The campfire crackled softly, sending sparks spiraling into the night sky. Its amber glow danced across the trees, painting fleeting shadows that swayed with the whispering wind. The rustle of leaves and the faint stirrings of the forest only deepened the silence that held the clearing.
Four figures sat quietly, the flames reflected in their eyes, each silence heavy with unspoken thought.
"He still hasn't woken up," Lyra finally broke the silence, her voice gentle yet uneasy.
"I'd cast Heal twice just to make sure. Still no reaction. His body doesn't have wounds, no even fracture or internal bleeding..."
Serena replied, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
"That guy..is just suspicious."
Darrian muttered, Eyes Narrowed "To be wandering alone in this forest is questionable enough."
"If he truly turns out to be an evil dark mage," Berron said coldly, his gaze fixed on the figure lying motionless beside the tent, "I'll cut him down without hesitation."
The youth just lay wrapped only in a thin cloth, his face serene, as though untouched by the unease around him.
Night deepened, and weariness began to press upon the camp.
"Who will take the first watch?" Darrian asked, brushing dirt and fallen leaves from his trousers as he rose.
"I will," Berron answered at once, his eyes never leaving the sleeping stranger.
Lyra and Serena, weary from the long day, withdrawing themselves into the tent into deep slumber.
With Darrian staying resting beside the unconscious youth, while waiting for his watch turn. The flames crackled softly, shadows bending and stretching with every gust of wind that passed through the clearing.
Berron sat across from them, arms crossed, his gaze sharp and unwavering on the stranger. The silence of the forest pressed in, broken only by the occasional call of an owl and the restless hiss of burning wood.
Time crept forward. The night grew colder, the stars wheeling slowly above. And though their camp seemed calm, there was an uneasy weight in the forest air that kind only dark forbidden forest could hold.
At last, the black of night softened. A pale gray bled into the horizon, and the first breath of dawn slipped through the trees. Mist clung low to the undergrowth, coiling around roots and stones like ghostly fingers. Each leaf glittered with beads of dew, fragile jewels trembling in the chill air.
The campfire had burned to nothing but ash. Birds began their tentative chorus, their calls thin and distant, as if hesitant to disturb the forest's lingering gloom.
From the tent, Lyra and Serena emerged, stretching their weary limbs, their breaths clouding faintly in the morning air. Their gazes drifted at once to the youth still lying motionless upon the ground. His breathing was calm, steady—but there was no sign of him waking.
Serena knelt beside him, brushing her hand lightly over his brow. "He's still unconscious" she whispered, her tone heavy with concern. Not sure what's wrong with the guy. She even make sure to check his breath and pulse to make sure he still alive.
"HEAL!" She then cast heal once more just to make him conscious but still no reaction.
Darrian stepped closer to Serena, the weight of command etched into his features. His voice was low but firm.
"You must conserve your mana, Serena. We don't know what awaits us deeper in this forest. And we can't linger here any longer. If he doesn't wake after breakfast, someone will have to carry him."
Not far away, Berron and Lyra sat in silence. Their steady gazes carried the unspoken agreement at what their leader's decision.
Not long after, the women turned to their morning task, preparing a simple meal amidst the pale light of dawn. The scent of kindling and herbs drifted faintly in the cool air, while the men were granted a brief moment of rest after the long night's vigil.
When breakfast was finished, the party began readying themselves to move on. The forest remained cool and damp, its air sharp with the freshness of morning. Dew clung to every leaf, shimmering like glass, and small birds called to one another in bright, scattered bursts, their voices echoing through the mist-veiled canopy.
It was decided that Lyra would bear the burden of carrying the unconscious youth. With her strength and endurance, she alone could manage the weight. Berron and Darrian, serving as the party's vanguard, had to keep their hands free and blades ready, ever prepared for a sudden attack. For that reason, neither could afford to carry him. As Serena petite frame could not bear the weight of the unconscious youth.
Thus, with their roles set and the path ahead uncertain, the party pressed forward into the heart of the forest, where shadows lingered long and the promise of peril waited in silence.
Drawing a long breath, Lyra bent down and carefully hoisted the young man onto her back. His weight pressed heavily against her shoulders—more burdensome than she had expected—but she steadied herself, resolve hardening in her chest.
"Wake soon," she murmured under her breath, "before I lose my patience with you."
The party pressed onward through the mist-veiled forest. Morning light slowly gathered strength, shafts of gold breaking through the canopy, warming the damp earth beneath their feet. Dew melted into droplets, slipping from leaves as the forest stirred fully awake.
The mist still hung heavy, curling between the trees. The forest felt vast and indifferent, watching them with unseen eyes as they began to steel themselves for the journey ahead.
Lyra shifted the youth on her back, sweat beading lightly at her brow.
Seeing that Berron let out a low growl. "When is this guy going to wake up?"
Frustration burned in his chest, though his concern was not for the stranger but for Lyra, who bore the weight without complaint.
"I–I've examined him again and again," Serena stammered, guilt flickering in her eyes. "But I still don't know what's wrong with his body."
Darrian exhaled heavily, forcing calm into his voice. "We must be patient. Anger serves us nothing right now. What matters is that we keep moving and protect one another." Yet despite his words, the furrow in his brow betrayed the worry he carried for his party.
As for Lyra, burdened with the unconscious youth, she kept her silence—grumbling only to the quiet of her heart.