The thick canopy of the forest seemed to swallow the daylight whole, leaving Kalen and his company in a twilight world of shifting shadows. The silence was deafening, broken only by the distant rustle of unseen creatures and the soft crunch of leaves beneath hooves.
Kalen's grip on the reins tightened as his mind wrestled with the words still echoing from the cursed book. "Leonidas' son... You are not ready."
The road ahead twisted and narrowed, and as the company advanced, a sharp snap echoed from the trees. Caelum's hand shot to his sword, his instincts razor-sharp.
"Majesteleri," Caelum whispered, his voice edged with unease. "Bir şey yaklaşıyor."
The tension in the air became palpable. Without a word, Kalen dismounted, his boots sinking slightly into the damp earth. His steel-gray eyes scanned the dark, searching for movement among the trees. He could feel it—an unnatural presence, one that the forest itself seemed to recoil from.
And then, without warning, they attacked.
Figures emerged from the shadows, their forms shrouded in dark cloaks, moving with a predatory grace. Their eyes gleamed with an unnatural light, like embers smoldering beneath ash. They were not men—at least, not anymore. The corrupted whispers of the book had found hosts.
"Hold the line!" Kalen's voice rang out, steady and commanding, cutting through the dread like a blade. His soldiers drew their swords, the metallic hiss a defiant answer to the encroaching darkness.
The first assailant lunged at Caelum with inhuman speed. Steel met steel in a savage clash, sparks flying as their swords locked. Caelum gritted his teeth, his muscles straining under the force of his opponent's assault.
Kalen moved with calculated precision, his sword flashing as he intercepted another attacker. The rhythm of the fight was chaotic, yet within it, Kalen found a grim melody. Each swing of his blade was deliberate, each step a calculated move in a dance of death.
But then, a misstep—Caelum staggered as his opponent's blade grazed his shoulder. Blood seeped through his tunic, staining the fabric dark. He hissed in pain but did not falter. Instead, he pressed forward with renewed ferocity, his strikes fueled by a grim determination.
"Majesteleri!" Caelum called out, his voice strained. "These creatures—they're after you."
Kalen's mind raced. The book's whispers grew louder, insistent.
"Power is within your grasp. Unleash it."
"No," Kalen muttered under his breath, shaking off the intrusive voice. He would not succumb to its lure—not yet.
With a swift motion, Kalen dispatched his opponent, the figure collapsing into the earth with a final, guttural groan. His sword dripped with dark ichor, and for a brief moment, silence returned.
Caelum approached, pressing a hand to his wounded shoulder. His expression was weary but resolute.
"They will keep coming," Caelum said. "This is only the beginning."
Kalen nodded, his gaze distant. He knew Caelum was right. The road to the southern mines was long, and the shadows would not relent.
As they resumed their journey, Kalen's thoughts drifted once more to the cursed book.
The whispers had stopped—for now. But in the silence, a single word lingered in his mind, a dark promise waiting to be fulfilled:
"Kragnar."
Kalen did not yet know the full weight of that name. But he knew that whatever awaited him at the southern mines would test more than just his sword. It would test his very soul.