Foster's journey to Fotiya is a slow but relentless descent into the depths of a nightmare. Every step he took through the forest brought him closer to the ancient stronghold of the woodland elves, but every shadow, every breath of wind, seemed to remind him that he was being hunted. He had gained a lead over his pursuers, but part of him knew that this advantage would not last forever.
The silence of the woods was no longer soothing. It was an oppressive void, a warning whisper.
Foster advanced at a rapid pace, calculating his every move. His clothes were now in tatters, his boots muddy and worn. The days spent walking without rest had exhausted his body, but his mind, although sharp, was constantly assailed by a grandiose paranoia.
- The further I go, the further I'll be ahead of the queen,' he murmured, scanning his surroundings.
He knew that the queen would not be passive. She was the kind of ruler who did not accept failure, and he, a thief who had stolen a royal artefact, represented an insult she could not tolerate. Foster had never underestimated this woman. Behind her elegant and benevolent exterior lay an icy intelligence and an implacable will. She wouldn't be queen if she was naive and stupid, even among a people as peaceful as the elves.
Foster used everything he knew to maintain his advantage. He crossed difficult terrain, climbed steep hills and took paths where the trees were so close together that no horse could get through. His breaks were short, often limited to a few minutes to swallow a piece of bread or fill his canteen in a river.
Despite his efforts, he could sense the danger approaching. His perception sent him incessant alarm signals telling him that the queen and her escort were gradually closing the distance between them, like some kind of instinct telling him to run very fast.
Meanwhile, the queen was striding through the forest, surrounded by her best soldiers. Her long dark cloak blended into the shadows of the trees, and her bright eyes scrutinised every detail of the landscape.
- He's clever, I'll give him that,' she said in a soft but icy voice.
Beside her, Kassandra nodded, her face serious.
- Yes, Majesty. He covers his tracks expertly. It's slowing us down considerably.
The Queen stopped instantly, placing an elegant but firm hand on the bark of a tree. She closed her eyes, letting a wave of magic run through her body.
An invisible breath emanated from her, spreading through the forest like an icy breeze. The birds stopped singing, and the small animals terrified themselves into their hiding places. Even the soldiers around her shivered slightly, uneasy at this display of power.
- He's two days ahead of us,' she finally murmured, opening her eyes. But he's tired. And he's alone.
Her tone was calm, almost detached, but there was a bloodcurdling coldness to her words. She turned her head towards her soldiers, a benevolent smile crossing her face in stark contrast to her previous words.
- Let's do our best to catch him! she said.
A shiver of pleasure ran through her, she knew that Foster would not escape her, now there was nothing left but the pleasure of the hunt.
The soldiers nodded and resumed their march.
For his part, Foster felt this intangible pressure, as if the forest itself were conspiring against him. The trees seemed to refer to each other, the paths disappeared, and he had the constant impression of being watched.
Tiredness weighed on him, but he knew that stopping for too long was an invitation to capture. He tried not to panic, but memories of his past life came flooding back. The Obscurus. Lost battles. The deaths. He couldn't fail, not this time.
- Hopefully this seed from the World Tree will be something useful, otherwise I'm really screwed.
As he crossed a small stream, he suddenly heard a noise behind him: the cracking of branches. He stopped dead in his tracks, his muscles tense, and reached for his sword.
A stag appeared, its large black eyes staring at Foster with almost innocent curiosity before moving away. Foster breathed a sigh of relief, but his hand remained on the hilt of his weapon.
- Calm down,' he murmured. Calm down.
On the fourth day, the trees began to thin out and the terrain gradually changed. The dense forest gave way to rocky hills dotted with overgrown ruins. Foster knew he was getting closer.
Fotiya, the ancient stronghold of the woodland elves, was in sight. Perched on the summit of a mountain, the ruined town looked like a ghost from the past. The great white stone towers, once majestic, had partially collapsed, and tree roots had invaded the foundations.
The woodland elves had abandoned this stronghold long ago when it lost its usefulness after they had become strong enough to migrate to the much more peaceful forest to the south. They never intended to return to this bastion and it is now in a very poor state of repair.
Foster paused, wiping the sweat from his brow.
-At last! he thought, gritting his teeth.
He took a deep breath, then resumed his walk, his gaze fixed on Fotiya, determined to complete his mission, whatever the cost.
The queen's smile stretched delicately across her lips as she caught sight of the fresh tracks left by Foster. A barely visible footprint in the mud, a broken branch here, a fleeting whiff of sweat and blood in the air. Hunting an elf alone in this vast forest should have been a harassing task, but for the queen, it was a dance. A silent symphony in which she played the role of predator, and Foster, that of prey.
Around her, her soldiers advanced with determination, but they didn't understand. They couldn't see what she could sense. The forest spoke to her, each vibration in the air carrying a fragment of truth about her fugitive.
- He's not going fast,' she murmured to herself, her eyes crinkled, almost amused. He's getting tired.
Her soft, calm voice hid an icy cruelty. The queen loved this game. It wasn't just a hunt to recover a ring or punish a thief. It was a rare opportunity, a moment of exhilaration. How long had it been since she felt that rush of adrenalin, that anticipation that inflamed her veins?
The world of Lyréanor was far too peaceful and she was bored to death.
Every hour that passed narrowed the gap between her and Foster. Where he struggled with fatigue and the weight of his decisions, she moved forward with an almost supernatural energy. Her magic, subtle but omnipresent, seemed to permeate the air around her, making the forest an accomplice to her pursuit.
She could now feel its presence, like a flickering flame somewhere in front of her. Its warmth, its essence, everything about it called out to her predatory will. The Queen savoured the feeling. Foster's fear, his desperate determination, it was a symphony she listened to with almost erotic pleasure.
For her subjects, the Queen was a figure of light. A patient guide, a benevolent sovereign. But this façade was beginning to crack as she drew closer to Foster. Her true nature, dark and ruthless, was gradually revealing itself.
The soldiers accompanying her were not blind to this change. They noticed the flashes of unhealthy excitement in her eyes, the overly broad smiles, the moments when she slowed down to savour a detail, like a lead left by Foster, before suddenly speeding up.
- Majesty,' whispered one of the knights, wiping the sweat from his brow. Perhaps we should slow down a little? Our elves are exhausted...
The queen stopped, turning abruptly towards him. Her green eyes, usually so warm, shone with a gleam that chilled the knight to the spot.
- Slow down? she repeated softly, her voice a perfidious caress. Why should I slow down when my prey is so close?
The knight lowered his head, unable to hold her gaze.
She seemed to notice his glare, but quickly recovered and comforted her soldier with a warm voice.
- Very well, you can rest here, I'll continue on my own, I'll be back soon!
- Your Majesty! No, we're not tired! said the captain, as if relieved by this kindness.
- If I'm not back in two days, you'll have permission to resume hunting. she replied without missing a beat.
Then, without waiting for a reply, she turned and walked away, leaving her stunned soldiers behind.
Freed from the weight of her escort, the queen turned into a shadow. She was no longer a queen guiding her people, but a relentless predator, a spectral hunter. Her magic enveloped her body, amplifying her speed and agility. The trees seemed to bend to clear a path for her, and every step she took brought her closer to her prey.
Foster, still unaware of how close she was, nevertheless felt a tremendous pressure, an oppressive weight in the air. His instincts were screaming at him that imminent danger was approaching, but he couldn't have known that at that moment, the queen was only a few hours behind him.
In the last rays of sunlight, her silhouette slipped through the trees, her cruel smile lighting up her face.
- Soon, Foster,' she murmured, her words carried on the wind. Very soon.