We set out that morning under a clear sky, spirits high, blades sharp, and hearts lighter than they should've been. A bounty had gone up—eliminate a growing ogre tribe harassing nearby villages. I thought it would be straightforward. A big fight, sure, but nothing we couldn't handle.
But looking back now, I realize how wrong I was.
The first sign of trouble came when Frye stopped laughing. She'd been cracking jokes with Zion up front, bow slung casually across her shoulder. Iris walked beside me, as quiet and graceful as ever, while Mochi stalked ahead through the trees, nose twitching for trouble. It was all so normal. We'd done missions like this a dozen times before.
Then came the silence.
A sudden, unnatural hush fell over the forest. The birds stopped singing. The wind vanished. The trees stood too still.
I opened my mouth to warn the others—but the trap was already springing.
Illusion magic hit us like a wave. Shadows warped, the terrain twisted, and phantom sounds echoed from every direction. A net slammed down around Zion before she could even raise her shield. Frye vanished in a blur of motion and leaves. Mochi howled, claws flashing, but even she was overwhelmed by the sheer number of ambushers.
Ogres. At least ten of them, moving far faster than I ever expected from creatures their size. Bigger than normal, too. Their eyes glowed faintly—enchanted.
I reached for my staff, but a massive club came swinging from my right. I ducked just in time, felt the rush of air over my scalp, and grabbed Iris's hand. "Run!"
We bolted through a narrow path that shouldn't have been there a moment before. The earth cracked beneath us. A ravine swallowed the trail behind us. I barely registered the fall as we tumbled, branches slashing at my arms, until we landed hard in a thicket at the bottom.
I groaned, trying to sit up. My ribs ached. My shoulder felt bruised. But Iris—she was worse off. Her robes were torn, her cheeks scratched, and her breathing came fast and shallow.
I pulled her close, dragging her behind a jutting wall of stone. It formed a shallow cave, hidden and safe—for now.
We stayed like that for several long minutes, both panting. The only sounds were our own strained breaths and the distant roars of ogres in the forest above.
"Iris," I whispered, "are you okay?"
She nodded faintly but didn't speak. Her eyes were wide, unfocused.
I shifted so I could see her better. Her lips were trembling. Her fingers—so steady when she cast divine spells—now shook like leaves.
"Iris," I repeated, softer this time.
She finally looked at me.
"I'm scared," she said.
It wasn't the words themselves that hit me. It was the way she said them—quiet, broken, like she was confessing something shameful.
I reached for her hand, threading my fingers through hers. "It's okay to be scared."
She didn't pull away, but her grip stayed loose, like she wasn't sure she deserved the comfort.
"When I was younger," she said slowly, "my village warned us about ogres. The elders told stories. Horrible ones."
She looked away, jaw tight.
"They said ogres didn't just kill… they took. Especially elven women. They'd drag them away. Breed them. Use them for magic. The stories said the children that came from those pairings were born cursed. Twisted."
My chest tightened. "Those were just stories—"
"No," she interrupted, voice firm for just a second. "They weren't. I lost friends. Girls I trained with. They went out for herbs or patrols and never came back. We found signs—scraps of cloth, broken wands. No bodies. Just silence."
I didn't know what to say. How could I?
"I always thought I'd gotten past it," she whispered. "That I was stronger now. But when I saw them again—those eyes, those nets—I couldn't think. I froze."
"Iris," I said, gripping her hand tighter, "you're brave. You've always been brave. Being scared doesn't make you weak."
Her eyes met mine. Vulnerable. Wet with unshed tears.
"I'm here. And I swear to you—on my life—I'll protect you. No matter what."
Her lower lip quivered.
"I won't let anything touch you. Not while I'm breathing."
There was a long silence. Then, slowly, she leaned forward. Her forehead pressed against mine. Her breath was warm and shaky.
"Thank you," she whispered.
My heart pounded. Not from fear this time—but from something deeper. Something binding.
"I trust you," she said. "More than anyone."
I wanted to respond, but just then, we heard movement above the ravine. Ogres. Close.
I wrapped an arm around her and pulled her deeper into the cave. We stayed huddled there in the dark, pressed close together, heartbeat to heartbeat.
We were still outnumbered. Still trapped.
But now, we had a plan. And we had each other.
And that was enough to start fighting back.