The Wilds woke in whispers. Mist coiled low along the roots, and the fire had dwindled to nothing but a ghost of smoke.
Rael rose first, checking the charms Herbert had strung between the trees. The bells and herbs hung silent. No intruders. No safety either—just silence.
Alice sat up, stifling a yawn. "You two ever sleep?"
Herbert smirked without humor. "Rest is for people who don't know what hunts them."
Lyra buckled her blades across her hips, flashing teeth in a grin. "Don't worry, old man. If you drop, I'll make sure your staff doesn't go to waste."
Herbert's eyes narrowed. "Steel rattles loudest before it breaks."
"Then maybe you'll hear mine sing," she shot back, brushing the hilt at her hip.
Rael gave them both a glance sharp enough to cut the air, but Elara's small tug at his sleeve pulled him down beside her. She blinked sleep from her green-flecked eyes until he placed dried fruit in her hand. She held it like treasure, eating with quiet care.
Daren stretched, joints popping. "Better than a dungeon floor. Worse than a bed."
Alice arched a brow. "That's your good morning?"
"Still breathing. That counts," he muttered, washing his face in the stream.
The group ate quickly and moved on. Light cut through the canopy in fractured beams. Elara stayed near Rael, her hand brushing his now and then—testing, retreating, returning again.
They walked in silence until her voice came, small but steady:
"Rael… why does the forest feel sad?"
Everyone halted.
Alice frowned. "Sad?"
Elara tilted her head, listening to what none of them could hear. "It hums. Like someone crying… but hiding it."
Herbert tapped his staff once, the sound sharp in the quiet. "Mock a child's instinct, and you dig your own grave. I've seen too many do just that."
No one laughed after that.
By midday, they reached a stream. The water shimmered unnaturally bright, and when Rael dipped his hand, the ripples spread farther than they should have—like the current carried something watching. His fingers brushed his sword.
Herbert's gaze swept the trees. "The Wilds don't rest. They only wait."
Elara trailed her fingers in the stream, then froze. Her voice dropped to a whisper.
"…It's here."
The forest answered her.
Branches creaked. Leaves shifted where no wind blew. Shadows slid against the light, stretching wrong.
Lyra's grin was gone now. "How many?"
Herbert's knuckles whitened around his staff. "Too quiet to tell."
Rael stood, his voice calm but commanding. "Circle up. Don't let her out of reach."
The group tightened. Elara clung to Alice's side, trembling.
The Wilds went still. Even the mist seemed to hold its breath.
Then—snap. A branch broke. Heavy. Deliberate. Close.
The sound rolled through the trees like a warning.
Daren hefted his shield with a mutter. "So much for gentle dawns."
And in the haze ahead, eyes glowed.
Watching.
Waiting.