Sitting back on the floor, I found myself, for the first time, grateful to be unable to sit higher up. There was a strange sense of safety in being low, close to the ground, where I could almost blend into the floor of the cart's interior.
Outside, the noises were sparse. The occasional clank of armor broke the heavy silence, the guards shifting in their tense vigilance. The heavier, rhythmic thud of the horses' hooves punctuated the stillness, each step seeming to echo against the oppressive quiet of the forest. But for the most part, it was quiet—a long, uneasy stretch of quiet.
Then, the light we did have began to fade, dimming into an unnatural twilight beneath the thick canopy. Lord Thorne shifted where he sat, his calm demeanor strained as he stood abruptly, his voice sharp when he called out to the men. "Make camp!" he ordered, his tone steady but carrying an edge that hinted at unease. He seemed to have traveled this path before, yet there was a tension to him, a tightness in his movements.
The cart came to a stop, and the guards moved swiftly, unloading torch poles and planting them in a wide perimeter around the cart. Flames flickered to life, their glow barely pushing back against the oppressive darkness pressing in from the forest. Beyond the torches, additional fires were lit, scattered at the edges of the camp, forming a barrier of light. I watched the flames with a puzzled frown—it seemed excessive, even wasteful. They were using so much of it that I couldn't help but wonder why.
The contractors moved silently, spreading out like clockwork to take their positions around the camp. Each one stood vigil at a different side, their forms barely illuminated by the flickering light. They began to mutter—soft, rhythmic words that carried the cadence of a chant but were too low for me to make out. Their synchronized actions heightened the sense that we were warding off something.
I glanced at Lord Thorne. For all his commanding presence, there was a flicker of fear in his expression. His eyes darted to the shadows just beyond the firelight, his lips pressed into a thin line. He didn't speak again.
Whatever lurked in this place, even he—experienced and confident as he was—could not shake its hold. The flames danced, their light flickering over his face. I tried to relax, and slowly, after a while, I began to drift asleep. The guards were watchful, the contractors were chanting, and the flames felt like a shield against the unseen dangers of the Dire Forest. I trusted that they would keep us safe.
Then I heard it.
A sound pierced the quiet, sharp and harrowing—a woman's scream. It wasn't the startled cry of someone in pain but something deeper, more mournful. It sounded like a mother being torn from her child, raw with despair. The sound rooted me in place, my chest tightening. I recognized it. My own mother had made a sound like that when she was taken away from me.
The scream reverberated through the camp, echoing in a way that defied reason. The guards yelled to one another, their voices tight with alarm, and the contractors' chanting grew louder, faster, as though trying to drown out the sound. But the scream—it didn't just linger. It burrowed into my mind, reverberating long after it had stopped, an imprint of grief and anguish that refused to leave me.
I pressed my hands to my ears, desperate to block it out, but it was inside me now. No amount of covering my ears could silence it.
Then, just as suddenly as it began, the scream stopped. Silence reclaimed the camp, but the quiet felt heavier now, like the aftermath of a storm. I sat there, trembling, when I heard a shuffling sound. It wasn't subtle—it wasn't even trying to hide itself—but it also wasn't announcing its presence fully. The sound was deliberate, slow, and it came closer with each step.
Despite knowing better, my curiosity got the better of me. I turned toward the window and peered out. At first, I saw nothing but the glow of the fires casting uneven light across the clearing. Then, I saw one of the guards. It was the one who had seemed sympathetic during my earlier fight. Relief washed over me momentarily as I watched him, standing just at the edge of the firelight.
My eyes felt dry, so I blinked—and in that split second, the guard was gone.
I froze, my breath catching in my throat. He couldn't have moved that quickly, and yet, he was nowhere in sight. My eyes darted across the clearing, searching for any sign of him, but the shadows swallowed everything beyond the flames. A cold knot of worry settled in my chest as I turned toward Lord Thorne.
"My lord," I said, my voice low but urgent, "the guard… he was there, and now he's gone."
Lord Thorne's expression hardened, his eyes narrowing as he pushed me aside and stepped to the edge of the cart. His voice, sharp and commanding, cut through the unsettling quiet of the camp. "Captain!"
The captain, clad in pale armor, appeared almost immediately, his movements brisk as he approached the cart. Lord Thorne's gaze locked onto him.
"We're down a man," Lord Thorne said, his voice grim. "Make sure you're staying in the light. All of you. No exceptions."
The captain's response was immediate, slamming his fist against his chest in a crisp salute. "Yes, my lord." He turned swiftly, relaying the command to the other guards with an authoritative bark.
"Stay in the light! No one strays!"
The guards, who already seemed tense, became even more so. They shifted closer to the cart, their armor clinking as they moved into the halo of the torches and fires. Their eyes darted nervously toward the shadows at the camp's edges. The urgency in their movements betrayed their eagerness—perhaps even desperation—to stay within the relative safety of the light.