The ancient road leading north from Eldralis was a path long forgotten by most travelers. Moss and roots crept over the broken stones, and the trees formed an oppressive canopy that turned midday into twilight. Mist curled between the trunks, shrouding the world in a veil of damp uncertainty.
Eira led the group, her grip firm on the Whispering Blade strapped to her back. Beside her, Finn adjusted his pack, his expression unusually serious. Captain Thorne followed a few paces behind, his hand never straying far from the hilt of his sword.
"We should reach the Edgewood before sundown," Thorne said, his voice low. "If we don't, we'll need to set up camp. I'd rather not risk the night without shelter."
"Because of the shadowbeasts?" Finn asked, his voice trembling slightly.
Thorne nodded grimly. "And other things."
Eira's shoulders tensed. Memories of the beast she had fought two nights ago still lingered—its burning eyes and the sickening scent of its ash. She tightened her grip on the Whispering Blade's hilt.
"We'll make it," she said, her voice firm.
They walked in silence for hours, the forest swallowing all sound except for the rustle of leaves and the occasional call of a distant bird. The oppressive quiet gnawed at Eira's nerves, and she found herself constantly glancing over her shoulder.
Finn broke the silence. "Do you think the sages will have answers?"
Eira hesitated. "I hope so."
Thorne's voice was matter-of-fact. "The sages have forgotten more about magic and prophecy than we'll ever know. If anyone can help you control that blade, it's them."
Eira frowned. She wasn't sure if she wanted to control the Whispering Blade—or if she even could. The blade pulsed with a will of its own, responding to her emotions in unpredictable ways. But one thing was certain: without it, she would have died back in the temple.
The afternoon wore on, and the forest grew darker. The temperature dropped, and a damp chill seeped into Eira's bones.
Thorne slowed his pace. "We're not going to make it to the Edgewood before nightfall. We need to set up camp."
Finn's face fell. "Here? In the middle of the forest?"
"It's our only option," Thorne said. "We'll take turns keeping watch."
They found a small clearing surrounded by thick underbrush. Thorne built a fire while Eira and Finn gathered branches for makeshift bedding. The warmth of the flames was a welcome relief from the cold, but it did little to ease Eira's unease.
As they sat around the fire, Finn leaned closer to Eira. "Do you think we're being followed?"
Eira's gaze flickered to the shadows beyond the firelight. "Maybe. Stay close."
Thorne's voice was steady. "Whatever comes, we'll face it together."
Eira admired his confidence, though she wondered if it was born from experience or sheer stubbornness.
As the fire crackled and the night deepened, Thorne stood up. "I'll take the first watch. Eira, you're next."
She nodded. "Wake me if anything happens."
He gave a curt nod and moved to the edge of the clearing, his silhouette blending with the shadows.
Eira lay down beside Finn, who had already drifted off to sleep. The stars glimmered faintly through the gaps in the trees, but their light was cold and distant.
Despite her exhaustion, sleep eluded her. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—visions of the hooded figure, the weight of the prophecy, and the blade's unsettling whispers.
When Thorne woke her for her watch, she rose quietly and took his place at the edge of the camp. The forest was eerily silent, the only sound the crackle of the fire.
Eira gripped the hilt of the Whispering Blade, its runes glowing faintly in the darkness. She had never felt more aware of her own vulnerability. The forest was vast and ancient, filled with dangers she could barely comprehend.
As the hours passed, her thoughts drifted to the path ahead. The Vale of Ancients was two days away, and beyond it lay answers—or so she hoped. But even if the sages could help her, what would it cost?
A sudden rustle in the underbrush snapped her out of her thoughts. Eira tensed, her hand tightening on the blade.
The shadows shifted, and a pair of gleaming eyes appeared between the trees. Her breath caught.
"Thorne," she whispered urgently.
He was on his feet in an instant, sword drawn.
The creature stepped into the firelight—a sleek, four-legged beast with dark fur and glowing green eyes. Its muscles rippled beneath its hide, and its claws left deep gouges in the earth.
"A forest prowler," Thorne muttered. "It's hunting us."
Eira's pulse quickened. She had heard of prowlers in old tales, but seeing one in the flesh was far more terrifying.
The prowler bared its teeth and let out a low growl.
Eira raised the Whispering Blade, its light flaring. "Stay back, Finn!" she shouted.
The prowler lunged.
Eira met it head-on, the blade slicing through the air with a fierce hum. Sparks flew as it collided with the creature's claws. The prowler was fast—faster than anything she had faced before.
Thorne came at it from the side, his sword flashing. The prowler dodged, but Eira seized the opening and drove the blade into its side.
The beast let out a deafening screech and collapsed, black ichor pooling around it.
Eira panted, her arms trembling.
Thorne clapped her on the shoulder. "You're getting better."
Finn peeked out from behind a tree, his face pale. "Is it dead?"
Eira nodded. "For now."
Thorne's expression was grim. "We need to move at first light. The prowler won't be the last thing that hunts us."
Eira wiped the ichor from the blade and sheathed it.
The forest was still dangerous, but they were still standing—and that was enough for now.
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I'll continue with Chapter 7 next and ensure it's equally detailed and engaging. Let me know if you'd like any specific elements emphasized!