Chereads / Fate of the Marked / Chapter 6 - Frostmere

Chapter 6 - Frostmere

The road stretched out ahead of me, dimly lit by the silver glow of the moon. Shadows clung to the edges of the path, the trees on either side standing like silent sentinels. The air was cool, almost too still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. It had been years since I'd walked a road like this alone. Years since Roderick wasn't there, his heavy boots crunching alongside mine, his gruff voice breaking the quiet with some half-baked story or terrible joke.

But now? Just the sound of my own footsteps, steady and hollow against the dirt road. Even the usual nighttime chorus of crickets and owls seemed muted, as if the world was holding its breath.

It had barely been an hour since I left Hollowbrook, but the absence already felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on my chest. The night stretched wide and empty, and despite knowing it was for the best, I couldn't help but glance back over my shoulder every so often. Nothing. Just the dark, winding path disappearing behind me. No Roderick. No Elara. No Breon. Just me.

The thought struck harder than I expected, leaving an ache I hadn't prepared for. I'd always told myself that I could do this, that I'd be fine alone. But knowing it and feeling it were two different things. I missed the sound of Roderick's armor shifting with every step, his axe clanking softly against his back. I missed the way he'd grumble about the weight of his pack or complain about how the night air always made his joints ache.

And I missed the thing I'd never admit to anyone—not to him, not even to myself most days—the quiet reassurance that, no matter what, he'd be there. His shield ready, his axe swinging, always standing between me and whatever monster was foolish enough to cross us.

But now it was just me. Just my shadow stretching out long and thin under the pale moonlight.

I let out a breath, the sound loud in the stillness, and squared my shoulders. It wasn't the first time I'd felt this kind of loneliness. Hell, half the reason I started monster-slaying was because of that aching, hollow feeling that never quite left. But this? This was different. This wasn't just solitude. It was the weight of knowing I chose this. For them. For Breon.

The thought steadied me—just a little. I adjusted the pack on my shoulders, gripping my staff tighter as I forced my feet to keep moving. The road ahead was long, dark, and empty. But if I had to walk it alone, so be it.

Occasionally, I crossed paths with others on the road—adventurers with weapons slung across their backs, traders pulling small carts with creaky wheels, and soldiers marching in tight groups, their armor clinking softly in the night air. They'd nod in greeting, some sharing a few brief words about the road ahead.

"Quiet up this way," one of the soldiers had said, his helmet tucked under his arm. "Just keep your wits about you. There've been rumors of wolves."

"Thanks," I replied, offering a small nod as they passed. Wolves were the least of my worries, but I appreciated the sentiment.

The interactions were short, their words fading into the stillness as I continued on my way. It was nice, in a way, to hear voices other than my own thoughts, even if only for a moment. Still, none of them lingered long, and before I knew it, I was alone again, the road stretching endlessly under the faint moonlight.

The hours dragged, each step feeling heavier than the last. My legs began to protest, the weight of my pack pulling harder with every mile. By the time I saw a break in the trees—a small clearing bathed in silver moonlight—I knew it was time to stop.

I stepped off the road and into the forest, the ground softening beneath my boots as the scent of earth and pine filled the air. The clearing wasn't much, just a flat patch of ground surrounded by tall trees, but it would do.

With a wave of my staff, I whispered the words for a concealing spell, watching as faint runes lit up around the perimeter of the clearing before vanishing into the shadows. The air shimmered for a moment, the magic settling like an invisible barrier. Nothing short of a creature with a powerful mana pool—or an exceptionally unlucky adventurer—would stumble upon me here.

I sat down, leaning against the base of a tree, and let out a long sigh. The stillness pressed in around me, but the concealing spell dulled the weight of it. For the first time in hours, I felt safe enough to close my eyes.

The forest murmured softly with the sounds of nocturnal life, but it didn't bother me. My head rested against the tree, and before I knew it, sleep pulled me under, the cool night air wrapping around me like a blanket.

The table was warm, bathed in the golden glow of lantern light. The air was filled with the comforting aroma of Elara's cooking, the clatter of dishes, and the sound of laughter. Roderick's booming guffaws mixed with Breon's excited chatter as he waved his hands, probably explaining some spell he'd learned. Elara smiled softly, reaching to refill everyone's plates. It was cozy, familiar. Almost perfect.

Almost.

Across from me, seated at the head of the table, he was there. The man. His golden eyes gleamed as he leaned back, impossibly relaxed, a glass of wine held delicately in his hand. He didn't laugh like the others, but his smile was broad, too broad, and his eyes never left me.

"They're right, you know," he said suddenly, his voice smooth and warm, effortlessly cutting through the noise. "You're extraordinary, Thalia."

The room quieted, their laughter fading as all eyes turned to me. Roderick grinned, lifting his mug in a mock toast. "Hear, hear! Smartest mage in the family, no question."

"And the strongest," Breon added, his youthful voice brimming with pride. "She's the reason we're all safe."

Elara nodded, her smile soft. "We're lucky to have you, Thalia."

But their voices sounded strange, warped, as though spoken from far away. My chest tightened as I glanced at the table, trying to focus on anything other than their faces.

"I couldn't have said it better myself," the man said, his voice drawing me back to him like a hook. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table, his golden eyes narrowing with pleasure. "Such talent. Such power. You're remarkable, Thalia. It's no wonder you've survived this long. You've always been the strongest."

His words coiled around me, sticky and heavy, like smoke I couldn't escape. I clenched my fists under the table, my breath growing shallow. Something was wrong.

Something was terribly wrong.

I looked down at the table. My stomach churned as I realized the plate in front of me was empty, the food untouched. But the others were eating with gusto—laughing, smiling, savoring every bite.

"Katsuro would agree," the man continued, his tone almost reverent. "Don't you think?"

My heart dropped, and my eyes snapped to the center of the table. There it was—Katsuro's severed head, surrounded by the remnants of Elara's meal. His lifeless eyes stared back at me, the same as they had when I found him.

But worse—so much worse—was what they were doing.

Roderick reached forward with his knife, carving a piece from Katsuro's cheek as if it were roast lamb. He popped it into his mouth, laughing as he chewed. "Tender," he joked, nudging Breon.

Breon grinned, reaching for another slice, his fingers coated in blood. Elara hummed contentedly as she wiped her mouth with a napkin, then went back for seconds.

My stomach twisted violently as the room filled with the sound of chewing, their laughter growing louder, more distorted. The man leaned back, watching me, his smile widening as his golden eyes gleamed with something cruel. "What's wrong, Thalia?" he asked, tilting his head. "Aren't you proud of what you've done? You made this possible, after all."

I tried to speak, to shout, to scream, but no sound came out. The laughter swelled, drowning out everything else, as the man raised his glass in a mock toast.

"To you, Thalia," he said, his voice cutting through the cacophony like a blade. "For being everything they could ever need."

And then Roderick's hand reached for the head again, carving away another piece. But this time, Katsuro's mouth moved.

"Why didn't you save me?" he whispered, his voice faint, broken.

I woke up with a jolt, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it might burst. My hands scrambled for my staff, gripping it tightly as my chest heaved with ragged breaths. The forest was still, the concealing spell undisturbed. Just the faint light of dawn creeping through the trees.

I wiped the sweat from my brow, forcing myself to take deep breaths. Just a dream. Gods, it was just a dream. But as I leaned back against the tree, the phantom sound of their laughter still echoed faintly in my ears.

Still clutching my staff, I exhaled a shaky breath and muttered the incantation for a water flow spell. At the tip of the staff, a steady stream of water erupted, crystal clear and cold. Without hesitation, I leaned into it, letting the spray hit my face, the icy shock jolting me fully awake. The water trickled down my skin, washing away the sweat and lingering traces of the nightmare.

"Better," I mumbled, adjusting the flow to a gentle stream and setting my staff against a nearby tree. I stripped down beneath the protection of the concealment spell, the shield shimmering faintly in the corner of my vision, and stepped into the impromptu shower. The chill of the water against my skin was bracing, each drop cutting through the heaviness that still clung to me.

For a few blissful moments, the forest around me was quiet, the water splashing over the ground the only sound. I let it run down my hair, soaking every strand, and closed my eyes, focusing on the sensation rather than the haunting images that had jarred me awake.

The concealment spell kept me hidden, the barrier shielding me from the outside world, and for the first time since leaving Hollowbrook, I felt a flicker of peace. The nightmare lingered at the edges of my thoughts, but as the cool water flowed over me, I felt its grip loosen.

By the time I dried off and dressed again, the weight in my chest had eased. I brushed the damp strands of hair out of my face and adjusted my pack, gripping my staff with renewed determination. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, but for now, I was refreshed, ready to face whatever came next.

"Alright," I muttered to myself, stepping back onto the path. "Let's see what the day has in store."

The morning was bright, the kind of golden light that made the dew on the leaves glisten like tiny jewels. The air was heavy with moisture, the kind of humid warmth that clung to your skin and made every step feel just a little harder. The forest around me buzzed with life—birds chittered overhead, and the occasional rustle in the underbrush reminded me of the small creatures skittering just out of sight.

Despite the peacefulness, I hadn't seen a soul since I set out. No traders, no adventurers, no soldiers. Just the rhythmic crunch of my boots against the dirt path and the distant hum of the waking world.

But then, as the trees began to thin, the sight of familiar landmarks tugged at my memory. A crooked oak that split like a fork in the road. A stone marker, half-buried in moss, its carvings long worn away. And just ahead, the faint silhouette of rooftops breaking through the morning haze.

I knew this place.

"Frostmere," I murmured under my breath, the name of the village rolling off my tongue. I'd been here before—nearly a year ago, if my memory was right. Roderick and I had come here to help the villagers with a rather nasty problem: a Stalker.

The Stalker wasn't like most monsters we faced. It was a predator, through and through, built for stealth and savagery. Its body was sleek and muscular, covered in coarse, shadowy fur that helped it melt into the dark corners of the forest. Its glowing yellow eyes could pierce through the blackest night, and its hooked claws were long enough to gut a man with one swipe.

What made it truly terrifying, though, was its intelligence. The Stalker didn't hunt like a beast—it hunted like a tactician. It studied its prey, struck when least expected, and left only shredded remains in its wake.

I remembered the villagers' faces when we arrived. Fear etched into every line, their voices shaking as they recounted the horrors they'd endured. Livestock slaughtered in the dead of night, homes left smeared with blood, and people disappearing into the woods, never to return.

Roderick and I had spent days tracking it, setting traps, and finally cornering it in the dense forest. The fight had been brutal, the creature faster and smarter than anything we'd faced before. But in the end, Roderick's axe and my fire spells had brought it down.

The villagers had been so relieved, their terror replaced with gratitude. They'd fed us, cheered for us, and sent us off with their heartfelt thanks. I could still see their faces if I closed my eyes—the elderly couple who ran the inn, the young boy who handed Roderick a hand-carved token as a gift.

Frostmere had been peaceful then, a quiet, humble village nestled in the forest's embrace.

As I walked closer, the memories settled over me like a warm blanket, but something about the air felt… off. I couldn't quite place it, but my steps slowed, and I tightened my grip on my staff. The closer I got, the heavier the humid air seemed, as if it carried a weight I couldn't see.

I trust my instincts more than anything else in this world. It's what's kept me alive through every fight, every ambush, every damned thing this life has thrown at me. And right now, those instincts were screaming.

I stopped in my tracks, gripping my staff tightly as the faint shimmer of a shield spell enveloped me. The air around me buzzed with the protective barrier, invisible to the naked eye but humming with power. A second spell followed almost immediately. "Ice Spears," I muttered, my voice steady despite the growing unease.

Seven long ice spikes materialized behind me, their crystalline surfaces glinting faintly in the morning light. They floated silently, sharp as daggers and ready to launch themselves at anything that dared move too close. With that, I continued forward, my steps cautious, my eyes darting to every shadow, every flicker of movement in the corner of my vision.

The moment I entered the village, my gut twisted, and my heart sank.

This wasn't Frostmere. Not the Frostmere I remembered.

Gone was the warm, peaceful village filled with friendly faces and humble homes. Instead, I was greeted with death and despair. Corpses littered the ground, twisted and broken, their faces frozen in expressions of terror. Some were slumped in doorways, others sprawled across the dirt streets, their bodies riddled with deep gashes and savage wounds.

The homes were nothing more than skeletal remains—roofs caved in, walls blackened with soot and blood. The stench of decay was overwhelming, thick in the humid air, and the sound of buzzing flies filled the silence. Insects crawled over the bodies, feasting on what was left. Judging by the state of decomposition, the villagers had been dead for weeks, maybe longer.

But by what?

The shield around me shimmered faintly as I stepped further into the village, the ice spikes hovering behind me like silent sentinels. My mind raced, replaying the mission I'd completed here with Roderick just a year ago. We'd killed the Stalker. I knew we had. I'd watched the light fade from its glowing yellow eyes, felt its blood on my hands as its body went limp.

We'd freed these people. They were safe when we left.

So what could have done this?

I crouched beside one of the bodies, a man clutching a crude pitchfork, his face twisted in fear. Deep claw marks raked across his chest, carving through flesh and bone with brutal precision. The same kind of marks I'd seen before.

My breath hitched as I glanced around, my grip tightening on my staff. The claw marks were familiar, too familiar. My gaze darted to the ground, where faint tracks were barely visible in the dirt—large, too large to belong to a wolf or bear, with deep imprints from sharp, hooked claws.

My blood ran cold.

It couldn't be.

"Impossible," I whispered under my breath, but even as I said it, the ice spikes behind me shifted slightly, responding to the tension in my voice.

A faint rustle behind me sent a jolt through my body, and before I could turn, the ice spikes behind me reacted instinctively. Three of them shot through the air with a sharp, crystalline hiss, striking their target with deadly precision.

I spun around just in time to hear the whimpering cry of a creature as it staggered, its body jerking before collapsing into the dirt. My breath came fast, and I tightened my grip on my staff, my heart pounding as I cautiously approached.

It lay in a heap on the ground, its dark fur slick with blood where the ice spikes had pierced it—through its side, its shoulder, and its throat. The spikes still jutted from its body, gleaming faintly in the dim light. The creature twitched once, twice, then went still, its glowing yellow eyes dulling into lifeless orbs.

I crouched down for a better look, my brow furrowing as I examined it. My breath hitched as recognition hit me like a blow to the chest.

The sleek, shadowy fur. The elongated limbs ending in hooked claws. The wolf-like face with its elongated jaw and rows of jagged teeth.

A Stalker.

But it was smaller—leaner, its frame less developed. It didn't have the same terrifying presence as the one Roderick and I had fought a year ago. The realization hit me like ice water.

"A pup," I murmured, my voice barely audible.

This wasn't just a Stalker. It was a young one. My mind raced, replaying the events of that mission. The Stalker we killed was alone—or at least, I thought it was. There was no sign of others, no indication that it had left behind offspring.

But here it was, unmistakably of the same bloodline.

My gaze darted back toward the ruined village, the claw marks, the torn-apart corpses, the devastation. Could this one small creature really have done all of this? Turned Frostmere into a graveyard?

No.

"There's no way," I muttered, shaking my head. My voice sounded hollow, even to my own ears. This pup couldn't have been the only reason for this destruction. It didn't have the size, the strength, or the cunning of the Stalker we killed.

But it was here. And that meant one thing for certain: I'd been wrong before.

The bright midday sun beat down on the ruined village, its light casting harsh shadows against the crumbling buildings. Despite the warmth, the air felt cold, heavy with something unspoken.

And then, the silence broke.

A low, guttural rumble came from the dense forest to my left, sending a shiver through me despite the heat. My head snapped toward the sound, but before I could pinpoint it, another growl echoed from the right—deep and resonant, seeming to vibrate through the very ground beneath my feet.

I turned, staff raised, my heart pounding in my chest. The shield around me shimmered faintly as my magic pulsed with my growing unease. A sudden rustling above caught my attention, and I looked up just in time to see a shadow leap from the canopy, landing heavily on the roof of a half-collapsed house. The creature crouched there, yellow eyes gleaming in the harsh daylight, its sharp claws digging into the wood.

Another growl—then another, and another. The air filled with their guttural symphony, coming from every direction. My pulse quickened as the shadows moved around me, too fast to count, too many to track.

They were circling me.

They were here to kill me.

I turned slowly, my eyes scanning the shadows that shifted around me. In a matter of seconds, I counted at least six Stalkers, their glowing yellow eyes slicing through the midday light. Each one moved with precision, silent and calculating, their claws barely stirring the dirt beneath them.

Six that I can see, I thought grimly, my grip on the staff tightening. There could be more.

Their low growls harmonized, a sound that reverberated in my chest, a warning and a taunt all at once. These weren't mindless beasts driven by hunger. Stalkers were hunters—clever, methodical, patient. I'd learned that the hard way during our last encounter.

They didn't attack blindly or rush into traps. They assessed, they waited, and when the time was right, they struck with deadly precision.

I could almost hear Roderick's voice in my head, his usual grumble whenever we faced something that thought itself smarter than us. "They're cunning, Sis. But they're not unbeatable."

No, they weren't.

I inhaled deeply, keeping my movements slow and deliberate. My shield shimmered faintly, a protective cocoon that pulsed with energy, but I knew better than to rely on it alone.

The Stalkers began to circle me, their movements synchronized, like a pack of wolves closing in on prey. One darted closer, then quickly retreated, testing my reaction. Another growled low, its body crouched low to the ground, ready to spring.

I couldn't help but smile faintly. Smart, I admitted to myself. Very smart. You're good at what you do, I'll give you that.

But so was I.

I raised my staff, whispering the incantation for a spell so basic, it was practically laughable. Orb Fly. The kind of spell they teach children in mage schools. Simple, harmless, and utterly unimpressive. If Roderick could conjure magic, this would probably be the only spell he could manage.

At the tip of my staff, a small, glowing orb materialized, its light warm and bright, hovering in place like a firefly. It wobbled for a moment, then darted upward, circling lazily above me.

The effect was immediate.

The Stalkers, mid-prowl, snapped their heads toward it, their glowing eyes fixed on the bobbing light. A low growl rumbled from one of them as it shifted forward, its claws scraping against the dirt. Another twitched its tail, crouching lower, ready to pounce.

"Good," I muttered under my breath, directing the orb with a slight flick of my staff. It zipped through the air in an erratic, spiraling motion, circling me like a curious insect. The Stalkers' attention followed, their focus now on the glowing distraction instead of me.

One of them made the first move, lunging forward with a snap of its jaws. The orb darted just out of reach, its light flaring teasingly. Another snarled, chasing after it, its claws tearing at the ground as it tried to keep up.

One by one, they joined the chase.

Six Stalkers now moved in a chaotic circle around me, their growls blending into a single, frustrated sound as they leapt and snapped at the glowing orb. It dipped and darted, weaving through their ranks like a teasing specter.

They were snarling, biting, desperate to catch the flickering light. Like children fighting over a toy, so focused on their prize they'd forgotten the person holding it.

I allowed myself a small smile. Bait taken.

With a sharp breath, I raised my staff high and slammed its base into the ground. The impact sent a dull thud through the air, and the runes along its length flared to life, glowing an intense green.

From beneath the Stalkers erupted massive, twisting vines, their surfaces rough and thorned, like the roots of an ancient forest awakened. The vines coiled upward with a speed that belied their size, ensnaring the legs of the snarling beasts.

One Stalker tried to leap away, but the vines caught it mid-air, pulling it down with a heavy thud. Another clawed and bit at the restraints, only for the thorns to dig deeper into its flesh. One by one, the six of them were trapped, their cries of frustration and rage filling the humid air as they thrashed against the unyielding grip of the enchanted vines.

These were no ordinary vines. They'd been infused with enough mana to hold down a Minotaur in full charge. Compared to that, six Stalkers were child's play.

The glowing orb that had taunted them flickered once, twice, and then vanished, leaving only the faint shimmer of the vines holding the Stalkers fast. Their growls turned to panicked whimpers as they realized their mistake.

I stepped closer, pointing the tip of my staff toward the struggling pack, my voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the noise.

"Api."

From the tip of my staff, a swirling flame burst forth, growing into a spiraling tornado of fire. The flames roared as they expanded, their heat so intense it seared the air and sent a shockwave of heat rippling through the ruined village.

The fire struck the Stalkers head-on, engulfing them in an instant. Their cries were silenced almost as quickly as they started, their bodies consumed by the inferno. The vines, too, were incinerated, turning to ash and scattering in the wind.

The flames burned so hot, so fierce, that even the ice spikes I'd conjured earlier melted away in seconds, puddles of water hissing and evaporating into steam.

I stood there, gripping my staff as the final embers of the fire faded into the midday light, the ground beneath them scorched black and smoldering.

The fight was over.

To be continued...