They ran as fast as they could — pursued by a horde of villagers, thirsty for hatred and misplaced vengeance.
Mireille led Silas through the trees without a word, slipping and weaving through the leaves until the lights of the village disappeared completely behind them.
The goal was simple. Reach the clearing. Find the horses. Leave.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Once they were within a reasonable margin of safety, the silence along the way suddenly fell, heavy and exhausting.
Silas could hear nothing but his own thoughts, each one sharper and more voracious than the last, tearing at his already fragile conscience with tiny, non-existent bites.
'All of this... it's my fault. If they had never seen me... If I had never gone there, they would still be alive. Their village wouldn't have—'
The thought could never be finished.
Indeed, continuing to walk without looking, too busy beating himself up, he almost stumbled, but Mireille caught him and placed a firm hand — honed during her years in the military — on the young boy's back to steady him.
It was a simple, almost natural gesture, as if she were bringing a child back onto the right path. And in a sense, that was exactly what she was doing.
The Wrightons' servant waited until they had crossed a dense patch of trees before coming to an abrupt halt and pulling the poor teenager behind one of the trunks.
The squirrels that lived there — startled by the sudden sound of rustling and falling leaves — squeaked indignantly at the pair of humans who were disturbing them in the middle of the night.
"Young Master... breathe. You're safe, for now." Mimi said, more or less calmly.
Her own breathing was still a little ragged from the combined effort of running back and forth — from the forest to the village, then from the village back to the forest — and also from the skirmishes and fights she had had to engage in that night.
And after so many years without facing a threat of this magnitude, this fight had forced her to draw on her resources.
But that didn't matter to her.
Silas nodded without answering. Shame burned in his throat.
'She still has to reassure me... even after that.' He thought, frustrated and above all disgusted by his own weakness and lack of endurance — not to mention his guilt.
Soon, they set off again and had to zigzag through the bushes and tall grass once more in case their pursuers from the village were still on their trail.
As for the possibility of other monstrous envoys from Sentios, Mireille didn't even want to think about it.
***
Before long, they reached the clearing they had left earlier. Nothing had really changed there, and this almost untouched normality made Silas grimace.
The horses were still tied to the trees, feeding peacefully on the surrounding grass.
The corpses of the creatures Mimi had dealt with still lay on the ground, although some seemed to be slowly dispersing, revealing the magical cores that had been grafted inside them.
All the chaos in the village seemed unreal from here, as if only he still bore the marks of it.
However, they couldn't delay, as the corpses would inevitably attract scavengers or other wild animals.
And neither Mireille nor Silas was in any condition to deal with another ambush or attack.
Silas mounted his horse and turned his head in the direction of the poor village whose name he did not even know.
"I... I'll go back there one day. To apologise. To... do something."
Mireille shook her head sharply.
"One day, surely, yes... But not now, not in these times. It would be suicide."
The servant fixed her gaze on the road ahead and exhaled. Then she raised her eyes, admiring the white moon that stood gracefully in the sky like the focal point in a tapestry.
"...Don't burden yourself with what isn't your fault, young master. That is more my duty, as a servant."
He did not reply.
But the young nobleman thought otherwise.
'She's saying that to spare my feelings.'
As his psyche was already tormenting him terribly, his maid's attempts at appeasement seemed to drive the invisible thorns of his guilt even deeper into his mind.
***
Some time later, they had already ventured deep into the forest and emerged from it, crossing a small rocky plateau where the wind whistled between the stones.
The moon was rapidly declining in the sky, tinting the tree trunks with a colour somewhere between purple and sickly orange.
Silas felt the fatigue of a sleepless night overwhelming him, but fear prevented the young man from slowing down.
Continuing their forced escape without taking any long breaks, at the risk of perhaps being caught by other monsters sent by Sentios, they reached the edge of an old cemetery overgrown with moss, not far from a waterfall — whose murmur barely covered the frantic beating of his heart.
Exhausted and overwhelmed, Silas felt the lack of sleep clearly undermining his thought process.
And the atrocities he had experienced during the night did not help to make him any more calm.
He opened his mouth to say something — perhaps to apologise again to people who would surely not hear him from where he stood — but Mireille raised her hand.
A shadow had just slipped between two graves. All the pair of travellers heard was a wet sound. Then a hoarse, animalistic breath.
"They're still chasing us..." said Silas, his throat tightening.
Inwardly, he added:
'Of course they're chasing us. Because of me.'
Mireille, on guard, instinctively moved in front of him and imperceptibly grabbed the hilt of his sword.
"Stay behind me, Master Silas."
No sooner had she finished her sentence than other silhouettes emerged from the darkness, jerky, hungry.
Silas felt his legs tremble.
'I'm going to slow her down again... put her in danger again.'
He wanted to back away, but his mount — frightened by the appearance of the grotesque creatures, oscillating between humanoid and animal, more precisely dead foxes, abnormally large and in a state of decomposition — reared up and threw the teenager to the ground, who landed face down in the dust.
Silas got up as quickly as he could and tried to steady his horse, while Mireille tried to get in front of him.
But she reacted too late.
The creatures lunged.