After what felt like an eternity of walking, Azaros began to sense the forest easing its grip on her. The gnarled trees, once tangled like conspirators determined to imprison her, were slowly pulling apart; their thick trunks no longer pressed so tightly together. The choking underbrush gave way to scattered shrubs, as though the forest itself was reluctantly releasing her—parting with hesitation, like a bitter farewell.
"Do you feel it, Nentu?" asked Azaros, her voice carrying both relief and restrained delight.
"Yes. It seems the exit is near," came Nentu's voice, calm and certain.
Azaros brushed a stray lock of red hair behind her ear, a sly smile curling on her lips.
"I've had enough of this forest and its tricks. If I were given the choice between returning here or rotting in a cold dungeon… I'd pick the dungeon without blinking."
Moments later, a colossal stone wall emerged on the horizon.
She stopped in her tracks, drawing in a deep breath.
"Finally... A wall of this size can only mean one thing—civilization."
Her pace quickened until she reached its base.
The wall loomed above her, its stones cracked and weathered, bearing the scars of time. At its foot, massive blocks lay scattered like the forgotten remnants of some long-buried battle. Vines crept defiantly up its surface, their coiled tendrils weaving a green tapestry as if trying to claim or cradle the stone.
She stepped closer, fingertips brushing against the wall's rough, cold surface. The chill seeped through her skin—a whisper of some distant winter. Tilting her head upward, she watched shafts of sunlight pierce through the clouds, casting light upon her face, streaked with dust and blood. Her gaze scanned the wall, seeking a place to climb.
She chose one of the thick vines, clinging tenaciously to the wall's face. Testing its strength with measured care, she began her ascent. Upon reaching the top, she straddled the edge, catching her breath. Then, as if the world itself had unfurled, she beheld what lay beyond.
A vast field of golden wheat stretched out before her, swaying gently with the wind like a sea of liquid sunlight. At first glance, it seemed like a painting—a tranquil dream woven of warmth and light. But the longer she gazed, the clearer the truth became. Whole swathes of the field lay ravaged, the stalks broken and scattered, as if some furious storm had torn through. In the distance, columns of ash rose into the air, revealing the charred remains of trees and the torn scars of uprooted trunks. Even the humble vegetable gardens had not been spared, their soil overturned and crushed as though madness had trampled them.
On the far edge of the horizon stood a modest stone keep. It was small, yet proud—its silhouette watching silently over lands that bore the echoes of a life disturbed. Beside it rose a long, simple building, rectangular and unadorned.
Her eyes traced the land below.
"Think I can jump from here?" she asked, her tone teetering between jest and quiet certainty.
"You already know the answer," came Nentu's voice, steady as ever. "That fall won't break your bones."
Azaros gave a faint, wry smile.
"I miss my strength," she whispered, and then, without hesitation, leaned forward and leapt.
The wind kissed her face as she fell with graceful precision, her boots landing firmly in the soft earth.
She inhaled deeply, the scent of ripe grain and warm soil filling her lungs. For a brief moment, she simply stood, listening to the rustle of the wheat as the wind whispered through it. Then she began walking, her steps sure and steady. The golden stalks brushed against her body with delicate affection, and her fingers glided gently across their stems. Yet with each step, the signs of ruin grew more pronounced.
Azaros paused, staring at the torn roots jutting from the earth like severed limbs. Her fingers hovered over one of the brittle, lifeless roots.
"Who would dare defile such beauty?" she muttered, her voice taut with anger.
Nentu's voice slipped quietly into her thoughts.
"This destruction isn't random. There's intent behind it... someone wanted to leave a mark."
Azaros exhaled sharply, then knelt beside the remains of a burnt tree. Its bark had turned to charcoal, and its branches had been severed cleanly—as if sliced by a blade. Her fingers traced the rough surface, picking up splinters between her fingertips.
"You're right... look at the cut. Precise. Clean. Not the work of chaos. Whoever did this meant to send a message."
"Perhaps it was a warning," Nentu said, her voice low. "Or maybe they simply wished to sow disorder. Either way, this destruction serves a purpose."
The silence that followed was not one of peace.
It was heavy. Loaded.
A silence that felt like the breath before a storm.
"Stay vigilant, Azaros," said Nentu, her tone edged with grave caution. "Whoever defiled this place may still be here... watching us from the shadows."
A wry smile tugged at Azaros's lips.
"If he's truly out there," she said, "and saw me soaked in blood like this, he wouldn't dare breathe too loud—let alone reveal himself."
Nentu let out a soft chuckle.
"You might be right. There's something about seeing you drenched in blood that would make even the boldest heart tremble."
Azaros arched an eyebrow lightly, her smile lingering as she turned without a word and began walking toward the looming fortress.
"What do you see, Azaros?" came Nentu's whisper, her voice barely audible as her gaze fixed on the distant castle.
Azaros did not answer immediately. Her eyes scanned the worn stone walls, the humble towers weathered by time. After a moment of quiet contemplation, she spoke, her voice low and even.
"A place to rest... perhaps even a breath of peace."
But peace did not come.
A sudden snarl shattered the stillness—a sound so deep and primal it seemed torn from the bowels of hell. The very air quivered at its fury, and the field beneath their feet trembled.
From between the stalks it emerged, a hulking form moving with lethal grace. Its fur was as dark as night, streaked with ash-grey strands. The creature's head bore the shape of a wolf, eyes glowing like twin embers. Its mouth, bristling with knife-like fangs, looked born for the sole purpose of tearing flesh.
It charged—its strides thunderous, shaking the earth with each bound. The wheat bowed before it in submission, and the air thickened with the stench of danger.
But Azaros stood her ground.
She did not flinch.
She did not waver.
She faced the beast like a queen before a challenger unworthy of her pride. Her eyes locked onto its gaze with unyielding defiance.
It halted, mere steps from her, its breath searing against her face. Its massive jaws hung close enough to crush her neck in one snap. But Azaros didn't move, didn't look away.
A long, breathless moment passed. The air between them grew dense, thick with the weight of uncertainty—as if the world itself held its breath, waiting.
The creature's snarl faded into a low, rumbling growl.
Then, unexpectedly, it lowered its head.
With a slow, deliberate motion, it drew in her scent—gently, almost reverently, as though recognizing something familiar. The tension snapped in a strange, silent instant. Its tongue, rough and warm, swept across her cheek, leaving behind a glistening trail of saliva.
She smiled faintly.
"Well... that's new," she said calmly, as if she had expected this all along.
Nentu's voice echoed in her mind, tinged with awe and disbelief.
"How did you do that? It was ready to rip us apart."
Azaros wiped the beast's saliva from her face with the back of her hand.
"I spoke to him," she said simply, as though it had been a mundane meeting, not a brush with death. "Told him we meant no harm."
There was a pause. Nentu seemed to be absorbing the words, as though the very logic of the world had shifted.
"You spoke to him... and he understood?"
Azaros's eyes remained on the creature as it began to circle her slowly. Its aggression had melted away, replaced by a curiosity not unlike that of a loyal hound.
"Animals feel intent, Nentu," she said. "Words matter far less than what the heart hides behind them."
The beast nudged her gently with its massive head, a farewell full of quiet meaning. Then it turned, casting her one last glance—its eyes now void of wrath—before vanishing back into the field.
Nentu's voice returned, now laced with rare reverence.
"I've seen you do many things... but to speak to beasts as though they were kin—that is a rare gift indeed."
Azaros gave a soft laugh.
"It's one of the few things this cursed body hasn't taken from me."
But the commotion had not gone unnoticed.
From the long, rectangular building, three figures emerged—drawn by the noise, their movements sharp with alertness. Their eyes fell on her, the blood-drenched woman standing alone in the field, a riddle carved from chaos.
The first to step forward was a slight girl, her delicate frame moving with a careful blend of caution and curiosity. Her face still held the softness of youth, yet her gaze gleamed with wisdom far beyond her years. Her chestnut hair was woven into twin braids, tied with bright red ribbons that danced playfully against her simple attire—a faded blue dress and a small apron embroidered with tiny flowers. Her wide brown eyes shifted nervously between the blood on Azaros's skin and the quiet mystery etched across her face.
Behind her followed a man of imposing stature. His skin, dark and gleaming beneath the sun, stretched over muscles forged by a lifetime of labor. He wore a worn white shirt that hung open over a broad chest and thick arms, paired with navy trousers bound by a sturdy leather belt. His dark eyes watched Azaros with wary calculation.
The third figure was an elderly woman, stout in build, shuffling forward with a slow, swaying gait. Her round face was etched with the wrinkles of age — each line a whispered tale from a lifetime of stories. Her gray hair was pulled back into a tight bun, held in place by a single metallic pin that caught the sunlight with a quiet gleam. She wore a long, dark skirt and a blouse adorned with lace at the collar and sleeves, while her shoulders were wrapped in a tightly drawn shawl.
Her eyes widened in shock the moment they landed on Azaros, on the blood that streaked her body like markings from some sacred rite.
The woman gasped, her voice trembling, laced with fear.
"By the Seven Gods!"
But Azaros stood still, unbothered — her gaze calm, unwavering, betraying neither fear nor doubt. It was as if this moment were merely another chapter in a story too long to be shaken by blood or judgment.
"Are you hurt?" asked the girl in a quiet but steady voice, her eyes scanning Azaros, searching for any wound beneath the bloodstains.
Azaros shook her head.
"I'm fine," she said.
There was not a single trace on her skin of the battle she had just survived against Kazrin — no wound, no scar, no memory of pain. It was as if the injuries had vanished from existence, leaving behind a body untouched by surrender.
The girl nodded, accepting the answer without further questions. Her voice came again, soft but firm — a gravity far beyond her years.
"Come with me."
She turned toward the old woman and the man beside her, raising a hand in a quiet, reassuring motion.
"Go back inside. I'll handle this."
The man frowned, his voice low, thick with mistrust.
"How can we leave you alone with her? Look at her… she's covered in blood."
The elderly woman nodded in uneasy agreement, whispering anxiously,
"This doesn't feel safe, child."
The girl offered a faint smile.
"I know what I'm doing. And if anything happens… you both know I can take care of myself."
The old woman hesitated for a moment, then sighed and nodded. Together, she and the man turned toward the rectangular building, their steps slow and hesitant, as if they feared some noise behind them might send them running back.
The girl led Azaros toward the fortress. She pushed the wooden gate open with a creaking groan, revealing a wide hall with a high ceiling that gave the place an air of solemn grandeur, despite its modesty. Stone walls stretched along the length of the chamber, decorated with weathered shields and gently swaying banners — each embroidered with a family crest that seemed to carry the weight of history.
Torches fixed to the walls cast flickering shadows on the stone floor, painting the hall with a solemn, shifting aura.
To one side stood a worn wooden table surrounded by mismatched chairs. To the right, an open doorway led to the kitchen, from which the scent of simmered herbs wafted gently into the silence, wrapping the space in a quiet warmth. On the opposite side, an arched entryway revealed a small library and a humble sitting room.
At the end of the hall, a stone staircase split in two, one side ascended to the upper floor where the bedrooms lay, while the other descended into the lower level — a place that seemed to promise more than simple storage.
"This way," said the girl, pointing to the stairs.
They climbed together, and as they reached the first floor, the space opened into a wide corridor, its floor covered with an old rug woven in ancient patterns, worn but still strong. Rooms stretched out to either side of the hallway.
The girl stepped toward one of the doors and opened it, revealing a simple room touched by a quiet warmth that made it feel singular.
Against one wall stood a small bed pressed close to the stone, beside it a cluttered nightstand bearing tokens of a personal world — a dried flower, a small wooden figurine, and a timeworn book with frayed pages.
She moved to a small side door and opened it, revealing a modest bathroom. At its center rested a large wooden tub, its still surface inviting calm. Beneath it, a sunken hearth was set into the floor. She crouched, struck a match, and brought it to the stacked firewood. Flames sparked to life, devouring the dry wood with a quiet hunger.
Turning back to Azaros, her eyes shimmered with a faint flicker of bashfulness.
"You'll need to undress… to clean yourself properly."
Azaros raised her hand to the sapphire embedded in her breastplate. As her fingers brushed its surface, a soft blue glow began to radiate outward, spreading through the room like a spell breathing its first breath.
The armor that clung to her body pulsed with lines of light — delicate, intricate, like threads being unraveled by unseen hands.
And then, it began to vanish, dissolving slowly into the gem, as though the entire suit was being drawn back into the heart of the crystal.
The girl gasped but quickly stifled her shock, taking a step back as if her body had moved before her mind could comprehend. She watched Azaros with a silent awe, her voice finally rising, tremulous and curious.
"How… how did you do that?"
Azaros smiled faintly, rolling her shoulders as if shedding an unseen weight.
"It's a magical armor. It returns to me when I call it," she said.
Then, with a teasing grin, added,
"At least this way, you won't have to clean it."
The girl, still reeling from disbelief, kept her eyes fixed on the glowing blue gem resting in Azaros's palm. She lingered, as if words were pressing against her lips, but curiosity overtook hesitation. Slowly, she reached out, her gaze soaked in longing and laced with fear. Azaros noticed. With a calm smile, she extended her hand and offered her the gem.
"Keep it safe," said Azaros.
The girl nodded solemnly, as though taking a vow etched in soul and silence. She turned the gem gently between her fingers, afraid to touch its secret, to tarnish its spell. After a long pause of reverent awe, she lifted her gaze, motioned toward the basin, and said, "You may use it now." Then she turned and left the bathhouse, her silent astonishment trailing behind her like the fading scent of incense.
Azaros picked up a small brush hanging beside the basin, along with a bar of soap. She dipped the brush into a wooden pail of water and began scrubbing her skin. The coarse bristles peeled away blood and grime as though scrubbing off the echoes of battle. Suds gathered swiftly, curling around the stains, coiling into fine spirals before slipping into the water—as if carrying with them the memories of hard-won survival.
Once the last mark had faded, Azaros set the brush aside and lifted one leg to ease it into the basin. The warm water enveloped her like a gentle embrace, stripping away tension and fatigue, layer by layer. She closed her eyes, surrendering to the heat as it seeped into her bones. The scent of lavender and burning wood drifted into her nose, mingling with the soft crackle of flames from the nearby hearth.
"I missed this..." she whispered, barely audible. "Warmth, rest... the grace of forgetting, even for a moment."
Stillness reigned. Only the murmur of water and fire remained, as if the world had paused to offer her a single breath of peace.
In time, Azaros rose from the basin, water cascading from her skin in quiet rivulets. She reached for a soft towel hanging nearby and began drying herself slowly, then wrapped it snugly around her. The fabric carried a faint warmth and the scent of sun and clean air.
When she opened the door, the girl was waiting, seated patiently on the edge of the bed. She looked up at Azaros with a gentle smile and said softly, "Come with me."
The girl led Azaros into a dining room—modest in size, yet steeped in homely warmth. At its center stood a simple wooden table, where a humble meal had been laid, bread, cheese, fresh fruit arranged neatly, with a pitcher of cold water placed beside an unlit candle.
The girl gestured to a chair and pulled it out gently for Azaros, who sat down, her body still echoing the warmth of the bath. The girl took the seat across from her, folding her hands in her lap, her features a serene blend of welcome and quiet thought.
Silence settled between them—comforting, undisturbed, broken only by the soft crackle of firewood and the occasional creak of the ceiling beams.
Azaros glanced around briefly, then reached for a piece of bread and some cheese, chewing slowly—as if rediscovering the taste of simplicity.
After a few moments, the girl's lips curved into a faint smile, her face reflecting calm curiosity. In a voice as soft as a secret, she said, "I'm Hilda. And you are?"
Azaros returned her smile. "Azaros."
Hilda nodded with quiet acceptance, though the intrigue in her voice was barely concealed. "So... how did you end up like this? You look like you've been through much."
Before Azaros could answer, she felt that familiar cold whisper slither through her mind—like a breeze slipping through the cracks of an old door. Nentu's voice—calm but weighted with warning—echoed within her, "Remember, Azaros… reveal nothing. Your true nature must remain our secret."
Azaros nodded gently, as though convincing herself as much as reassuring Nentu. She looked back at Hilda, chose her words carefully, and replied with a soft smile touched by deliberate ambiguity. "I was lost." Her voice was light, yet cloaked in enough mystery to leave questions unanswered. "I entered the forest and lost my way."
Hilda's brows drew together, her face tightening with doubt. "The old forest?" she asked, her voice laced with disbelief. "No one gets lost there. That forest… it's unlike any other."
Azaros replied calmly, offering no further elaboration. "Yes, the old forest."
Hilda leaned back slightly, narrowing her eyes as she studied Azaros—like someone trying to unlock a riddle carved in silence. "How does a girl like you survive a place like that? The old forest is teeming with beasts, venomous insects, and worse… plants that attack anything that gets close. And then there are the Wolvarian tribes. They claim the forest as their own. They don't forgive strangers."
Azaros chuckled softly, raising a hand to scratch her head in a casual gesture, as if brushing tension aside. "Maybe I was just lucky."
But Hilda was far from convinced. Her brows drew tighter, eyes glinting with a mix of wit and defiance.
"Luck?" she echoed, her tone laced with doubt. "That forest doesn't rely on luck. What kind of luck are you talking about, when you came out soaked in blood?"
She paused, as if aligning scattered thoughts, then continued, "And then there's Baldor—my loyal hound. He's never let a stranger through, not once. Yet somehow, he let you pass... without so much as a growl?"
Her fingers began tapping the wooden table, lightly, thoughtfully, as if weaving a web of conclusions in her mind.
"You're not just a lost girl, are you?"
Azaros didn't answer right away. She turned her head slightly, gazing at some invisible point beyond Hilda—as though scanning the horizon for a truth she wasn't ready to give voice to. She lifted a hand and slid a finger idly into her ear, twisting it gently, as if feigning distraction or annoyance. Then she cast a sideways glance and offered a forced smile.
"Sorry," said Azaros with mock cheer, "I didn't quite catch that… Anyway, the food on this farm is delicious. I haven't tasted anything like it in ages."
But Hilda didn't bite.
"Don't try to change the subject, Azaros," she said, calm yet taut as a drawn bowstring.
Azaros hesitated, fighting off a chuckle that threatened to rise. At last, she looked Hilda in the eye—long and slow—the way a seasoned player regards an opponent they hadn't expected to challenge them.
"You're sharp for your age," she said. "Clearly, keeping secrets from you won't be easy."
A faint smile touched Hilda's lips, as if she appreciated the compliment. Still, the curiosity in her gaze refused to settle.
Azaros leaned back in her chair, her azure eyes aglow with a curious blend of amusement and respect.
"The forest was full of trials, I won't deny it," she said, exhaling lightly. "But I've learned to face things... differently. It's not just about strength. It's about knowing when to move—and when to be still."
Hilda was quiet, staring at her, trying to read the silence between the lines. Her young face still bore a trace of suspicion, but now, admiration began to thread through it as well. There was something about Azaros—an aura of silent power, a strength that made no boast, yet could not be ignored.
At last, she nodded slowly, as if willing to accept the answer—for now.
"I won't argue with you," said Hilda, her voice gentle but guarded. Then added with a small smile, "Anyway, you're welcome here. Stay as long as you need."
"Thank you, Hilda," said Azaros, smiling. It was no small thing, to be welcomed like this.
Hilda stood, brushing her hands against her skirt, as though wiping away lingering thoughts.
"I've got work to do," she said, her voice soft, with a touch of hesitation. "There's always something that needs doing around here."
Azaros gave a quiet nod, watching the girl as she made her way toward the door. When it closed behind her, silence folded in. And with it came that familiar, cold whisper threading through her mind.
Nentu's voice returned, this time tinged with unease.
"There's something about that girl… a faint scent I can't mistake. There is sickness here—but it doesn't come from her. The air itself is tainted."
Azaros furrowed her brow.
"If they're in danger," she said, her voice steely with conviction, "then I need to know. They've shown me kindness—I won't turn my back if something threatens them."
This time, Nentu responded at once, her tone sharp.
"And I say, do not interfere without reason. We are strangers in this place, and a reckless move will draw eyes we do not want. Do not forget who we are… and who may be watching."
Azaros sighed, slow and deliberate.
"But I'm not like you, Nentu. If I see pain, I cannot look away. I'll be careful, yes... but I will find out."
Silence followed—dense, heavy, more felt than heard. Then came Nentu's voice again, softer this time, like a breath surrendering.
"So be it."
Azaros gave a faint smile.
"Don't worry… I'll move like shadow, and listen like the wind."
She stood. Her heart beat with that unmistakable pull—that old instinct drawing her toward the dark. Not from curiosity... but from a hunger to understand what others fear to face.
She stepped outside.
Sunlight rushed to greet her, striking her skin with a muted brilliance—gentle, yet dazzling, like the light that follows a dream, fragile, but real.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting it wash over her face, rinsing away the shadows that clung within.
Then she stepped forward—each stride steady, eyes not wandering, but locking onto her destination.
That rectangular building ahead…
Perhaps within its walls, the whispering truth awaited.