They had only just reached a break in the trees when three figures stepped into the trail ahead.
Black cloaks. Masks of dark steel that caught the moonlight in cold glints. Each carried a curved blade already slick with blood.
Sylas stopped dead, shoving Midadol behind him. His fingers curled around the hilt of Ealgian.
"Stay close," he murmured, shifting his stance. "When I move, follow behind closely."
The three cloaked figures spread out, their steps soundless on the leaf littered ground. One tilted his head, as though amused by Sylas's defiance.
He was ready to strike, when the forest erupted.
A whisper of steel. A flicker of movement in the shadows.
In the space of a heartbeat, the black cloaked attackers fell to the dirt, each impaled by a dagger in the throat. The wind seemed to carry the smell of oiled leather and crushed pine as shapes emerged from the darkness, five armored figures clad in muted, thorn patterned plate, their faces hidden beneath half masks.
The leader, a tall man whose armor bore the Falcrest crest etched in blackened steel, glanced at Sylas. "Sir Sylas," he said, his voice low but firm. "You're coming with us."
Two of the Thorns broke from the group, a lithe woman with twin short blades strapped across her back, and a broad-shouldered man with a short sword in hand.
"You'll be under our guard until you reach the safe house near the border," the woman said without preamble. Her voice was calm, clipped.
Midadol blinked. "Safe house? Near the border? Since when…?"
"It's one of several," Sylas replied quickly, his eyes still scanning the treeline. "I only know about them because my father told me. They're meant for the royal family… in the worst of times."
The male Thorn stepped forward, offering a curt nod. "The path is clear for now. Stay close. Do not speak unless necessary."
Sylas adjusted his grip on Ealgian, feeling the weight of its promise in his hand. "Lead the way."
And without another word, the Thorns took point, guiding them deeper into the night.
The forest thickened around them as the group pressed forward, footsteps muffled by fallen leaves and the steady rhythm of urgency. Sylas kept a vigilant eye on the shadows, Ealgian resting lightly at his side. Midadol's breath was shallow, her hand tightening nervously on his arm.
"Sir Sylas," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "Did Father send these Thorns to help us?"
Sylas glanced at her, his expression grave. Before he could answer, a soft voice drifted from just behind them.
"he did, Princess," said the lithe woman with the twin blades strapped to her back. She stepped forward into the moonlight, lowering her hood. Her sharp eyes glimmered with calm authority. "I am Kaelen. It was Sir Aldric's direct order that we assist Sir Sylas tonight."
Midadol blinked, surprised but reassured. "Kaelen…" she repeated softly. "Thank you."
Kaelen gave a brief nod. "You'll be safe with us. That is our duty."
Sylas watched the exchange quietly, then refocused on the path ahead. "We move quickly now. Stay close."
With Kaelen at his side and her companion Corvan following silently behind, Sylas led Midadol deeper into the forest, the safe house awaiting beyond the border's reach a haven in the storm
The moonlight faded beneath the dense canopy as they approached a small clearing. Suddenly, from the shadows ahead, a massive shape lumbered into view.
A towering ogre, gripped a colossal war hammer, the metal head scarred and stained from countless battles. Beside it, a cloaked figure slipped forward silently, hood drawn low to hide their face.
Sylas's breath caught. Without hesitation, he shoved Midadol behind him and into Kaelen's arms.
"Stay close!" he commanded, his voice sharp.
Kaelen caught the princess easily, holding her protectively as Sylas stepped forward, hand moving toward Ealgian's hilt.
Corvan was quicker, drawing a short sword from his belt with a quick motion. The cloaked man responded instantly, steel meeting steel with a sharp clang.
Before Sylas could react further, the clash between Corvan and the cloaked figure erupted a flurry of swift strikes and parries beneath the quiet canopy.
Corvan glanced over his shoulder and motioned sharply to Kaelen. "Move. Now."
Kaelen nodded, gripping Midadol tighter as she began to lead her away through the underbrush.
The ogre swung its war hammer in a heavy arc toward Sylas, who tightened his grip and squared his stance, ready to meet the blow head-on.
The forest seemed to hold its breath, the fate of their flight hanging on the edge of the war hammer's swing.
The ogre swung its massive war hammer in a heavy arc toward Sylas, who tightened his grip and squared his stance, ready to meet the blow head-on.
But before the weapon could come crashing down, the ogre suddenly shifted its target, a brutal swing aimed toward Kaelen and Midadol as they hurried through the underbrush.
Sylas's eyes widened. Without hesitation, he thrust out his palm, drawing forth a flicker of red aether that burst into a blazing ball of fire.
"Fire!" he shouted.
The flame streaked through the air, striking the side of the ogre's head with a sizzling roar. The creature staggered, snarling in pain as it reeled back from the unexpected assault.
Kaelen gripped Midadol tighter and quickened their pace, disappearing deeper into the shadowed trees.
The ogre roared in fury, eyes blazing with rage as it advanced, each heavy step shaking the earth beneath their feet.
Sylas took a steady breath, planting his feet firmly on the uneven ground. His grip tightened on Ealgian's hilt, and suddenly, a faint, urgent whisper echoed in his mind, soft as a breeze yet sharp as a blade.
"Leap back… now."
Instinctively, Sylas listened, springing backward just as the ogre's war hammer smashed down where he had stood a heartbeat before. The ground exploded in a shower of dirt and shattered stone.
The sword felt heavier in his hand, warmth pulsing stronger, as if the blade itself was bracing for the fight ahead.
Sylas summoned a ball of fire and sent it spiraling toward the ogre's head. The flames blazed bright only for the beast to lunge aside, narrowly avoiding the attack.
Frustration surged as a clear memory cut through his panic.
"Magic is a tool," his father's voice echoed, "But it is not everything. It won't save you if your feet are planted wrong and your guard is open."
Sylas barely had time to adjust his footing before the ogre's massive war hammer slammed into him with brutal force.
The impact sent him crashing backward, skidding against rough bark as he was slammed toward a towering tree. Pain shot through his ribs, breath knocked from his lungs.
He gasped, attempting to grip Ealgian tightly to steady himself, the weight of the sword becoming heavier to him even as his vision blurred.
The ogre growled, closing in with relentless fury.
Sylas barely had time to brace himself before the ogre's massive form loomed over him. Still dazed from the impact against the tree, he struggled to rise, but before he could even reach for Ealgian, the sword lay just beyond his grasp on the forest floor.
Without hesitation, the ogre's huge hand shot out and snatched Sylas up into the air. Suspended helplessly, Sylas's eyes darted toward his sword, the faint warmth of Ealgian now a distant comfort.
The ogre's grip locked around Sylas's ribs, hoisting him high into the air and shaking him like a rag doll. Each jolt sent knives of pain through his chest, his vision warping in dizzy waves. Below him, Ealgian lay just out of reach, glinting faintly in the moonlight.
Somewhere in the distance, far beyond the chaos of the battle a thin beam of light flared from the direction of the castle. It was gone in an instant, too brief to understand, but it burned into his fading vision like an afterimage.
The ogre roared, its hand tightening, and the edges of the world began to dissolve into shadow. Sylas's head lolled forward, breath shallow, just as something unseen struck the monster's wrist with sudden, violent force. Its fingers sprang open, and he plummeted to the ground.
Through the ringing in his ears, he barely registered the faint clink of steel sliding across the dirt. Ealgian landed beside him, its hilt turning just enough to face his hand as though placed there on purpose.
But his arm wouldn't move. Darkness swallowed him before his fingers could touch the blade.
The world tilted in and out of focus, each breath a struggle. Sylas lay sprawled in the dirt, his chest burning where the ogre's grip had crushed him. Ealgian rested just beyond his reach, its faint glow a cruel reminder of how powerless he was.
Through the haze, he caught flashes of Corvan locked in fierce combat with the hooded man blades ringing, sparks scattering into the night. But then, the hooded man's gaze flicked past Corvan, settling on Sylas.
Even through the fog clouding his mind, Sylas felt the chill of that look.
The man feinted a strike at Corvan, forcing him back, then lunged toward Sylas dagger low, aimed for his throat.
Sylas tried to move, but his limbs felt like stone. The world slowed to a crawl, every heartbeat pounding in his ears. Steel gleamed in the moonlight, drawing closer and then Corvan was there.
He shoved Sylas aside, taking the full force of the dagger to his chest.
For an instant, Corvan's eyes locked with Sylas's not with fear, but with grim, steady resolve. Blood welled between his teeth as he forced the hooded man back with a desperate swing of his short sword, buying only a heartbeat before the blade in his chest was twisted cruelly.
Corvan crumpled to the ground beside Sylas. His breath rattled, each word costing him.
"Baphomet… is coming…" he whispered, voice barely more than air.
His gaze went glassy, the last of his strength gone.
Sylas's vision blurred from grief or exhaustion, he couldn't tell until movement drew his eyes to Ealgian. The sword trembled where it lay, its glow flaring into a blinding radiance. Before his widening eyes, the steel seemed to bend like liquid light, lengthening and reshaping until a small figure stood before him.
She looked no older than him with hair like spun gold and two luminous wings stretching from her back. Her eyes, the same molten-gold hue as Ealgian's steel, locked onto his.
She raised one delicate hand, palm outward, and her voice rang clear in his mind.
"Barra."
A dome of shimmering light burst outward, enclosing them both in a protective barrier just as the hooded man lunged again. The impact against the ward rippled like water, holding firm unshaken, unyielding.
Sylas stared, heart hammering. "Ealgian…? Why are you…?"
"Stand, Sylas Falcrest," she interrupted, her tone unyielding, gaze cutting through his confusion.
He swallowed hard, forcing his trembling arms beneath him. Every movement sent pain flaring through his battered ribs, his breath ragged. His knees threatened to buckle, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up.
The hooded man paced just beyond the barrier, eyes locked on Sylas with predatory focus. The light from the ward bathed them in an almost warm glow, steadying his breath.
Ealgian's voice softened, though urgency still threaded through it.
"When this barrier falls, I will return to my sword form. I cannot hold this shape for long… not yet. Be ready to wield me."
Sylas clenched his fists, his voice low but firm despite the ache in his chest.
"…Alright. I'm standing."
The hooded man's dagger scraped uselessly against the barrier again, sending sparks dancing across the shimmering surface. His expression was hidden, but Sylas could feel the weight of his murderous intent pressing through the ward.
Ealgian's wings shivered, the light of the barrier flickering faintly. "Now," she said, voice cutting through the chaos.
The dome shattered like glass struck from within shards of light cascading outward and dissolving into the night air. In the same instant, her form folded in on itself, silver hair and radiant wings collapsing back into a streak of molten steel that dropped neatly into Sylas's waiting hands.
Ealgian's familiar weight settled in his grip, but it felt… different now. Alive. His pulse beat in time with the hum of the blade, their wills aligned in perfect clarity.
The hooded man surged forward, his dagger poised for a killing blow but Sylas was already moving.
Their clash rang out like a bell in the night. Sylas caught the dagger on Ealgian's edge, sparks bursting between them, and with a twist of his body drove the hooded man off balance. Ealgian's voice echoed in his mind, steady and certain. Now, strike.
He stepped in and brought the blade across in a single, decisive arc.
The steel tore through the man's guard, biting deep into his side. The hood fell back as the figure staggered, revealing glimpses of his arms ink black markings spiraling up from his wrists to vanish beneath his sleeves. The sigils pulsed faintly, unnatural, almost alive.
Blood ran down the corner of his mouth, but instead of a cry of pain, a low chuckle escaped his throat. It grew into a rasping laugh, broken and wet, yet laced with a strange satisfaction.
"...Sylas Falcrest…" he wheezed, his head tilting as if studying him through the shadow of his hood. "Don't be late… again."
Before Sylas could respond, the markings along the man's arms flared with a sickly light, his body shuddering violently. In the next heartbeat, he crumbled into drifting motes of black dust, carried away on the wind until nothing remained.
The battlefield went silent in the wake of his passing, save for the faint hum of Ealgian in Sylas's hands.
Sylas stood frozen, the final whisper still echoing in his head. Don't be late again… His grip tightened on Ealgian, the weight of the words sinking like lead into his chest.
"What did he mean…?" Sylas muttered under his breath, eyes lingering on the spot where the man had turned to dust.
Ealgian's voice came quietly at first, almost hesitant, yet edged with urgency. Baphomet is coming.
Sylas blinked, his focus snapping back to the blade in his hand. "Baphomet?"
Those sigils on his arms were not normal, she continued, her tone darkening. They reeked of a distinct demon's smell. One I know all too well.
A chill ran down Sylas's spine. "A demon? Here?"
Yes… and if the name he spoke is true, then this battle was only a shadow of what's coming.
The warning lingered between them, heavier than the silence of the battlefield. Sylas exhaled slowly, a knot of unease twisting in his gut.
Sylas staggered forward, every step heavy with fatigue and lingering shock. Ealgian remained in her sword form, glinting faintly at his side, silent and unyielding as always. He gripped the hilt, still trying to process what had just happened the hooded man's cryptic words, the strange markings, and the sheer intensity of the battle.
Sylas Falcrest, the whisper came softly from Ealgian, I am exhausted. I cannot speak further. Do not get into trouble. Reach the safe house.
Sylas nodded, swallowing hard, though part of him still wanted answers. "Right… safe house," he murmured, forcing his legs to carry him down the shadowed path.
The castle was behind him, chaos fading into the distance, but the memory of the hooded man's laugh and the words "Sylas Falcrest, don't be late again" burned in his mind.
He glanced down at Ealgian, the sword warm in his hands, and tightened his grip. "I'll be ready," he whispered, though for now all he could do was keep moving.
Step by step, the safe house drew closer, a faint, welcoming glow in the distance. Sylas knew that once he reached it, answers would have to wait until he needed to survive the night first.