The altar, bathed in the soft moonlight, was now surrounded by masked figures. Their chants reverberated through the forest, echoing eerily. Lynna, hidden behind the thick foliage, took a deep breath and steadied herself as she prepared to confront them.
Recalling the past two days, the trio's meticulous preparation and surveillance had paid off. Their shifts in hiding and watching, their patience, were now rewarded. On the third night, just as the darkness had deepened, they saw silhouettes snaking their way towards the altar. The moment had come.
Stepping out of her hiding spot, Lynna could now clearly see the scene before her. Five figures, draped in cloaks and hooded robes, stood in a circle around the altar. Their bodies moved in harmony as they continued their chant. Disturbingly, amongst them was a child, no older than ten, joining in the ritual with as much fervor as the adults.
How could they involve a child in this? Lynna thought, anger bubbling within her. It was one thing for adults to participate in forbidden rituals, but to indoctrinate a child was beyond irresponsible.
What struck her most was their masks. Each one covered their entire face, leaving no feature visible. They were stunningly crafted, yet sent shivers down Lynna's spine. Made of a polished material that shone in the dim light, they were decorated with what appeared to be pearls and gold in intricate patterns. The masks were beautiful, yet they bore an unsettling aura that made Lynna's heart race.
Gathering her courage, Lynna stepped forward, her voice steady and commanding. "I am Lynna, and I am the official mage of the twin-forest village. I order you to halt your rituals and surrender yourselves!"
The chanting ceased instantly. The forest was filled with an oppressive silence, save for the distant sounds of nocturnal creatures. The cultists turned to face Lynna, their expressions unreadable behind their masks. Their surprise was evident, however. The stillness of their bodies, the slight tilting of their heads, they had not anticipated an interruption.
Lynna's mind raced as she assessed the unfolding situation. This is our strategy, she reminded herself. She would be the front line, drawing their attention, while Roan and Wil stayed concealed, ready to intervene when necessary. But the weight of the confrontation was stressing her heart, but she could not falter.
To her surprise, one cultist immediately began to flee, his mask concealing what was likely an expression of sheer terror. However, the other four, perhaps bolstered by their numbers, leapt into action, charging directly at Lynna with fierce determination.
Having anticipated a potential confrontation, Lynna had thoughtfully chosen spells that would be most effective in the environment they were in. With the forest's dampness from the recent rain and the coldness of winter, water, ice and earth would be her prime elements to exploit.
Muttering a chant under her breath, Lynna connected with the forest floor. Vibrations echoed around her, and the elements from the earth surged up to meet her call. Rocks, damp and glistening from the moisture, levitated around her, awaiting her command. With a swift motion of her arm, she directed them with precision at her assailants. The aim was to incapacitate, not fatally injure. The stones struck hard, causing bruises and, with a bit of luck, some were aimed perfectly to stun with a hit to the head.
One, however, dodged the barrage, using nimble moves that indicated he might have had some combat experience. As he drew near, reaching out to grab Lynna, he was unexpectedly repelled by an invisible force. Lynna's protective air armor, which she'd honed in the many mock battles at the Academy, held strong. The opponent, taken by surprise, staggered back, momentarily thrown off balance.
Without wasting a second, Lynna invoked her next spell. Using the moisture present, she quickly manipulated the water elements in the air, concentrating it beneath her attackers' feet on a wide surface. She then amplified the forest's ambient coldness on the water she had placed, turning it into a thin but perilously slippery layer of ice.
As the cultists tried to regroup, their feet lost traction on the treacherous surface. One by one, they slipped, their cloaks flapping wildly as they desperately tried to find their footing. The grace with which they'd moved earlier was all but gone, replaced by clumsy flailing a string of curses. Soon, all four found themselves sprawled on the forest floor.
Looking up from their prone positions on the forest floor, the cultists found themselves staring at a sight that would give anyone pause. Lynna stood ready, her staff pointed directly at them. Surrounding her, like silent sentinels, were menacing blocks of ice, hovering in mid-air, each sharp-edged and glinting under the pale moonlight. They seemed to pulse and shimmer, poised to strike upon Lynna's command.
With cold determination, Lynna voiced her demand, "I'll say it one more time. Surrender, and no further harm will come to you."
To those unfamiliar, Lynna may have looked like a mere mage, young and unassuming. However, she had graduated from the prestigious Academy a year early, a testament to her exceptional skills and diligence. By the time she had completed her studies, she stood ranked third in the final year, outshining many of her seniors. Also her expertise was practical; the Academy's curriculum focused as much on real-world application as theoretical knowledge. The Academy of Magic ensured every graduate was not just well-versed in magical theories but was also adept at using their skills effectively in real-life situations, ready to face challenges head-on.
From the corner of her eye, Lynna noticed movement. Wil had easily subdued the fleeing cultist, ensuring he couldn't resist further. The captured cultist looked utterly defeated, regret evident in his eyes. Clearly, he hadn't expected to be apprehended so easily, especially by a villager like Wil.
A little distance away, Roan had approached the young child involved in the ritual with gentleness and care. Even in a situation fraught with danger, Roan's natural protective instinct took precedence. He knelt, speaking in soft, reassuring tones, trying to comfort the child, ensuring no more trauma would befall him.
Lynna, maintaining her intimidating stance, waited. It was clear that the tables had turned, and the cultists' earlier bravado had all but evaporated.
One by one, the cultists voiced their surrender, their tones ranging from bitter defeat to genuine fear. Their masks, which once stood for their glorious anonymity, were now stark reminders of the folly they had engaged in.