The journey north was a race against time. Leos and Minoros, the two warriors entrusted by King Kyros to find the Tears of Brimora, dared not stop for even a moment. The road was rough and covered with dust and gravel, each step feeling heavier than the last. Zaphurne, their loyal draft beast, was given no rest either. It ran tirelessly, chewing hastily on bundles of dry grass that Minoros tossed to it from the back of the wagon.
After three days of crossing vast plains, they entered a dense pine forest. The tall trees, their trunks coated with green moss, stood like silent sentinels guarding this frozen land. The air grew sharper; each breath turned to pale mist in the frigid air. It was a clear sign that they were nearing the foot of the snowy mountain—where the Tears of Brimora were said to lie hidden.
Leos checked the enchanted compass gifted by King Kyros. Its face, crimson like blood at the start of their journey, had now begun to shift into a faint blue hue. They were on the right path, though the compass told them they still had two more days ahead.
By the fourth night, the pine forest sank into an eerie silence. The wind whistled through the branches, blending with the crunch of thin snow beneath their boots to form a strange, haunting melody. Leos and Minoros decided to stop and let Zaphurne rest. The beast was exhausted after days of relentless running—its eyes heavy, yet still burning with determination.
They built a small camp in a clearing between the trees and lit a fire for warmth. Their breath rose in smoky wisps in the freezing air; their faces were tense, their words few. Leos sat close to the fire, his fingers tracing the red chain tattoos around his wrists, eyes sharp and watchful of the shadows. Minoros, his large axe resting beside him, checked Zaphurne's reins, making sure the creature was securely tied.
Suddenly, Zaphurne grew restless. The beast jerked its reins and let out sharp, guttural cries—as if sensing danger nearby. Leos shot to his feet, tightening the golden chains coiled around his wrists. The tattooed marks began to flicker faintly with light. Minoros gripped his axe handle, his gaze cutting through the pale fog that shrouded the forest.
From the darkness, a colossal shape emerged. It was huge, grotesque—like a beast draped in a cloak of white fur. From within that cloak, countless gray, skeletal arms slithered out, writhing like serpents. At its center flickered a crimson light—whether an eye or something far more terrible, neither of them could tell. Its scream tore through the still forest, shaking the very ground beneath their feet.
"What is that…?" Minoros whispered, stepping back, axe ready in his hands.
"No idea. But it's not here to greet us," Leos replied, his voice low but resolute. "Get ready."
The creature lunged forward—fast as a blizzard. Leos whipped his golden chain, sparks of divine light bursting like fire. The chain struck the monster, staggering it. Minoros wasted no time; he charged from the side and swung his axe, severing one of its skeletal arms. A splash of bright red fluid sprayed out, hissing into black smoke that filled the air with a foul stench.
But the creature did not fall. It roared and lashed out, striking Minoros and hurling him into a pine trunk. He fell hard, blood streaking his cheek. Leos's eyes blazed as he leapt forward, summoning the divine strength of Elion. His twin chains shot out, wrapping around the monster's body in golden light. The creature writhed, struggling violently against its bonds.
"Now!" Leos shouted, his voice raw with effort.
Despite the pain, Minoros pushed himself up with a snarl and swung his axe one final time. The blade cut deep, cleaving through the writhing arms. The monster shrieked—a cry of agony that echoed through the trees—then turned and fled into the mist, its form swallowed by the darkness of the forest.
Both warriors gasped for breath. Leos dropped to one knee, clutching the now-dim chains in his hands. Minoros reached out and pulled him up, his voice hoarse. "Let's move. This place isn't safe."
They packed quickly, leaving the clearing behind. The forest, once their refuge, now felt like a lurking threat. Zaphurne, weary but steadfast, trudged onward, pulling the wagon loaded with supplies and winter gear. Leos checked the compass again—the needle glowed a deeper blue. They were getting closer. Yet danger was far from over.
As they continued, the shadows of the forest swallowed the faint glow of their abandoned campfire. Leos led the way, eyes sharp yet tired, one hand never leaving the golden chains. He thought of his promise to King Kyros—to return safely—and of Aerax, whose life depended on the Tears of Brimora. But deep down, an unease stirred within him. The monster they had faced was not the only threat here. This silent forest seemed to hide something older, something ancient that watched their every move.
Minoros, blood still trickling from the wound on his cheek, walked firmly beside him. He was not a man of many words, but his determination burned like fire. The Tears of Brimora were more than a relic—they were the last hope to save his comrade, the one who carried the blessing of Krasious. He glanced at Leos, his companion through countless perils, and felt a deep sense of trust. Whatever awaited them, they would face it together.
When the first rays of dawn pierced through the thick pines, Leos and Minoros pressed onward. Zaphurne, though weary to the bone, never stopped moving. They said nothing, but both understood the same truth: this forest was only the beginning. The snowy mountain ahead awaited them—with its secrets, its trials, and its dangers yet untold.