Unknowing to them, the legion was surrounded. Forest ghosts—falcons, bears, snakes, and others—watched and waited from green depths, their eyes gleaming like hidden stars in the underbrush. Far to the north, in his elevated tower, Taelthorn sat on his carved ebony throne, his gaze fixed southward, knowing she must have arrived by now. Though the camp lay beyond his mortal sight, his mind beheld it with supernatural clarity: waving silks, fluttering banners, impeccable order, and walls of loyal soldiers arrayed in formation.
In his imagination, Serenya stood at the centre—a queen on her throne, weaving an ambitious dream with threads of steel and will. Distance meant nothing; his vision filled it all, proof of the deep bond uniting them, forged in shared battles and promises whispered under witness moons. The camp slept under a mantle of shadows as Serenya moved silently through the pavilion, her thoughts sharp and restless as honed blades. Outside, soldiers' murmurs and ember crackles composed a constant, hypnotic rhythm.
The camp was not raised in rigid rows, but in a crescent embracing a natural clearing, following the terrain's curve to maximise natural vigilance. Calwen entered, her arrival heralded by decisive steps on the mats, the subtle jingle of her silver armour. "Scouts return from camp limits," she announced in a low, tense voice, bowing her head in respect. "They bring news of borders and forests awaiting ahead."
"Speak clearly," replied Serenya inquiringly, turning from the table where she examined rolled maps. "What have your eyes and ears seen?"
"They've spotted figures moving among trees, unmistakable signs of invisible men," answered Calwen grimly, her face hardened by day's fatigue. "They move in absolute silence. The forest is their shelter, their perfect veil."
Serenya's eyes darkened like storm clouds; her voice remained firm, but burned with contained intensity. "Invisible men...? You speak like Eryndor, in riddles wrapped in mist. Are they hostile, allies, or something worse?"
Calwen shook her head, visibly hesitating, her gauntlets creaking as she clenched fists. "We don't know for certain," she replied at last, aware she wouldn't like the ambiguity. "They vanish like smoke at the slightest light touch."
Silence fell like a heavy mantle over the pavilion, broken only by the wind stirring the silks. Serenya held it with a piercing gaze that made braver men recoil. "That's scant help," she murmured with contained irony, a dagger's edge in her tone.
Her gaze slid to Elyra, seated in shadows with parchment in hand, seeking silent counsel in her wise eyes, before returning to Calwen. "Prepare the legion. By dawn we must be ready as arrows nocked. Tonight, we temper ourselves before the coming fire... and double the guard at the limits. I trust they'll shed light on those invisibles," she added with mordant humour's spark, though her fingers drummed restlessly on the table.
She approached the pavilion window, gazing at the horizon where twilight's first tones devoured daylight greedily. Banners waved in the fresh wind, carrying forest echoes; the camp stirred under her vigilant gaze, bonfires multiplying like eyes opening in the night. Elyra's words came prudently, laden with ancestral diplomacy.
"We are in their territory, and we've earned neither enmity nor trust yet. Let us not be the ones to ignite hostility's spark with imprudent haste."
"They say they come not just with swords, but shadows swallowing light," murmured Calwen, as if recalling a local guide's warning on the journey.
Serenya's eyes gleamed with iron determination, reflecting outer flames. "We'll prepare for the worst and let the facts speak. Time will reveal true intents, as the dawn dispels mist. Let the legion act without precipitation, but ready to respond at the threat's slightest whisper."
Calwen nodded firmly, her expression a wall of resolve. "Time to consult Kaelis and Darven," added Serenya, her voice a soft but unyielding command. "We need to know what they've seen, learned, and comprehended of these living shadows."
Moments later, Kaelis and Darven stood before Lady Serenya, their cloaks still stained with forest soil and sap, faces marked by exploration's sweat and strain. She crossed her hands on the rosewood table; her gaze serene yet inquiring, like a hawk assessing prey. "Report with absolute frankness. What has your exploration revealed? What dangers and wonders lurk beyond our sight, in this green labyrinth's heart?"
Darven glanced sidelong at Kaelis, caught by her stoic firmness, before speaking. "The forest teems with invisible eyes. Constant vigilance is felt, shadowy movements blending with trunks, fresh but blurry paths in leaf litter... presences watching without ever showing."
Kaelis spoke with measured caution, her voice a march-forged rasp. "We found transit tracks... traces vanishing like sighs in wind, silent steps among ancient trees. The earth itself seems wary, eternally on guard, as if breathing contained malice."
Calwen's fingers drummed growing unease on her sword hilt, the rhythm betraying composure. "What do we know of those ghost-men scouts mentioned? Myth or tangible threat?"
Kaelis's voice dropped lower, distant, as if reliving the memory with renewed chills. "Ghosts resemble no known army: spirits woven from the forest itself, ethereal guardians without fixed form. They paint bodies with living moss and luminous sap; shadows veil faces like natural shrouds. They embody earth's ancient will, wild and untameable."
She paused, swallowing, before adding gravely: "They seek no open conflict; their watch is silent but absolute, an invisible noose strangling intruders. They observe, wait... confronting threats only they comprehend in root-and-wind tongue. They are the unseen blade guarding island secrets, custodians of balance between the wild and imposed by foreign hands."
Serenya tilted her head, absorbing each word like a sponge. "They aided during the Northern Peaks Shield quest, an unexpected grace," Kaelis recalled, "but I doubt such indulgence if we invade the land itself, disrupting ancestral cycles."
Serenya's brow furrowed slightly, a genuine worry crease. "Is there more you hesitate to say, any detail darkening this veil further?" she asked, her tone in authority and not rebuke, inviting further truth.
Kaelis held her gaze unflinching, eyes firm as deep roots. "We share all serving your command, my lady, without reserve or adornment."
Serenya observed her in prolonged silence, the air thick with palpable tension, before declaring with a steel-tempered voice: "Those ghost-men's intents are a riddle wrapped in dense shadows. Erring in interpretation could unleash horror beyond imagining, awakening that engulfs entire camps... Yet we'll prepare with cunning, and we won't take the first step in this deadly dance."