Another explosion ripped through the night, the sound bouncing off the valley's sides like a rolling drum, echoing again and again until it dissolved into the distant mountains.
"Another one," Ryan muttered, glancing at the middle-aged guard riding with him. "What's causing it?"
The guard squinted into the darkness behind them, the orange glow of distant fires reflecting faintly in his eyes. "Magic… maybe Alchemy. Or it could be those blasted magic cannons those elves have been planning for years. Wouldn't know for sure unless I was right there in the middle of it." He shrugged slightly in the saddle. "Could be one of each, for all I know."
They pressed on.
The forest thinned as the path dipped sharply downward, the descent growing steeper with every turn. What had once been a gradual slope became a narrow, winding track carved into the mountainside, its edges uneven and slick with damp soil. Roots jutted from the ground like grasping fingers, and loose stones shifted beneath the horses' hooves, clattering softly into the darkness below.
Ryan leaned forward slightly, instinctively adjusting his balance as the angle steepened. His legs tensed with each step the horse took, muscles braced against a fall he couldn't quite see but could easily imagine.
The air grew heavier here-thick with the smell of smoke, damp earth, and the faint tang of cooked meat drifting from distant fires. Occasionally, the sharper scent of horses and oiled leather cut through it.
The sounds of the forest changed as well.
Hooves struck packed dirt with dull, rhythmic thuds. Leaves crunched softly beneath their steps. Somewhere below, unseen in the dark, a stream whispered over stone, its cool, clean scent briefly washing against the smoke-laden air before being swallowed again.
And always, there were the explosions.
Once distant, low, rumbling booms that rolled across the mountainside-then nearer, sharper, powerful enough to make the ground tremble faintly beneath them.
Another detonation thundered through the valley, far louder than the rest. Birds burst from the trees in a frantic chorus of wings and cries, vanishing into the night.
The middle-aged guard muttered under his breath. "Shit… I hope Aldric's alright."
The path levelled out, opening into the valley floor. A faint glow appeared ahead, flickering like a mirage through the trees. As they drew closer, the light resolved into torches and small fires scattered across the terrain.
A human encampment.
It sat nestled at the foot of a gentle rise, compact and purposeful. Unlike the first encampment Ryan had seen, this one was smaller—perhaps a couple of hundred people at most. Horses were tethered along the perimeter, their breath steaming faintly in the cool night air. Wooden structures housed supplies and equipment, while canvas tents were clustered tightly together, arranged for efficiency rather than comfort.
Smoke spiralled lazily upward, mixing with the scent of cooking fires and the earthy aroma of trampled soil.
As they approached, the camp reacted instantly.
Sentries snapped to attention, weapons raised in practised motions, silhouettes tense against the torchlight. For a heartbeat, the air bristled with readiness. Guards had bows half-drawn, hands tightening on spear shafts.
Then recognition passed through the line.
Murmurs spread. Shoulders relaxed. Weapons lowered.
Warm nods and brief smiles were exchanged as the soldiers waved in Myna and the others, but the camp never slowed. Men and women moved with stressed urgency—repairing low barricades, setting crude traps along likely approaches, checking ropes and stakes. Hammers struck wood in steady rhythms, tarps rustled in the breeze, and harsh orders carried through the night.
Ryan breathed in deeply.
The air tasted of smoke and iron, burnt wood and damp earth.
They dismounted at the perimeter, tying their horses to thick oak posts driven into the ground. The guards dispersed quickly, some heading toward the makeshift stables, others toward what appeared to be a small food hall where warm light spilled through a wide canvas opening.
Myna gestured for Ryan and Eleanor to follow her.
She guided them through the heart of the camp, past stacked crates and low-burning fires, until they reached a solid structure at its centre. The building was modest but sturdy, its stone walls standing in contrast to the canvas and timber around it.
Inside, the air was cooler.
The scent of aged wood, candle smoke, and ink filled the room. Maps were pinned to the walls-some neatly marked, others cluttered with hastily added notes and symbols. From an open window came the muted sounds of the camp: footsteps, distant voices, the occasional whinny of a horse.
A man in a sturdy chainmail uniform stood waiting.
He straightened as they entered, arms crossing briefly before opening in a restrained gesture of greeting. "You must be the pair Aldric's messenger mentioned," he said, his voice warm but firm. "Follow me."
Myna stepped forward, producing a sealed letter. The commander accepted it carefully, breaking the seal and reading its contents with meticulous attention.
His eyes flicked up once, meeting Ryan's and Eleanor's, before returning to the page.
A long silence followed, broken only by the faint crackle of a fire in the corner-and the muffled echoes of explosions rolling through the mountains around them.
At last, the commander folded the letter, his expression thoughtful.
"This… requires careful consideration," he said slowly, talking to himself. "But I understand the reasoning." He tapped the parchment once. "We will act accordingly."
Outside, the camp remained alive with preparation, torches flickering across canvas walls and casting long shadows into the night.
"Ryan. Eleanor," the commander said, his voice heavy. "Aldric's letter states that it would be best if you both remained hidden from public view."