The pine canopy overhead sways under a steady, cool breeze, needles whispering against needles in a long, dry sigh that masks the rustle of the camp. Broad, pale sunbeams slice through the thick branches, casting sharp geometric shadows across the bed of crushed needles where the three hundred and twenty men of the combined companies rest.
Aldo pushes himself up from his bedroll with a quiet, fluid movement. He rolls his shoulders, feeling the tight pull of his linen undertunic, and steps into the clearing. His boots make no sound on the damp, needle-strewn soil as he begins a series of slow, precise physical exercises—stretching his hamstrings, rotating his wrists, and extending his arms in controlled, rhythmic thrusts.
Near the base of a massive, ancient pine, Lourdes sits hunched against the rough bark. Her face is pale, the dark circles under her eyes bruised and sunken, her eyelids drooping heavily over her dark, bloodshot eyes. Every few seconds, her head snaps upright with a sharp jerk, her hands twitching toward her belt before her shoulders slump again in profound exhaustion.
Aldo lowers his arms and walks toward her, his footsteps light. He stops two paces away, his shadow falling over her drawn face.
"Not used to sleeping in a new place?" Aldo asks, his voice low and devoid of sharp edges.
Lourdes startles slightly, her jaw tightening as she squints up at him through the morning glare. She tries to sit up straight, forcing her heavy eyelids open, though her chin sags instantly toward her collarbone.
"I... I heard movements," Lourdes rasps out, her dry tongue catching on her teeth. She rubs her face with a calloused, dirty hand. "In the bushes... around midnight. Whispering... rustling in the high branches. I tried to wake you up, but you slept as if you were dead."
Her head drops forward, her chin resting against her chest. A long, shuddering exhale escapes her lips, and her body goes completely limp as sleep reclaims her mid-sentence.
Aldo stands over her for a quiet moment, his dark eyes watching the steady, shallow rise and fall of her shoulders. He lets out a soft sigh that barely stirs the pine needles at his feet. Bending low, he slides his arms beneath her knees and back, lifting her slender, wire-thin frame cleanly off the damp ground. He cradles her securely against his chest, walking back toward the horse lines where his mount stands patiently, nuzzling a patch of sweet grass. He carefully lifts Lourdes onto the saddle, securing her riding cloak around her shoulders, before swinging himself up behind her to hold her steady.
He turns his head and raises two fingers. Across the clearing, the iron-shod boots of three hundred and twenty men hit the earth as the column begins its march.
The trail narrows sharply as it descends deeper into the ancient, dense woods of Dravensk. Shadows lengthen, and the air grows heavy, damp, and cold, smelling strongly of rotting vegetation, damp bark, and pine sap.
Lei Delun, the tall, broad-shouldered leader of Platoon 1 in the 204th Company, drops back from the forward screen. His long legs cover the distance between the marching ranks effortlessly, his dark eyes fixed on the towering canopy above. He brings his horse alongside Aldo's, leaning over his saddle horn.
"Commander," Lei Delun says, his voice dropping into a harsh, hushed whisper. His hand rests firmly on the grip of his short sword. "My men in the vanguard have been eyeing silhouettes moving through the high canopy. They're jumping across the main branches with inhuman speed. Not birds. Not monkeys. Too large, too fluid."
Aldo nods once, his face remaining entirely impassive. He steers his horse alongside Adelberd, who rides near the center of the column with his back as straight as a lance, his bright blue eyes constantly scanning the tree line.
"We have eyes above," Aldo tells Adelberd quietly. "Moving fast through the upper limbs."
Adelberd's expression hardens instantly. He doesn't glance up, keeping his head level, but his gloved hand shifts to tighten the chin strap of his steel kettle hat.
"Guards up," Adelberd commands smoothly, his voice low enough to carry only to his squad leaders. "Shields unslung. Matchlocks primed. We double the pace."
The column accelerates, the clatter of four hundred horses and heavy boots echoing louder against the dense wall of pine trunks.
Then, without warning, the environment shifts.
The air grows unnaturally still. The rustle of pine needles, the caw of distant crows, and the rhythmic march of the three hundred and twenty men vanish in an instant, cut off as if choked by a thick, wet wool blanket.
Aldo blinks, his horse coming to a sudden, jarring halt. He looks around. The long column of soldiers is gone. The winding trail has vanished. He stands alone at the edge of a hyper-dense, primeval forest where the trees grow so thick their trunks form solid walls of grey bark, their sweeping roots twisting across the ground like knotted serpents.
The eerie, oppressive silence occupies the space completely. There is no wind. No rustle of leaves. The only sounds in the entire universe are the soft, shallow breathing of Lourdes—still sound asleep in his arms—and the loud, rhythmic thumping of his own heart pounding against his ribs.
Below him, the horse begins to panic. Its nostrils flare wide, its eyes rolling back to show white crescents as its skin quivers uncontrollably under the leather harness. It shifts its weight frantically, its hooves scraping against the mossy roots.
Aldo immediately leans forward, pressing his gloved hand firmly against the side of the horse's warm neck. He strokes the damp coat in long, slow, soothing strokes, whispering soft, wordless rumbles deep in his throat until the animal's shivering subsides and its heavy breathing slows.
Keeping his seat, Aldo guides the horse in a tight, cautious circle, remaining on the exact same spot while his sharp dark eyes sweep every inch of the surrounding gloom.
A shadow flickers forty feet up in the fork of a ancient pine.
Thwack.
A dark wooden arrow streaks out from the dense foliage like a strike of lightning, slamming violently into the center of Aldo's chest. The force of the impact knocks the breath from his lungs with a dull gasp, forcing his body back against the saddle cantilever.
Aldo grabs the wooden shaft with his gloved hand and yanks it out with a sharp jerk. He checks his chest—the oil-treated rattan vest, the overlapping steel scales of his lamellar armor, and the thick layers of raw silk and linen beneath have held firm, stopping the broadhead before it could bite into his flesh.
Reaching into his belt pouch with blinding speed, Aldo pulls out a small glass vial filled with a thick, glowing crimson liquid. He uncorks it with his teeth, pouring the health potion directly into his mouth and swallowing hard. A surge of warmth ripples through his chest, dulling the deep bruise.
He reaches into his vest, pulling out a rolled parchment scroll covered in glowing silver runes. He unrolls it and flicks his thumb across an ignition stone. The parchment bursts into bright yellow flames.
WHOOSH.
A violent gale of compressed air erupts around Aldo and his horse, spinning in a roaring, three-foot-thick whirlwind that sweeps up loose pine needles and twigs. Three more arrows streak out from the gloom, but the moment they hit the howling wall of wind, their trajectories are snapped sideways, sending them splintering harmlessly against the thick bark of nearby trees.
Through the swirling dust, Aldo spots the dark silhouette perched high on a horizontal limb. He draws his flintlock pistol from his shoulder holster, cocks the hammer with a sharp metallic click, lines up the sights, and pulls the trigger.
BANG.
A cloud of white smoke fills the air as the lead ball tears through the pine foliage. The silhouette leaps upward with terrifying, supernatural agility, dodging the shot entirely and bounding across two higher branches like a shadow.
Is it some tribesmen with shamanic magic? Aldo thinks, his mind running cold and methodical despite the chaos.
He reaches back into his pouch, pulling out a second, far rarer scroll—this one inscribed with crackling purple ink. He uncorks a second health potion, gulps it down in a single swallow, and ignites the purple scroll in the lingering embers of the first.
FLASH.
Reality bends. In a fraction of a second, Aldo's figure dissolves into a shower of purple sparks and reappears forty feet above the ground, slamming directly onto the back of the silhouette perched on the high pine branch.
The weight of his armored body carries both of them off the limb. They crash down through the secondary canopy, snapping small twigs, and hit the mossy forest floor with a heavy, thundering thud.
Purple mana transmission... expensive, but cheaper than buying a 40-foot ladder.
Aldo instantly rolls over, pinning the shadow beneath his knees. He reaches into his belt, tears a third scroll—a elemental shock talisman—and slams the burning parchment onto the creature's chest.
CRACKLE-BANG!
A bright arc of blue electricity surges through the target's body. The shadow twitches violently, letting out a sharp, high-pitched gasp before going limp.
Aldo reaches into his boot, pulls out a coil of waxed leather cord, and binds the wrists and ankles with lightning-fast, military efficiency. He turns the body over, pulling back the hood, and stops.
Lying bound on the moss is a young girl. Her skin is fair, almost luminous, and her short, light-green hair spills across her small face. From the sides of her head extend long, slender, pointed ears that twitch slightly in her unconscious state. Her large, emerald-colored eyes flutter open, staring up at him with pure, venomous fury.
She begins screaming at him, her voice high and melodic, but the words are a complete, incomprehensible jumble of sharp, flowing syllables that sound like wind rushing through autumn leaves.
Aldo stares down at her sharp, delicate facial features, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion. What is this sapient humanoid...?
Thwack.
A sudden, agonizing pain explodes in the center of his stomach. Aldo gasps, his eyes widening as he looks down to see a thick wooden shaft buried deep in his abdomen. Before he can react, a second arrow slams violently into his left forearm, shattering his leather guard and tearing through the flesh.
The sheer kinetic force knocks him backward off his feet. He collapses onto the damp earth, his vision swimming with red spots as unbearable, searing agony radiates from his belly and arm.
From the dark tree line steps a second woman. She is taller, her figure possessing fuller curves, her light-green hair tied back in a high, elegant ponytail. Her sharp emerald eyes are cold, stern, and entirely merciless as she steps over the roots, a shortbow drawn taut to her ear, the iron arrowhead aimed directly between Aldo's eyes.
Aldo's breathing turns ragged, his gloved fingers clawing helplessly at the wet soil. Fear, cold and sharp, clutches his chest. He closes his eyes, bracing his body for the final, releasing strike.
"ROAAAR!"
A violent, raspy battle cry shatters the silence.
Lourdes, her dark eyes blazing with wild fury, charges out from the brush like a feral beast. She hurls her entire body straight at the tall woman, tackling her around the waist. The two women crash onto the ground, rolling across the roots in a flurry of limbs, snapping bowstrings, and thrashing boots.
The elder woman reacts instantly. With a swift, fluid motion of her hand, she grabs Lourdes by the collar, twists her hip, and slams Lourdes onto her back against a wide trunk. She snaps her fingers, and thick, thorny green vines erupt from the soil like living snakes, wrapping tightly around Lourdes's arms, legs, and torso, pinning her securely against the wood.
Lourdes thrashes against the magical bindings, her face turning purple as she gasps for air.
Through the haze of blinding pain, Aldo forces his eyes open. He grits his teeth so hard a trickle of blood leaks from his lip, pushes himself off the ground, and staggers forward on trembling legs. He lunges at the tall woman from behind, throwing his arms around her waist in a desperate, weak hug.
The woman lets out a dismissive, annoyed grunt. She drives her elbow back into Aldo's chest, throwing him off her like a ragdoll. Aldo tumbles through the dirt, landing heavily on his side.
The woman turns, a cold, sarcastic smirk touching her lips as she prepares to raise her bow again. But as she steps forward, her hand freezes mid-air. Her sharp emerald eyes widen in sudden shock.
She reaches up with two trembling fingers, touching her collarbone. There, sticking out from her skin, is a tiny, hollow silver needle—empty.
It's already injected... Aldo thinks, a weak, blood-stained smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he watches her from the dirt.
The woman lets out a sharp, bitter curse in her strange, melodic language. Her knees wobble, her eyelids turn heavy, and her shortbow slips from her fingers as her body collapses sideways onto the moss, completely paralyzed by the quick-acting sedative.
Aldo doesn't waste a second. He crawls on his hands and knees to his fallen pack, pulling out a clear glass bottle filled with a golden, oily liquid—a concentrated wound salve. He grabs the wooden shaft sticking out of his stomach, grits his teeth, and pulls it out in one violent, agonizing motion. Blood spurts over his hands. He instantly pours the golden salve directly into the open wound, watching as the flesh sizzles and begins to knit together at a visible speed.
He repeats the process for his left arm, pulling the arrow free and pouring the salve over the torn muscle. He pulls two more health potions from his belt, popping the stoppers and gulping them down until the burning internal agony fades into a dull, thumping ache.
Wiping the blood from his chin, Aldo staggers over to the tree where Lourdes is bound. He draws his short sword and slices through the thick green vines, severing the magical roots until they wither into grey ash.
Lourdes slides down the trunk, breathing heavily as she rubs her bruised wrists. She looks up at Aldo, her dark brown eyes wide with a strange, unreadable intensity.
"Thanks for saving me," Aldo says quietly, extending a hand to help her up.
Lourdes's pale face instantly flushes a bright, vivid crimson. She turns her head away sharply, slapping his hand aside as she pushes herself up against the bark.
"Don't get the wrong idea!" she stammers, her raspy voice cracking slightly as she stares resolutely at a patch of mushroom on the tree. "It's... it's only because we are allies!"
Aldo turns his head, scanning the thick grey woods in every direction. There is no sign of the highway, no sound of his three hundred men, and no trace of the horses. The environment remains unnatural, isolated, and completely cut off from the rest of the world.
From her spot on the ground, the tall, paralyzed woman turns her head slightly, her sharp emerald eyes locking onto Aldo with a fierce, mocking glint. A sharp, arrogant smirk spreads across her lips.
"You can look all you want, boy," the woman says, her voice flowing in clear, perfectly articulated human speech, though accented with a strange, musical cadence. "I have cast a spatial barrier spell around this grove. Unless you possess the high arcana to break it, you will remain trapped here until you starve."
Aldo begins walking slowly toward her, his face completely expressionless, his gloved hand resting on the hilt of his flintlock.
From the moss nearby, the bound green-haired girl struggles against her leather cords, her face twisting in pure outrage as she watches Aldo approach her paralyzed mother.
"You perverts!" the girl screams, her high voice vibrating with hysterical anger. "Don't you dare do filthy things to my mom! What do you have in mind?! Typical boy pervert thoughts!"
Aldo doesn't even glance at the girl. He steps over her thrashing legs and stops beside the tall woman, looking down at her with cold, analytical scrutiny, inspecting her clothes, her weapons, and the magical residue pulsing off her collarbone.
"Why did you attack us?" Aldo asks flatly.
The woman lets out a dry, sarcastic laugh, her eyes narrowing into cold slits. "To crush the imperial invaders who trample our sacred woods, of course."
Lourdes steps up behind Aldo, poking him hard in the small of his back with her index finger.
"We need to solve this conflict with her," Lourdes whispers urgently, her face tight with worry. "We can't fight our way out of a spatial spell."
Aldo ignores her advice entirely. He draws his flintlock pistol, cocks the heavy iron hammer, and aims the barrel directly between the tall woman's eyes.
The woman's smirk doesn't fade for a second. "Go ahead, shoot. My spell will not vanish if I die. You will simply be trapped in this pocket forever with my corpse."
Lourdes instantly reaches out, grabbing Aldo's wrist and forcing the barrel of the flintlock down toward the ground. She steps between him and the paralyzed woman, her face flushed with frustration as she glares at Aldo.
"What are you doing?!" Lourdes snaps, her raspy voice rising in pitch. "We need to de-escalate, not escalate! Put that damn gun away!"
Aldo looks at Lourdes, his brow furrowing slightly in genuine, unfeigned confusion. He lowers the pistol slowly, tilting his head.
"In a de-escalation situation like this, I am completely clueless," Aldo says, his voice flat and honest. "Please demonstrate for me."
Lourdes lets out a frustrated groan, shaking her head as she steps past him. She kneels down beside the paralyzed woman, placing her palms flat against her own knees, making her dark brown eyes look as clear, open, and honest as possible.
"We are not here to invade your land," Lourdes says, her voice steady and calm. "We are soldiers passing through on the highway, heading toward the Republic of Ofliran for a commission. We have no interest in your woods."
The woman looks up at Lourdes, her stern emerald eyes searching her face. "How can I believe you? You two are fully armored, carrying military weapons, and leading a massive warband toward this sacred forest."
Lourdes takes a deep breath, her chin lifting with absolute, unyielding determination.
"I will give in to you," Lourdes offers, her voice unwavering. "Bind both of us completely. Take us to your chief, and we will clarify everything face-to-face!"
The woman stares at Lourdes for a long, silent moment, analyzing the fierce, honest fire in the girl's dark eyes. Then, her gaze shifts over Lourdes's shoulder to Aldo, who is casually walking around the edge of the clearing, poking at a strange glowing mushroom with the tip of his boot, completely disinterested in the negotiation.
The woman lets out a soft, amused hum. "Very well. I accept your terms. Give me the antidote to this poison."
Aldo walks over without a word, pulls a small blue vial from his vest, and drops three liquid drops directly onto the needle mark on her collarbone.
Within seconds, the paralysis fades. The tall woman sits up gracefully, flexing her long fingers. She steps over to the bound green-haired girl, flicking her wrist to slice through the leather cords with a small silver dagger.
Then, she raises her right hand toward the sky, chanting a soft, low syllable.
THWIP.
Thick green vines surge out from the earth, wrapping tightly around Aldo and Lourdes, binding their arms securely to their torsos.
Aldo's face instantly twists into a deep, furious frown. He glares at Lourdes, his teeth grit in anger.
"Renaud!" Aldo snaps, his tone sharp with bitter accusation. "Are you seriously going to let her kill us for free?!"
Lourdes turns her head, glaring right back at him with equal fury.
"YOU ARE TOO PARANOID!" Lourdes yells back at him, her raspy voice echoing through the trees. "Believe in people a little more, please!"
The tall woman lets out a rich, melodious laugh that rings through the silent woods like clear silver bells.
"I always keep my promises," the woman says, stepping forward with a graceful, regal posture. "I will not harm you unless you provoke me again."
She places her right hand over her heart, bowing her head slightly.
"I am Elanariel, the Chief of the Piwanen tribe," she introduces herself. She turns her head, gesturing toward the short green-haired girl who is still standing nearby, glaring at Aldo with her arms crossed tightly over her chest. "And this is my daughter, Amariel."
Elanariel goes straight to business. She reaches into her silk robes and pulls out a crystal orb that glows with a soft, pulsing golden light. She holds the orb out between them, her sharp emerald eyes locking onto Aldo.
"State your true purpose for coming to Dravensk," Elanariel commands softly.
"To head to the Republic of Ofliran to fulfill a military commission," Aldo answers flatly.
The golden orb pulses with a steady, clear light, throwing soft reflections across Elanariel's fair face. She nods slowly, satisfied.
She proceeds to ask three more detailed questions regarding his route, his troops, and his employer. With every flat, direct answer Aldo provides, the golden orb glows bright and steady, confirming the absolute truth of his words.
When the questioning finishes, Elanariel lowers the orb, her stern expression softening completely. She turns to her daughter, placing a gentle hand on the back of Amariel's neck, and forces the frowning girl to bow deeply to Aldo and Lourdes.
"I apologize for the attack," Elanariel says sincerely, bowing her own head.
Lourdes immediately bows back as far as her vine bindings allow, reaching out with her foot to poke Aldo's leg until he, too, gives a stiff, reluctant bow of his head.
Elanariel snaps her fingers once.
CRACK.