The firelight flickered weakly against the growing darkness, casting long, distorted shadows over the campsite. Erron leaned back against a tree trunk, his eyes half-closed but still sharp, while Shed sat rigidly on a log, his thoughts spiraling.
The words Erron had spoken earlier echoed in his mind: "Whatever it is, it'll catch up to you eventually. It always does."
Shed's jaw clenched. He hated how those words seemed to crawl under his skin, poking at wounds he thought he had hidden well. The cool night breeze swept through the clearing, and despite the warmth of the fire, he shivered.
"Relax, boy," Erron said without opening his eyes. "The forest feeds on fear. You're only making yourself a target."
Shed glanced at him sharply. "A target for what?"
Erron smirked but didn't respond immediately. Instead, he reached into his satchel and pulled out a small, worn blade, running his thumb along its edge. "Let's just say there are things in these woods that don't take kindly to outsiders."
Shed's eyes narrowed. "Like you?"
Erron chuckled a low, gravelly sound. "Touché."
Silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken tension. Shed's gaze darted to the edge of the clearing, where the shadows seemed to shift unnaturally. He tightened his grip on the piece of bread in his hand, suddenly hyperaware of every sound around him—the rustling leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, the crackling fire.
Then he saw it.
A flicker of movement in the darkness, just beyond the reach of the firelight. His muscles tensed as he scanned the treeline, but whatever it was had already vanished.
"You saw it, didn't you?" Erron's voice was calm, almost amused.
Shed turned to him, his expression guarded. "Saw what?"
Erron opened his eyes fully, leaning forward with a serious expression. "The shadows. They watch, they wait. But they don't act without reason."
"What does that even mean?" Shed snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface.
"It means," Erron said, his tone turning grave, "that something about you has drawn their attention. And that's not a good thing."
Meanwhile, in Brighthaven, Aurora sat at a small wooden table in Granny Elle's kitchen, her tiny hands clutching a steaming cup of herbal tea. The old woman moved around the room with surprising agility, gathering jars of dried herbs and muttering to herself.
"Granny Elle, why do you talk to yourself so much?" Aurora asked, tilting her head curiously.
Granny Elle chuckled, her laughter warm and melodic. "Ah, my little star, sometimes the only one worth talking to is yourself. Besides, the herbs listen better than most people."
Aurora giggled, taking a sip of her tea. It was bitter but soothing, and she felt a strange sense of calm wash over her as she drank.
"Now," Granny Elle said, turning to face her, "what has that little head of yours so troubled tonight?"
Aurora hesitated, her gaze dropping to the table. "I don't know. I just... feel like something's coming. Something big."
Granny Elle's smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly covered it with a reassuring pat on Aurora's hand. "The world is full of big things, child. But you're strong, and you've got a good heart. Whatever comes, you'll face it head-on."
Aurora nodded, though the unease in her chest didn't fade.
Back in the forest, the night deepened, and the fire began to dwindle. Erron threw another log onto the flames, the sparks dancing upward like tiny fireflies.
"You should get some rest," Erron said, his tone softer now. "We've got a long walk ahead of us tomorrow."
Shed shook his head. "I'll keep watch."
Erron raised an eyebrow. "Suit yourself. Just don't doze off, or the shadows might decide to get friendly."
Shed didn't respond, his eyes fixed on the darkness beyond the clearing.
As the hours dragged on, the fire burned lower, and the forest seemed to press closer. Shed's eyelids grew heavy, but he forced himself to stay alert, gripping the knife Erron had lent him tightly in his hand.
Then he heard it.
A faint whisper, barely audible over the crackling fire. He froze, straining to listen. The whisper came again, closer this time, and his heart raced.
"Erron," he hissed, but the old man didn't stir.
The whisper grew louder, turning into a low, guttural growl. Shed's grip on the knife tightened as he scanned the darkness, his breath coming in short, shallow bursts.
And then, from the shadows, a figure emerged.