It began with silence—not the comfortable quiet of evening rest, but the heavy, oppressive shroud that wrapped around Camp Alvus like a burial cloth. The kind of silence that made seasoned soldiers reach instinctively for their weapons and caused nervous horses to stamp and whinny without apparent cause.
The first sign of trouble had come three days ago, when Patrol Unit Seven failed to report at their scheduled checkpoint. Four apprentices—Roderick Ironshield, Marcus Flamewright, Elena Swiftarrow, and Tobias Earthshield—seasoned third and fourth-year students who had been on dozens of similar reconnaissance missions along the eastern border. Their route was well-established, following game trails and old merchant paths that had been mapped and re-mapped by generations of border patrols.
At first, the senior staff had dismissed the delay with the casual confidence of those who had seen countless minor emergencies resolve themselves through simple miscommunication or equipment failure. Perhaps the trail had become impassable due to recent rains. Perhaps their message birds had been delayed by storms or predators. Perhaps they had discovered something worth investigating and had extended their patrol to gather additional intelligence.
Captain Aldric Ravencrest, the camp's commanding officer, had maintained his usual stoic demeanor during the first day's briefings. "Border patrols encounter unexpected situations," he'd told the increasingly worried apprentices during evening assembly. "These are experienced students who know how to handle complications. We give them time to resolve whatever they've encountered."
But as the second day passed without word, and then the third, the mood in Camp Alvus shifted like weather before a storm.
Whispers began to proliferate through the camp like weeds taking root in fertile anxiety. Conversations that had once flowed freely now carried undertones of concern that no amount of military discipline could entirely suppress.
"This was supposed to be a training exercise," muttered Thyren during the midday meal, pushing his rations around his plate without eating. "Simple reconnaissance along established routes. Nothing dangerous enough to..." He trailed off, unwilling to voice the fears that haunted everyone's thoughts.
"Bandits wouldn't attack a knight patrol," Jorik added quietly, his gentle nature making him particularly sensitive to the camp's growing tension. "Not unless they had overwhelming numbers or..." Again, the sentence remained unfinished, the implications too dark to speak aloud.
"Then what happened to them?" Lyanna's question hung in the air like smoke from a dying fire, unanswered and increasingly ominous.
Zepp sat quietly on the edge of the main training circle, observing the anxious glances and taut postures that had replaced the camp's usual confident energy. Even the evening cooking fires seemed to burn smaller than usual, as if they too were fearful of attracting attention from whatever lurked in the darkness beyond the camp's perimeter.
The change in atmosphere affected everyone differently. Some trainees threw themselves into their practice with increased intensity, as if perfecting their techniques might somehow ward off whatever fate had befallen their missing comrades. Others became withdrawn and jumpy, starting at unexpected sounds and glancing frequently toward the forest edge where shadows seemed deeper and more menacing than before.
Despite the pervasive unease, training continued with the relentless rhythm that defined military life. Routines provided structure when uncertainty threatened to overwhelm rational thought, and the camp's instructors maintained their schedules with determined normalcy.
For Zepp, the crisis had coincided with a significant development in her own journey toward competence. Over the past weeks, her sword practice had evolved from the awkward flailing of a complete novice to something approaching actual technique. Her movements were still far from graceful, and her form often drew corrections from watching instructors, but there was an emerging fluidity to her practice that surprised even her.
What was most remarkable was how quickly she seemed to absorb instruction. Where other beginners might struggle for weeks to master basic footwork, Zepp's natural learning ability allowed her to integrate corrections almost immediately. She had always been like this—even as a child learning herb lore from Selva, she had possessed an unusual capacity for understanding and applying new knowledge with minimal repetition.
Saya had noticed the rapid progress, of course. The silver-haired knight missed very little, and Zepp's swift advancement from helpless refugee to marginally competent sword student had not escaped her attention. Their training sessions—brief, focused encounters that occurred whenever Saya's schedule permitted—had become one of the few bright spots in Zepp's increasingly complicated existence at Camp Alvus.
"Your footwork is improving," Saya had observed during their most recent session, making a minor adjustment to Zepp's stance with the clinical precision that characterized all her instruction. "But you're still thinking too much about the individual movements instead of letting them flow together."
"I'm trying to remember all the corrections you've given me," Zepp had replied, attempting to demonstrate the proper form while maintaining the balance that seemed to elude her whenever she became self-conscious about her performance.
Saya had studied her for a long moment, those storm-colored eyes taking in details that remained invisible to less trained observers. When she spoke again, her voice carried a note of something that might have been approval.
"You learn faster than most beginners," she'd said quietly, the observation delivered with the same matter-of-fact tone she used for commenting on weather conditions. "That's... useful."
The comment had left Zepp with more questions than answers, but before she could formulate a response, Saya had already moved on to the next aspect of training, leaving the mysterious observation to join the growing collection of unanswered puzzles that defined her current existence.
Now, three days into the crisis of the missing patrol, even sword practice felt like a hollow routine performed against a backdrop of mounting dread.
As dusk settled over the camp like a suffocating blanket, the sound that everyone had been unconsciously dreading finally came—a low, mournful horn call that echoed through the forest with the finality of a funeral dirge.
Emergency assembly.
The horn's note seemed to linger in the air longer than physics should have allowed, its resonance carrying an authority that brought every activity in the camp to an immediate halt. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Training exercises ceased as if a switch had been thrown. Even the camp's support staff—cooks, quartermasters, and medical personnel who normally continued their work regardless of military protocols—abandoned their tasks to join the gathering crowd.
Within minutes, the entire population of Camp Alvus had assembled in the central clearing, forming loose ranks that reflected the camp's organizational structure. Senior knights stood at attention near the speaker's platform, their bearing radiating the controlled tension of professionals preparing for serious business. Apprentice knights arranged themselves by year and specialization, while civilian personnel and guests—including Zepp—clustered at the edges of the formation.
Commander Mira Varmund stepped onto the raised platform that served as the camp's official announcement area. Her appearance alone was enough to silence any remaining whispers. Varmund was a legend among the eastern border forces—a veteran of three major conflicts and countless smaller engagements, whose steel-gray hair was pulled back in a severe bun and whose scarred armor told stories of battles that most people experienced only in tavern songs and historical accounts.
Her expression, normally set in lines of professional sternness, now carried a grimness that made even the most experienced knights shift uncomfortably.
"A reconnaissance patrol has failed to return from a routine mission," she began without preamble, her voice carrying clearly across the assembled crowd. "Patrol Unit Seven, consisting of four senior apprentices under the command of Apprentice Knight Roderick Ironshield, was scheduled to complete a three-day survey of the northern approach routes and return to camp yesterday evening."
A ripple of murmurs swept through the crowd—confirmations of fears that had been building for days, mixed with the particular dread that came from having worst-case scenarios made official.
Varmund raised a hand for silence and continued. "This afternoon, a fast courier unit located their last known position. We have confirmed evidence of a violent encounter—signs of struggle, damaged equipment, and..." She paused, her weathered features tightening. "Blood. But no bodies. No survivors. No clear indication of what they encountered."
The murmurs grew louder, less disciplined, tinged with the kind of fear that military training could suppress but never entirely eliminate.
"We are organizing an expedition to investigate the site and attempt to determine the fate of our missing personnel," Varmund announced, her tone shifting to the brisk authority of someone issuing operational orders. "This will not be a training exercise. This will be a combat mission with unknown but potentially extreme dangers. Only the most experienced and capable apprentices will be selected for participation. All others will remain in camp under elevated security protocols."
Without hesitation, Saya stepped forward from the ranks of senior apprentices, her movement fluid and decisive. No one questioned her inclusion—her reputation for competence and her mastery of rare light magic made her an obvious choice for any dangerous mission. Several other advanced students followed her lead, their own qualifications evident in the way they carried themselves and the deference shown by their peers.
Varmund nodded acknowledgment to the volunteers and began to turn away, clearly considering the selection process complete. It was then that a voice, quiet but surprisingly clear, cut through the gathering dusk.
"I want to go too."
Every head in the assembly turned toward the source of the unexpected declaration. Zepp stood at the edge of the civilian area, her borrowed training clothes and obvious inexperience making her appear small and out of place among the seasoned warriors who surrounded her.
The reaction was immediate and predictable.
"She's not even a knight," someone muttered from the apprentice ranks, skepticism thick in their voice.
"Barely knows which end of a sword to hold," added another, the comment drawing snickers from those who had observed her clumsy early training sessions.
"This is serious business, not a charity expedition," came a third voice, this one carrying the authority of someone several years into their training.
But Zepp stood firm, her hands clenched at her sides, her posture radiating a determination that seemed to surprise even her. When she spoke again, her voice carried more strength than anyone had heard from her before.
"If there's still danger out there, I want to help," she said, addressing her words to Varmund rather than the skeptical crowd around her. "I know I'm not trained like the rest of you, but I can at least watch for threats while others focus on the investigation. I've spent my whole life in these forests—I know how to move quietly, how to read signs that others might miss."
A heavy silence fell over the assembly, broken only by the distant sound of wind moving through the canopy above.
Varmund's penetrating gaze fixed on Zepp with the intensity of someone evaluating a strategic decision. She could feel the weight of his assessment, the professional calculation that was measuring her potential value against the risks her inexperience would create.
Then, unexpectedly, Saya's voice cut through the tension.
"She's right about knowing the forests," the silver-haired knight said with her characteristic calm precision. "She's also right about the value of additional eyes watching for threats. And..." She paused, as if considering her next words carefully. "Sometimes fresh perspectives see things that experience overlooks."
The endorsement was surprising enough to draw murmurs from the assembled crowd. Saya rarely spoke during group discussions, and her willingness to support Zepp's request carried weight that even the skeptics couldn't entirely dismiss.
Varmund studied both women for a long moment, her weathered features revealing nothing of her internal deliberations. When she finally spoke, her words carried the finality of command decisions made under pressure.
"Very well," he said. "But you remain at the rear of the formation at all times. At the first sign of combat, you withdraw to a safe distance and await instructions. Your role is observation and early warning, nothing more. Is that understood?"
"Yes, ma'am," Zepp replied, trying to keep the relief and gratitude out of her voice.
The expedition departs at first light," Varmund announced to the assembly. "Five apprentice knights, two senior officers, and one civilian observer. All participants will report to the quartermaster for equipment issue immediately following this briefing. Everyone else, return to your duties but maintain heightened vigilance. Until we know what we're dealing with, no one travels alone outside the camp perimeter."
As the crowd began to disperse, Zepp found herself surrounded by a mixture of congratulations from her supporters and skeptical warnings from those who questioned the wisdom of including an untrained civilian in a potentially dangerous mission.
"Just stay out of the way," Gareth Ironhold advised with poorly concealed hostility. "Real knights have enough to worry about without babysitting refugees who think they're heroes."
But Thyren appeared at her elbow with his characteristic optimistic grin, offering encouragement that felt genuine despite the circumstances. "You'll do fine," he said confidently. "Besides, after three weeks of Saya's training, you're probably better with a sword than half the first-years."
The compliment was kind if somewhat exaggerated, but it helped settle some of the anxiety that was building in her chest as the reality of what she had volunteered for began to sink in.
Dawn came gray and cold, with a mist hanging among the trees that seemed to muffle sound and reduce visibility in ways that made everyone's nerves feel rawer than usual. The expedition assembled at the camp's main gate—a formation that looked reassuringly professional despite consisting of mostly students and trainees.
Commander Mira Varmund led the group, her extensive experience and tactical knowledge making her the obvious choice for mission command. Beside her rode Captain Lydia Stormcrest, a specialist in tracking and wilderness survival whose skills would be essential for reading whatever signs they discovered at the investigation site.
The apprentice knights included Saya, whose light magic and combat abilities made her invaluable for both offense and defense; Caelum Stormwind, whose wind-enhanced archery provided ranged support; Lyanna Brightforge, whose fire magic could serve multiple tactical purposes; Jorik Thornfield, whose supportive enchantments could enhance the group's overall effectiveness; and Vera Nightwhisper, whose shadow magic specialization made her ideal for reconnaissance and stealth operations.
Zepp brought up the rear, feeling simultaneously grateful for the opportunity to contribute and terrified by the responsibility she had accepted. Her borrowed equipment—a reinforced leather vest, a sturdy traveling cloak, and a well-maintained but unremarkable sword—marked her as the group's obvious amateur, but it was functional gear that would serve its purpose if properly used.
The journey to the missing patrol's last known position took most of the morning, following game trails and old logging roads that wound through increasingly dense forest. The terrain was familiar to Zepp from her years of herb-gathering expeditions with Selva, but seeing it through the lens of military operations gave everything a different character. What had once seemed like peaceful woodland now felt full of potential concealment for hostile forces.
As they traveled, Captain Stormcrest pointed out signs that told the story of the missing patrol's passage—hoofprints from their mounts, broken branches where they had pushed through dense undergrowth, the remains of a small cooking fire from their first night's camp. All normal indicators that suggested a routine mission proceeding according to plan.
Until they weren't.
By noon, the expedition had reached what remained of the missing patrol's final campsite, and the scene that greeted them defied easy explanation.
The camp itself was a study in organized destruction. Tents had been shredded by something with claws sharp enough to slice through military-grade canvas as if it were paper, their torn remains fluttering in the fitful breeze like funeral banners. Equipment lay scattered across a wide area—not randomly, but as if it had been deliberately examined and then discarded by something looking for specific items.
Most disturbing of all was the blood. Not the arterial spray pattern that would suggest a quick battle, but something more methodical. Stains that had soaked into the earth in ways that spoke of prolonged bleeding, of wounds inflicted with deliberate care rather than combat fury.
"This wasn't a battle," Captain Stormcrest observed grimly, her expert eye reading the scene with the skill of someone who had investigated dozens of similar sites. "This was... something else."
Varmund nodded agreement, her own examination of the evidence leading to similar conclusions. "No bodies. No drag marks. No indication that anyone was carried away by force." She paused, studying a particularly disturbing pattern of bloodstains. "It's as if they simply... disappeared."
But it was the tracks that truly defied explanation.
Mixed among the normal hoofprints and boot marks left by the missing patrol were footprints unlike anything in the standard bestiaries used for knight training. They were massive—easily twice the size of a human foot—but the shape was wrong for any known creature. Too elongated for bears, lacking the pad structure of great cats, showing claw marks that suggested digits rather than the solid hooves of large herbivores.
"These tracks..." Saya began, then stopped as if struggling to find appropriate words.
"They're not in any of the identification manuals," Vera finished, her shadow magic giving her an intuitive understanding of things that preferred darkness and stealth.
Zepp found herself drawn to the most prominent set of prints, kneeling beside them with a fascination that overrode her conscious fear. As her fingers brushed the damp earth around the impressions, something stirred within her—not the burning power that had awakened during her flight from the tower, but something quieter and more unsettling.
A chill ran down her spine, the same kind of instinctive unease she'd felt as a child when Selva had warned her away from certain parts of the Whispering Vale. Her mentor had always been able to sense when something was fundamentally wrong with a place or situation, and it seemed Zepp had inherited at least a portion of that sensitivity.
"This wasn't human," she whispered, the words emerging without conscious decision.
"No," Varmund agreed grimly. "Nor any natural beast."
As she continued to study the alien footprints, a deep uneasiness settled in her stomach. The tracks reminded her of stories Selva used to tell during winter evenings—tales of creatures that belonged to older, darker times when magic ran wild and the barriers between worlds were thin. She had always assumed those were just stories meant to teach caution, but looking at these impossible prints, she began to wonder if her master's warnings had been more literal than she'd realized.
Something had passed through this place, something that belonged to an older world where the boundaries between reality and nightmare were thinner than most people imagined. Something that had been drawn here by purposes that had nothing to do with random predation or territorial disputes.
Something that was still out there, somewhere in the deep forest where no maps dared to venture and no human authority held sway.
And as the expedition prepared to follow those impossible tracks deeper into the wilderness, Zepp felt a certainty settle into her bones like winter cold: whatever they were about to encounter, it was only the beginning.
The ancient powers that had been stirring since her awakening were no longer content to work from the shadows. They were moving openly now, claiming territory and resources for goals that stretched far beyond the borders of any kingdom.
The missing patrol had been more than victims of circumstance. They had been a message, a declaration of intent from forces that viewed human civilization as an obstacle to be removed rather than a neighbor to be negotiated with.
And the girl who had once delivered healing herbs to grateful villagers was about to come face to face with the true scope of the darkness that had been awakened along with her own mysterious powers.