoulder. Something moved behind him in the shadows and made sure he wasn’t blind to their presence.

The boys, now down to three, sensed it as well and huddled together while searching the darkness. Still, they had to continue down the trail because they had no choice but to keep moving.

Derrick lingered behind for a few seconds, trying to locate the moat and the bridge. It was the only way out of here.

The wailing and sly wind, however, distorted all sounds and rattles, even though he could hear the faint screams of prisoners in the distance carried by the billows.

He tried to catch up to the others after a short while, but the darkness devoured them in a matter of seconds, and they were gone for good. It was as if something dragged them into the shadows and swallowed them whole when they least expected it.

His heart pounded like never before, and he rubbed his face as hard as he could to clear his head and get his bearings. The only way forward, however, appeared to be straight through the mossy trail.

Bushes surrounded both sides of him as he made his way over another hill and down a less crooked and wider trail. A thousand thoughts raced through his mind, and the stories and legends surrounding this dark land pierced through his aching heart.

Why were they in Lordôm? This place wasn’t part of the wizardry contest. The wizards of Mahgrad would never send them here. Someone or something must have tampered with, if not conspired with, the tree.

They were only children, and most of them didn’t even know how to cast a simple spell. So, how could they possibly survive in the dark, where ominous figures lurked and would soon attack them if they had not already?

He spun around just then and gasped as something swiftly passed by behind him, breathing into his bare neck only to vanish out of immediate sight. He couldn’t see what it was, but he knew it was there in the shadows, teasing and mocking him.

The sound of their scraping feet against the hard, rocky ground was as clear as could be, and their chilling yet silent screams were crippling in ways no words could describe. He tensed up and firmly hugged his pants as the creatures gathered around him in the darkness from all sides. Only one word lingered like a curse in his mind, reminding him of the dreadful name he would never forget.

The fahltyrs.

Shivers ran down his spine in a heartbeat, and buckets of cold sweat clung to his skin. His eyes widened as he repeated the name of the humanlike creatures he had read about in thousands of books and ancient writings.

Horror crippled his body and mind, rendering him motionless and frightened, unable to flee as the fahltyrs drew closer and emerged from the shadows to show their rotten flesh and hollow eyes without an ounce of hesitation now that he was utterly alone and vulnerable.

There was no time to waste, and he was well aware of that. But regaining control of his numb limbs was easier said than done. He needed to inform the others, those who were still alive and well, before it was too late!

But he couldn’t just run into the pitch-black darkness ahead of him unnoticed! These brutes grew bolder the entire time and stepped into his line of sight without fear, savouring each gasp of breath, which he could hardly control at this point.

His heart screamed with no intention of slowing down, and his thoughts were all over the place. He took a deep breath and felt the chills in the marrow of his bones. It was at that moment that he heard the first cry for help since he entered this vast land of beasts.

Never had he heard such chilling torment as time collapsed and came to a halt. A single thought ran through his mind. He had to get out of here! He had to get out of here right now, or he never would!

But his legs trembled under the weight of his body as if they were going to give way; he was too paralysed to move and too numb to feel the shooting pain rushing down his spine.

This… None of this was supposed to happen. Mahgrad would soon realise they were not where they were supposed to be; he couldn’t tell how long it would take the wizards to notice, but if he didn’t leave now, he might never know.

It was getting colder and the fahltyrs, although they were nothing like humans, were still made of skin and bones like him. Surely they would retreat eventually? He needed to get to the battered bridge, even though his chances were slim, and all odds were against him.

But if he could hide from the fahltyrs and endure, he might survive. In the end, anything was better than just waiting for the end to come.

So he sprinted.