Chapter 16 - Chapter 12: Battlefield

Malachi

"captain!" a man shouted, panting heavily "The scouts report there is an army from the north approaching"

"Damn!" Captain Malachi cursed, the weariness evident in his voice. 

The soldiers were already exhausted from the long march, and the battle had yet to begin. 

Without a moment's hesitation, Captain Malachi barked orders at his men, rallying them to form a defensive line. Spears were readied, and shields were raised. The mist swirled around their feet, adding to the tension that hung heavy in the air.

The sound of marching boots could be heard in the distance, growing louder with each passing moment. As the northern army came into view, Captain Malachi felt a deep sense of dread settle in his chest. The enemy soldiers were clad in shining silver armour that glinted ominously in the dim light. They wielded sharp, bloodthirsty swords, their faces devoid of emotion.

Captain Malachi knew that they were a force to be reckoned with, a formidable enemy that his men would have to fight with all their might and skill to even stand a slim chance. But there was no room for doubt or hesitation on the battlefield.

"For the King!" Captain Malachi yelled, his voice strong with determination as he raised his sword high into the air. "For Var'aak!"

His soldiers echoed his cry, their voices ringing out across the desolate battlefield. They were a united front and their determination showed no sign of wavering.

The northern army descended upon them like a wave, their weapons flashing in the pale sunlight. The clash of steel on steel rang out, and the battle began. 

Captain Malachi fought with all his strength, but even he could not hold off the tide of the northern army. His sword cleaving through the enemy ranks with practiced ease. His men were no less impressive, their skill and strength holding the line against the onslaught.

They were soon pushed back, their line of defense crumbling under the relentless assault. But despite their best efforts, the northern army was too strong, their numbers overwhelming.

The mist swirled around them, obscuring the vision and adding to the confusion. Blood spattered the ground, and the air was filled with the screams of dying men.

"Fall back!" Captain Malachi shouted, his voice nearly drowned out by the roar of battle. "Retreat!"

The soldiers obeyed, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the mist. They fled from the battlefield, the northern army cutting them down as fast as they retreated. The ground beneath their feet transformed into a grotesque mixture of blood-soaked mud and twisted bodies. 

Captain Malachi kept his head down, his sword arm swinging with a renewed vigour. He was determined to lead his men to safety, no matter the cost.

As the mist thickened, their surroundings became more difficult to discern. The soldiers struggled to maintain their footing as the ground turned treacherous, and the northern army pressed their advantage.

Time was running out, and Captain Malachi could feel the enemy gaining ground with every passing moment.

Amidst the chaos, a lone figure stood defiantly in their path. His dark eyes pierced through the mist, his expression unreadable. He was dressed in the same glimmering silver armour as his comrades, and a deadly sword gleamed menacingly in his hands.

The soldiers instinctively gathered around their captain, their shields raised and spears ready. They knew that this man was a threat and they would need to work together if they were to survive the encounter.

The lone warrior approached, his stride confident and unhurried. His movements were fluid and precise, and he carried himself with an air of quiet menace.

Captain Malachi gripped his sword tightly, preparing for the inevitable clash.

"Do you want to die?"

He advanced toward Captain Malachi with a calculated grace, his blows precise and deadly. His sword was a blur of motion, his strikes seemingly impossible to parry. The captain and his men were pushed back, their defensive formation falling apart.

Captain Malachi parried another blow, his sword ringing out in protest. The captain fought back with all his remaining strength, desperately parrying the relentless onslaught. But the lone soldier was skilled, his movements fluid and unforgiving.

Their swords clashed, the sound ringing out across the desolate landscape. They were evenly matched, and the battle raged on.

As the two men fought, the mist swirled around them, their figures barely visible through the haze.

"I don't think I can keep this up much longer," Captain Malachi thought, his arm aching from the effort.

The soldier was relentless, his attacks seemingly without end.

Captain Malachi took a deep breath, his eyes fixed on his opponent. The bodies of his men lay scattered around them, their lifeless eyes staring into the distance. The battle had been lost, but the captain refused to give up.

"You'll have to kill me before I give up," he said through gritted teeth, his resolve unwavering.

In a swift, devastating strike, the enemy's sword found its mark, slicing through the captain's armour and piercing his chest. Captain Malachi crumpled to the ground, a mixture of mud and blood embracing his fallen form.

"It's over," the soldier spoke, his voice cold and emotionless. "There's no point in fighting any more."

Captain Malachi closed his eyes, his thoughts filled with pain. But he would not surrender.

"Then so be it," the captain spoke, his voice hoarse. "I'll see you in the next life."

The soldier's sword pierced his chest once more, and Captain Malachi's world went black.

As the captain lay there, his life fading away, the soldier moved on. the sound of battle fading.

***

The mist swirled around their feet, its ghostly fingers caressing their skin. The silence was deafening, the only sound the eerie echo of their footsteps. The trees loomed above them, their dark shadows casting an ominous spell over the forest.

Morwen shivered, goosebumps rising on her arms.

Shadows of dusk began to lengthen, casting a cloak of uncertainty over the two figures moving through the thick undergrowth. Ophelia's determined pace cut through the silence like a blade as she pushed forward, her brow furrowed in frustration. Morwen followed closely behind, her heart heavy with worry for Zack.

"This is pointless!" Ophelia's voice cut through the silence.

She and Ophelia had been searching for Zack for several hours now, and they had found no sign of him. They had taken a detour at Morwen's insistence, heading back to the where she and Zack were attacked rather than continuing to the Tribe of the river, where she suspected her brother might be headed.

"We can't give up, he might be hurt or worse," Morwen's voice trembled with emotion, her concern for her brother evident.

Ophelia halted, her eyes glinting with impatience. "And what if he's not?" Her voice echoed through the stillness, causing a flock of birds to scatter into the darkening sky.

"Then we'll keep looking," she declared, her voice unwavering in its determination. Despite Ophelia's doubt, Morwen remained persistent. 

With each passing moment, the weight of the unknown pressed down upon them. Though they had just met Morwen was grateful for Ophelia's help.

"He could be anywhere by now," Ophelia's voice was calm and soothing despite her frustration that simmered beneath the surface.

"Please," Morwen pleaded, her voice tinged with desperation. 

Ophelia hesitated, her gaze flitting between the dense foliage surrounding them and the despair etched on Morwen's face. She sighed, her irritation evident. But as she looked into Morwen's pleading eyes, reluctantly, she conceded,

"Fine, but we need to be smart about this. Let's head back to the village and see if anyone has seen him. He couldn't have gotten far."

Morwen's gratitude shone in her eyes, a flicker of hope amidst the encroaching darkness. They retraced their steps, their eyes scanning the surroundings for any sign of Zack.

Morwen's heart sank when she saw the blood soaked ground, the bodies of two of the men that had attacked lay dead.

"We're too late," Ophelia muttered, her gaze fixed on the carnage.

"No," Morwen shook her head. "Zack is not among the dead. We need to keep searching."

Ophelia's expression was a mix of doubt and disbelief, but she nodded in agreement, understanding the depth of Morwen's determination. Together, they combed through the area, their keen eyes scanning every inch of the forest floor for any clue as to Zack's whereabouts. It was when Ophelia called out, pointing to a set of footprints leading away from the scene, that Morwen's hope soared to new heights.

"These are Zack's tracks," Morwen confirmed, her excitement rising.

"Let's follow them and see where they lead us," Ophelia suggested, her enthusiasm returning.

They followed the footprints, their pace quickening. A trail of blood accompanying them, morwen hoped Zack was not badly injured. 

The forest was eerily quiet, the only sound the faint rustling of leaves in the breeze. The trees loomed above them, their branches reaching out like grasping fingers. The sky was darkening, the sun's rays barely visible through the dense canopy. It seemed to press in on them from all sides, suffocating in its intensity.

"Are you sure he's not dead?" Ophelia's skepticism lingered in the air, 

"I'm certain," Morwen replied, her voice filled with conviction.

"How can you be so sure?"

"We haven't found his body!" Morwen's retort was sharp, her patience wearing thin beneath the weight of uncertainty.

"Fine," Ophelia acquiesced, though her doubt remained evident.

Their footsteps echoed through the forest, the only sound breaking the stillness besides the rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of hidden birds. The trail of footprints and blood became more pronounced as they ventured deeper into the wilderness, leading them around twists and turns that seemed to blur together in their urgency.

As they rounded a bend, the women emerged into a small clearing bathed in moonlight, the footprints led them unerringly towards a pile of leaves nestled at the center.

"There," Ophelia pointed, her breath catching in anticipation.

Approaching with caution, Morwen and Ophelia scanned their surroundings warily, alert for any sign of danger. As they drew nearer to the pile of leaves, a figure came into view, hunched over with his face obscured by a hood.

"Zack!" Morwen's voice rang out, a mixture of relief and concern lacing her words.

"Morwen," he croaked, his voice barely audible.

"Oh Zack, what happened?" Morwen's eyes brimmed with unshed tears, her hand reaching out towards him.

"They're all dead," Zack's words were chilling, his expression grim with the weight of his words.

"What happened?" Morwen's question hung heavy in the air, her concern deepening as the truth began to unravel.

"I killed them," Zack responded, his voice trembling.

Morwen looked at her brother's injuries, her heart sinking. Blood stained his clothes, his face was swollen where a cut ran from his ear to his chin, a deep gash marred his shoulder. She didn't know what to say, the words escaping her. 

"I can heal him," Ophelia whispered softly, her voice laced with concern.

Morwen nodded, her expression solemn.

Ophelia moved towards Zack, her hands outstretched. She murmured words that were unfamiliar to Morwen, and the air around her shimmered. A soft, white light emanated from her palms, enveloping Zack in its warmth.

Zack's wounds slowly healed, the gashes and bruises disappearing as if they had never existed. His breathing became easier, and his strength returned.

"Thank you," he breathed, his voice steady.

As Ophelia's hands lingered over Zack, the veil of magic woven by her touch slowly ebbed away, leaving behind a emptiness in its absence. With a heavy heart, she withdrew her hands, the light dimming like a dying ember, and she staggered back, her expression a mixture of relief and lingering pain.

"I can't," Ophelia grimaced, her features contorted in a mask of regret, "I can't heal him completely."

The weight of her words hung heavily in the air. Morwen's brows furrowed with renewed concern, her eyes flitting between her brother and Ophelia.

"Why not?" Morwen's voice carried the weight of her worry, a tumult of emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Ophelia, her voice heavy with the burden of her limitations, explained, "I'm too tired. My magic has reached its limit, drained by the exertion of healing him."

Morwen bit her lip, torn between gratitude for Ophelia's aid and the gnawing fear of her brother's incomplete recovery. Her gaze remained fixed on Zack, his form now a picture of partial restoration, a patchwork of healed flesh masking deeper wounds that lingered unseen. A faint purple line marked his cheek, a permanent scar. 

"It's alright," Zack reassured, his voice strong. "I'll be fine."

Morwen's gaze softened as she watched him, relief washing over her.

As Zack stood up, the leaves rustled under his feet, he reached out and pulled Morwen into a tight embrace, his relief evident. 

"I thought I had lost you," Zack murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, his breath warm against Morwen's ear.

Drawing back slightly, Morwen met his gaze, her eyes reflecting the same emotion that stirred within him. His fingers traced the familiar contours of her face, his breath mingling with hers in the dim light filtering through the dense foliage. 

"I'm not that easy to get rid of," she joked, a flicker of amusement dancing in her eyes, a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

"We should get going, unless you want to camp here for the night," Ophelia interjected, her tone impatient.

Zack turned his attention to Morwen's companion, his brows furrowing in curiosity. "Who are you?"

Ophelia's gaze met his, a spark of defiance glinting in her eyes. "Someone who just saved your life," she replied, her voice laced with sarcasm.

Zack's gaze held hers, unwavering, as if trying to decipher the enigma that was Ophelia. 

"Her name is Ophelia," Morwen interjected, rolling her eyes at the tension that hung between the two. She went on to explain how she had met Ophelia, how their paths had intertwined, and how they had come back searching for him.

"Well then," Zack broke the silence, his gaze fixed on the siren before him. "Thank you, Ophelia."

A hint of surprise flickered across Ophelia's face at the genuine tone in Zack's voice.

"You're welcome," she replied, her expression neutral, the barriers around her heart momentarily faltering.

In the silence that followed, a delicate dance of emotions played out beneath the moon's watchful eye. He couldn't tear his gaze away from her, even in the dim light her beauty was alluring. Zack's eyes remained fixated on Ophelia as she moved with an ethereal grace, her dark ebony skin glimmering in the moonlight. Her hair cascaded like a waterfall of obsidian locks down her back, and her eyes held secrets that beckoned to be uncovered.

The night air hummed with unseen energies that stirred something deep within Zack's soul. He felt a primal urge to approach Ophelia, to unravel the mysteries that shrouded her like a veil.

With tentative steps, Zack ventured closer to her, his heart pounding in his chest as he tried to make sense of the inexplicable pull she had on him. She turned to face him again, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

This time when her gaze met his, and Zack felt as though he was being drawn into the depths of a bottomless abyss, where shadows danced and whispered long-forgotten tales. Ophelia's eyes held a strange mixture of sadness and longing, and Zack felt an overwhelming desire to reach out and touch her, to bring her out of the darkness that seemed to cling to her like a second skin.

As they stood there, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, something passed between them, a silent communication that transcended words. Zack could feel Ophelia's pain, her loneliness, her yearning for something deeper then he could describe.

"Let's get going," Morwen interrupted the spell that had woven itself between Zack and Ophelia.

Zack tore his gaze away from the siren standing before him, turning to face Morwen.

"Where are we headed?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of reluctance to leave Ophelia's side.

"To the Tribe of the River," Ophelia replied, her voice carrying a faint trace of amusement as she stepped forward.