The night deepened.
The fires of the camp flickered, throwing long, uneven shadows across the desert sand. The knights remained vigilant, their eyes on the forest, blades resting in readiness. Horses shifted uneasily, snorting into the cold night air. Even the princess sat silently, observing the treeline with an expression that revealed nothing—yet seemed to weigh everything.
Sylas did not move.
He stayed at the edge of the camp, near the desert, his blanket wrapped tightly around him. Every nerve was alert, every instinct sharp. He knew what the forest held. He could feel it: a hunger lingering just beyond the firelight, unseen but real.
And then he saw it.
A shadow detached itself from the darkness.
It was tall. Thin. Elongated in ways no human could be. It slid silently between the trees, moving with a patience that made the hair on Sylas's arms rise.
Another followed.
Then another.
The knights stiffened. Hands tightened on hilts. The captain's gaze swept the line like steel.
But the shadows did not attack. They paused at the edge of the firelight, as if testing, measuring. Watching. Waiting.
Sylas's mind worked faster than his pulse.
They won't come into the open unless provoked, he thought. The knights will hold the forest line. They're bound by rules… by duty. That's their chain.
He scanned the camp quickly. The young knight near the crates—his scapegoat if the chaos came—shifted nervously. The firelight glinted off the swords of the others, highlighting every disciplined stance, every rigid posture.
Sylas remained still, head lowered, eyes tracking the shapes in the darkness.
Instinct first. Observation first. Reaction second.
The shadows moved closer to the forest edge, stopping just beyond the reach of torchlight. There was no wind. No sound, except for the soft crackle of the campfires and the horses' restless hooves. And yet Sylas could feel the weight of presence, the tension pressing on him like a physical force.
He remembered the desert. The empty, open dunes behind him. They offered freedom. No hiding monsters. No twisted roots to trip over. If the forest attacked, if the knights fell into chaos… that desert was the only path left.
But for now, he stayed.
He would not flee. Not yet.
Sylas's mind raced with possibilities:
If the shadows moved now, the knights would defend the princess. The young knight would panic. Crates would fall. Horses would bolt. Chaos would erupt.
And in that chaos… I move. I survive.
He did not twitch. He did not breathe heavily. Every muscle stayed relaxed, every motion hidden beneath the guise of a weak, frightened child.
And yet inside, every thought was sharp as steel.
The shadows lingered at the edge of the firelight, patient, deliberate, waiting for the moment to strike.
Sylas's blue eyes glimmered faintly in the fire's glow.
The forest is alive.
The desert is freedom.
And I… will survive.
The night stretched on. The camp remained tense. The shadows did not retreat.
And Sylas waited—
silent, still, and ready for the first move.