JULIAN FELIS
"What do we have here?" Flower mused, leaning back with ease. "The chief of the oh-so-prestigious Horned Tribe begging aid from..." She gestured at herself, her grin sharp, "a humble Conjurer."
The wind swept into the tent, cold and biting, sending a shiver through the furs beneath their feet. Flower pulled her legs up onto the chair, settling into a cross-legged position with the confidence of one who felt untouchable, even in foreign lands.
Julian leaned back in his own chair, the wooden frame creaking beneath his weight. His expression remained neutral, save for a flicker of irritation in his dark eyes. "Lot for humble, you are," he muttered under his breath.
Flower either didn't hear him or chose to ignore it, her grin widening.
"I would've asked the witch," Julian began, brushing crumbs from his lap, "but the manager despises her. And while I'd happily watch her humiliate him, I can't risk her killing him outright. Petty quarrels tend to end poorly when she's involved."
Flower reached across the small table, her nimble fingers plucking a piece of food off Julian's plate without so much as a glance in his direction. She popped it into her mouth, her expression instantly souring.
"Gods, what is this?!" she sputtered, forcing the morsel down with a shudder.
"Whatever the manager thought fit to serve," Julian replied, his tone amused. He took another bite, unfazed by her reaction.
"It's vile," Flower said, wiping her greasy fingers on the fabric of the tent wall. "And here I thought you had standards."
Julian shrugged. "One's taste, one's perspective. Be open?" he parroted, a mocking echo of the lessons once drilled into Conjurers of the old world.
Flower rolled her eyes. "Let's get to the point. What's in it for me if I help you save this child?"
Julian swallowed the last bite of the bitter stew, chasing it with a mouthful of ale that tasted no better. "What could be more valuable than a favor owed by Aldric?"
Flower arched an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. "Aldric? The same Aldric who killed your kind and my brethren. You would have him owe one to me?"
Julian nodded. "The very one."
"But when did it become my responsibility to protect Aldric's pet project?" Flower asked, crossing her legs.
Julian set his cup down, rising with a groan. "When it became our responsibility," he said pointedly.
"'Our'?" Flower repeated, tilting her head.
"'Our,'" Julian confirmed, stretching his arms overhead with a satisfying crack of his joints. "You don't think you can navigate the Forest of Hornet on your own, do you?"
Flower's expression shifted, her amusement dimming. Julian pressed on.
"Magical beasts—or 'beasts' as the hunters call them—roam these woods, ranging from silver to special grade in the range of your unofficial hunter guild, The Creeping Dolls. You'll kill some, I'm sure of that. You will even survive, I am sure of that too. But you'll be late. And if you're late, the boy dies. I need him alive, Flower."
Flower's face was stone solid for a moment then a laugh followed. The laugh was light. "Survival, then. Lead the way, chief."
Zana stood waiting outside the tent, her arms crossed and her gaze distant. Flower emerged, her usual smirk firmly in place. "See?" she said, stepping in close to Zana's personal space. Zana instinctively stepped back, her lips pinching in irritation.
"I told you we'd get something out of it, but noooo—" Flower drawled, dragging the word out in exaggerated disdain, "you had to be so..." Her eyes flicked up and down Zana's frame, "That word... You know, the one that fits perfectly. You feeling me?"
Zana narrowed her eyes. "Say what you mean."
"Knight-like, that's what she means," Julian answered instead retorted. Their snapped back at him.
Both women froze, their eyes going wide, hands instinctively flying to their chests as though expecting pain to follow.
Julian tilted his head, his expression flat but tinged with the faintest trace of amusement. "The curse has been lifted. That's what the witch told me. The forbidden words can now be spoken freely, and you..." He gestured lazily toward them. "You old knights and conjurers can wield your powers again. Congratulations."
He waved them onward. The sarcasm was evident.
They set out swiftly, the wind biting but the pace unrelenting. Julian carried nothing but a stick, a tool of necessity rather than purpose. He'd never been one for excess. If a special-grade beast loomed ahead, so be it. He'd let Zana handle it. His new affliction—this lazy malaise that had rooted itself in him along with his newfound emotions—made the thought of effort seem distasteful. Another side-effect of emotions.
The journey passed in tense silence until they reached the area marked by the red flag. There, the landscape changed.
A thick veil of fog hung over the ground, unnatural in its density and stretch. Julian stopped first, his sharp gaze sweeping the area. No students. Not a single soul.
"This... could be a Sanctuary," Flower said, her voice cautious, almost curious.
"No," Zana replied immediately, her tone sure. "Sanctuaries are solid, like castles. They have walls. This... this is different."
Flower cocked an eyebrow, "Different? Do you even have a Sanctuary, Zana?" she mocked, her words cutting. "You're so confident about what's what, but for all you know, every last student could be trapped in there. Or dead."
Zana's hand moved to the hilt of her sword, her jaw tightening. "If you want me to show you a Sanctuary," she warned, her voice low and full of menace, "I will." Julian simply looked at them with disinterest, he would've enjoyed this petty bickering if the witch hadn't just warned him that she will 'skin him alive' earlier.
"Oh, please," Flower sneered, stepping closer. "You think you'll win just because your strength has returned? Shall I remind you who holds your real blade? Or how you lost to me with on a simple bet against the witch? Your bravado is laughable."
Julian stepped between them, raising his hands. His dark eyes flicked from one to the other, filled with a weary annoyance.
"Perhaps," Julian began, his voice laced with deliberate calm, "you're both right. Or perhaps you're both wrong. Either way, tearing each other apart before we know what we're up against is pointless, don't you think?"
The tension crackled a moment longer before Zana's hand slipped from her sword, and Flower relaxed her stance, her lips pursed but silent.
Together, they approached the edge of the fog. It loomed before them, thick and impenetrable, like the maw of some great beast waiting to swallow them whole.
Without a word, Julian stepped into the fog, his movements deliberate but unhurried. Finding some silhouettes, he kept his eyes fixed on them that hovered ahead—figures shrouded and distant, their forms wavering like mirages. Students, perhaps, he thought. Or something that wanted him to think so.
"Hey! Wait up—" Flower's voice came from behind, sharp with irritation, and the sound of her hurried footsteps followed. Zana, ever the shadow of restraint, moved after her, silent but watchful.
The fog thickened as they ventured deeper, the shapes ahead growing sharper yet no closer. Julian nudged Flower with his elbow, a subtle signal not to lose focus. She didn't respond. Instead, a sudden, searing pain tore into his shoulder.
Julian twisted sharply, his eyes snapping to his side, and froze.
It wasn't Flower at all.
A beast clung to him, its jagged maw buried in his flesh, gnawing and tearing. The creature's legs were twisted grotesquely, bending in unnatural directions as if its body had never been meant for motion. Its eyes were voids, pits of emptiness that swallowed all light.
With a grunt of disgust, Julian grabbed it by the scruff of its mangled neck and hurled it with such force that it struck a nearby tree with a wet, bone-crunching thud. The creature collapsed onto the forest floor, its broken body dragging itself forward in a sickening crawl.
Julian glanced at his shoulder. A chunk of his flesh was missing, the raw wound glistening, but the bleeding slowed, and the familiar pull of healing began knitting him back together. His gaze snapped back to the beast. Its broken limbs twisted unnaturally as it tried to rise.
That was not his immediate concern.
Julian turned to where Flower and Zana should have been. They were gone. Vanished into the fog without so much as a sound.
"A Sanctuary...," he murmured. He grinned, "Who would've thought?.
The silhouettes ahead drew closer now, emerging with slow inevitability from the swirling mist. They were students—or had been. Their faces were pale, ashen, veins bulging and webbing across their skin in stark, sickly blue. Eyes unnaturally wide, they stared blankly ahead, their jaws slack but trembling as if struggling to speak.
"Agun? Misti?" Julian called, his tone edged with caution. He remembered some of them familiar faces.
The figures moved as one, lurching forward in unison. Too late, Julian already recognized their intent. They pounced, their hands clawing for him, their gaping mouths seeking to bite.
With a single swing of his arm, Julian swatted them away, his raw strength breaking jaws and snapping limbs. The bodies crumpled to the ground, motionless.
"What the hell?" Julian hissed, his tone no longer calm but tight with confusion. These were not children—at least, not anymore.
The fog pressed in, thick and suffocating, the pale bodies fading into its depths as if they had never been. Julian straightened, the hairs on his neck bristling.
"Really," he muttered, his voice carrying into the dense, silent void. "What the hell is going on?"
BADAGUINBIR
Bada's fingers twitched around the hilt of her blade, her knuckles white. The air was heavy, colder than the frost biting at her exposed cheeks. She hated this waiting—the fragile, suspended silence where fear clung like a second skin. She hated the way Jol's weariness crept into her thoughts, making her more aware of the weight in her own chest.
But what could she do?
El Ritch was still unconscious, his face pale against the makeshift bedding of leaves and snow. The boy had fought through so much already, yet here he lay, vulnerable as ever. Jol's restless pacing made it worse. He kept glancing back at the boy, his jaw tight, fists clenched, as though sheer will alone could wake him.
Nada and Khal, strangers they had no choice but to trust, sat close enough to the fire to keep warm but far enough not to make it obvious they were avoiding one another. Bada could tell—they weren't used to being part of a group. Not really.
Nada, still donning that ridiculous pot-like helmet, groaned loudly. "I'm so hungry... I could eat a horse right now." She curled up tighter against the flimsy shelter of branches and leaves, her voice muffled but clear enough to carry.
Khal shot her a look, his tone sharp with incredulity. "Why is the first thing that comes to your mind to eat...a horse?"
"Just because," Nada shot back with a shrug. "Why, silver spoon, what comes to your mind?" She gave him a playful nudge, her gauntleted hand making a dull thud against his arm.
Khal puffed up slightly, as though preparing for a lecture. "A delicious stew! With meat, potatoes, herbs—everything cooked just right, bubbling—"
"There you go," Nada interrupted with a laugh. "Who's gonna make you stew, huh? Your momma?" Her helmet tilted slightly, teasing.
Khal fidgeted, adjusting himself over and over, the tips of his ears burning red despite the cold. He muttered something under his breath, but Bada didn't catch it.
Jol's voice cut through their exchange, low and sardonic. "Not a bad way to go," he mused, "freezing to death, listening to you two bicker, and just here—" he pressed a hand to his chest dramatically "—right beside my heart."
His gaze drifted to Bada, lingering. His grin was wide, teasing, yet there was something else beneath it. A quiet plea, a need for something to tether him.
Her heart thudded harder, a traitorous rhythm she couldn't silence. But she didn't give him what he wanted. She wouldn't. Instead, she fixed him with a cold stare, one she hoped would hold him at bay.
Jol chuckled, a soft sound that didn't reach his eyes, and turned away.
Bada exhaled slowly, her breath misting in the air. Tomorrow, they would have to move again. The special-grade beast loomed over them, unseen but omnipresent, and the forest didn't forgive hesitation. There was no room for misplaced affections, no space for softness. Not here. Not now.
But as her gaze fell back to Jol, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd regret her silence.
Bada sat quietly, her back pressed against the cold bark of a tree, her twin blades resting at her sides. The makeshift tent did little to ward off the chill that seeped into her bones. She watched as the others bickered and mused, their words filling the silence that otherwise might have driven them mad. But Bada was no stranger to silence; it had been her companion through darker times.
El Ritch lay still, his breaths shallow but steady. Jol hadn't taken his eyes off the boy for hours. His usual playful demeanor had faded, replaced by a tension that Bada could feel even from where she sat. He fiddled absentmindedly with the chipped blade they had taken from El Ritch, running his thumb over its dull edge.
"You're staring again," Bada said softly, her voice cutting through the murmurs of Khal and Nada's banter. Jol looked up, startled, before giving her a faint smile.
"Just thinking." His reply was simple, but Bada knew better. Jol rarely ever just thought—she knew that he...now he simply hoped.
"You're not helping him by worrying yourself sick." She leaned forward, her arms resting on her knees. "He'll wake up when he's ready. Until then, you need your strength."
Jol snorted, but the tension in his shoulders didn't ease. "Strength for what? So we can keep running in circles? Waiting for something worse than those amalgamations to show up and tear us apart?" He gestured toward Nada and Khal, who had momentarily quieted. "We've got two strangers who might stab us in our sleep, no food, and no clear way out of this gods-forsaken forest."
"You think too little of me, brethren of the same flower," Khal said suddenly, his voice calm and even. "If I were to stab you, you'd never wake up to know it."
Nada chuckled at that, her voice muffled beneath her pot-like helmet. "Silver spoon's got jokes. Maybe I'll let you cook that stew after all."
Jol rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath before turning his gaze back to El Ritch. Bada watched him for a moment longer, then sighed and stood.
"If you're going to sit there and sulk, at least let me take watch," she said, grabbing her blades.
"I'm not sulking," Jol protested weakly, but he didn't argue as she moved to stand by the edge of their camp.
The snow had stopped falling, but the cold was relentless. Bada's breath came out in soft white puffs as she scanned the forest, her eyes darting to every shadow that shifted in the faint moonlight. The silence stretched on, broken only by the occasional sound of twigs snapping underfoot—likely some small, harmless creature.
But Bada knew better than to trust the silence. The forest of Hornet was alive in ways that unsettled even the most seasoned hunters. It was watching them, waiting.
Behind her, Khal and Nada's voices faded into a low murmur. Jol's occasional whispers to El Ritch were softer still. Bada tightened her grip on her blades, her senses sharp and ready.
For now, the forest was quiet. But she knew it wouldn't last. It never did.