A figure moved with the fluidity of water, a living shadow among shadows, her dark, heavy cloak billowing behind her like a cloud of pure night. The ancient forest of Aethel was a black, velvet shroud around her, the trees looming like skeletal sentinels, their bare branches creaking ominously in the restless wind. The moon was entirely hidden, swallowed by a bruise-colored sky. The only illumination was the faint, ethereal glow of fireflies, their tiny lanterns winking in and out like distant, desperate stars.
Her footsteps were preternaturally light, barely disturbing the leaf litter of the forest floor. Her breathing remained steady and controlled, a testament to long training and iron nerves. She knew these woods; she had walked them a thousand times, mapping every root and hollow. But tonight felt different. Tonight, the silence was deeper, heavier. The gnarled trees seemed to press in closer, their shadows twisting into threatening forms, watching her from the periphery of her vision.
And then, she sensed it—a presence. Not a sound or a scent, but a weight, a feeling of being observed, the ambient magic of the woods suddenly shifted and thickened. The invisible scrutiny made the fine hairs on her arms stand on end. She didn't turn, didn't break her stride, but her pace fastened, the rhythm of her walk shortening.
Her senses went onto high alert, every nerve ending screaming warnings into her conscious mind. She could feel the eyes on her now, hot and heavy, boring into her back, a visceral weight that made her shoulders tense.
She didn't break stride, didn't look back; to show fear was to invite disaster. But her mind was racing, the questions swirling in a vortex of fear and adrenaline. Who was it? A simple poacher? A rival witch? Or something far older and more dangerous that called the deep woods home?
And then, she heard it—a faint rustle, a soft footfall, the undeniable crackle of a dry twig snapping under significant weight. The presence was closer now, maybe ten paces back. She could almost feel its breath, hot and rank, on the back of her neck, though the air remained cold.
Her heart was pounding against her ribs, a frantic, trapped bird. She gathered her energy, preparing for the inevitable confrontation.
And then, suddenly, the presence stopped. The chase was over, replaced by an oppressive silence, the tension almost palpable enough to cut with a knife. She froze, waiting for the attack that felt certain to come.
"Show yourself." She managed to say, pushing the words past a throat suddenly gone dry and trembling.
But there was nothing. No sound, no movement, no presence. The forest was utterly still, the trees motionless once more, the fireflies dark, their tiny lights extinguished in deference to the fear that now permeated the glade.
She closed her eyes, centering her magic, her voice barely above a whisper, the ancient words spilling from her lips like a gentle brook. The language was an old dialect of the Earth-weavers, the tone hypnotic, and the very trees seemed to lean in, as if to catch every sacred syllable.
"Umbra noctis, umbra vitae..."
"Lumen meum, lumen vitae..."
"Arboribus, auris, et animae..."
"Aperi oculos, et vide..."
As she spoke, a soft, ethereal light began to emanate from her upturned palm, casting an otherworldly, shifting glow on the surrounding trees. The light was pale blue, like the first, cold light of a dawn that would never break, and it seemed to pulse with a life of its own, synchronizing with the heartbeat of the forest itself.
The trees began to stir, their massive branches swaying, their leaves rustling in a sound like distant applause, as if they were being awakened from a deep slumber. The air was instantly filled with the sweet, heavy scent of blossoming flowers and fresh moss, replacing the scent of fear. The air was filled with a soft, melodic whispering that seemed to come from every direction at once.
The trees began to move, their massive trunks shifting, their roots writhing like living serpents beneath the churned earth. The ground trembled, the earth shaking, as if the very forest itself was rising up to answer her call.
The light from her hand grew brighter, more demanding, illuminating the darkest recesses of the forest floor, cutting through the heavy shadow where the presence had been. The trees loomed, their branches outstretched like the arms of giants awakened from a thousand-year sleep.
The woman's voice rose, stronger now, the words pouring from her lips like a river of honey and power. The pale blue light surged, bathing the entire forest glade in a warm, golden glow.
"Umbra noctis, umbra vitae..."
"Lumen meum, lumen vitae..."
"Arboribus, auris, et animae..."
"Aperi oculos, et vide..."
The forest was transformed, the trees now towering sentinels of light, their branches woven together, forming a protective canopy of twisted, gothic arches that hummed with energy. The air was thick with mystical power, the very essence of the forest pulsing with life, commanded by her words.
The woman's voice faded, the words dying away, leaving only the soft, melodic whispering of the trees. The light from her hand dimmed, returning to the soft, pale blue glow, but the forest remained bathed in the ethereal light, a beacon in the darkness. It was then that the light revealed the pair of immense, blazing yellow eyes hiding just within the heavy shadows of a thicket.
"What are you doing here Alvira?" The voice that followed the eyes was a deep, resonant growl, more beast than man, vibrating through the very soles of her feet.