“Footwork, lass,” Loren barked one early morning, gesturing with a blunt wooden sword toward her stance. “Your pivot’s half a breath too slow. Again.”
Asil merely nodded, focusing on the slight shift in her weight. She glided across the dusty ground, countering each of Loren’s swipes with a controlled movement that almost resembled a dance. The younger men—Frederick, Stewart, Martin, Baum, and Clive—often halted their own drills to gape at how swiftly she picked up Loren’s most complex maneuvers. By the end of each session, sweat glistened on Asil’s brow, yet an excited spark burned in her eyes.
Come midday, Abby would join the others in practice, though her hours were split between the courtyard and the kitchen. In the mornings, she helped Geraldine—Loren’s wife—knead dough or stir stew in the large stone hearth. Her newfound Shadow Dancer agility helped her navigate the bustling kitchen without tripping over pots. In the afternoons, she joined the recruits for a few basic drills, impressing them with her unexpected quickness. More than once, she left Frederick sputtering in disbelief when she vanished into a corner’s shadow mid-spar, reappearing a moment later behind his shoulder.
When the sun dipped behind the fortress walls in the evenings, Asil and Loren would practice one-on-one. He would finish overseeing the men’s group drills, clap them off to chores or mess duty, and then take Asil aside for a final hour of intense sparring. Abby, exhausted from her half-day in the courtyard, sometimes watched from a stone bench, a bowl of stew in her lap.
After Loren retired for the night, Asil wasn’t finished. She would slip away to an unoccupied corner of the courtyard or even the ramparts overlooking the Dark Woods—where faint moonlight revealed the haunting silhouette of twisted trees. There, she practiced footwork and sword arcs in fluid, choreographed loops, her blade tracing silent patterns through the cool night air. The soft scrape of metal on stone became the lullaby that guided her to bed.
About five days into this new routine, an older woman arrived at Fort Harjil’s gates. Her name was Matilda Breck—a local villager from a settlement farther east, her hair pinned into a tight bun. She bore a solemn expression, wringing her hands as she spoke hurriedly with Geraldine near the fortress entrance. With her stood two wide-eyed children clutching small burlap sacks.
“Loren,” Geraldine called gently, beckoning her husband. “We have… visitors.”
The boy, around nine, peered shyly from behind Matilda’s skirts, while the girl, perhaps twelve, stood a bit taller, trying to appear brave. They both wore simple linen clothes smudged with soot and travel dust.
“These two—” Matilda cleared her throat, voice trembling. “Their parents died in a fire a fortnight ago. Neighbors, but I can’t take care of them myself. No kin to be found, so I—” She trailed off, her gaze flicking around the courtyard. “I knew your fort… always took in orphans.”
A flicker of compassion crossed Loren’s face, though his tone remained gruff. “We can see they have a safe roof over their heads. What are their names?”
The boy’s eyes darted up nervously. “I’m Tobin,” he said, voice barely above a whisper.
His sister, slightly taller, shifted the small satchel in her arms. “I’m Serena,” she added, summoning more confidence. “We can work. We’re not lazy.”
Loren exhaled, nodding toward Geraldine. “We won’t turn them away.”
Within an hour, Tobin and Serena settled into the fortress life. Geraldine and Abby showed them the small chamber off the kitchen where they could sleep—two simple cots, a chest for clothes, and a lantern to ward off the gloom. The siblings eyed the stone walls warily at first, but the older woman’s gentle reassurance and Abby’s bright smile eased their nerves.
“I can help with laundry,” Serena offered, glancing at a basket of soiled tunics. “I used to help Ma wash clothes by the river.”
Geraldine squeezed the girl’s shoulder in thanks. “We’ll see to it. For now, rest. It’s been a long journey.”
Meanwhile, Tobin gravitated to the courtyard, where Martin and Clive coaxed him into fetching arrows and sweeping up stray bits of practice debris. The boy watched the recruits spar with wide-eyed wonder, occasionally flinching whenever someone clashed swords with extra force. Still, by day’s end, he wore a tiny smile at being part of something bigger than just drifting from farm to farm.
As the week wore on, the fortress found new routines forming around its latest arrivals. Abby, dividing her time between the kitchen and the training grounds, began giving reading and writing lessons to the siblings, who’d had little formal education. Geraldine saw they had ample chores to keep their minds off their grief—peeling vegetables, carrying water, tidying the small storeroom.
“You’re good with them,” Geraldine told Abby one afternoon, watching as she patiently guided Tobin’s hand over a scrap of parchment. “You have a gentle way that calms them.”
Abby blushed at the praise, but she appreciated having a meaningful role—something aside from learning stances or chopping onions.
Meanwhile, Asil’s swordsmanship advanced so quickly under Loren’s tutelage that the older man occasionally let slip a hint of begrudging pride.
“Not half bad,” he’d grumble after a spar, wiping sweat from his forehead. “Still a ways to go, mind you.”
Asil would merely grin, rotating her shoulder to ease the strain. She knew the scowling fortress master was pleased, deep down, that his teaching wasn’t wasted on idle swords.
And so, in the shadow of centuries-old stone walls, life carried on. Asil honed her Blade Dancer abilities with unwavering dedication, Abby balanced her new mentorship role with her own burgeoning Shadow Dancer skills, and two lost siblings found hope under the guardianship of the stern, proud few who kept watch over Fort Harjil. Yet, amid these daily rhythms, no one could forget the looming presence of the Dark Woods beyond—and the unspoken fears that occasionally tempered the fortress’s fragile peace.
Asil blocked another of Loren’s strikes under the midday sun, the wooden practice swords clacking in a rapid exchange that had become their norm these past few days. Each swing and counter made a hollow echo through the courtyard, drawing the attention of Clive, Baum, and a few recruits organizing gear nearby.
All at once, the training session was interrupted by Martin and Stewart charging through the gates in a flurry of dust, limbs, and panicked shouts.
“It’s Frederick… we were ambushed… he took them on so we could get away…!”
Their voices tumbled over each other, breathless with terror. The boys nearly bowled into Asil and Loren, who immediately dropped their weapons. Abby, who had been helping Geraldine near the fort entrance, rushed over at the first mention of “ambush.”
“Hush, children,” Loren said firmly, placing a hand on each of their shoulders. Despite his stern demeanor, genuine concern flickered in his eyes. “One at a time.”
Martin gulped down air, chest heaving, while Stewart pressed both palms against his knees, trying to steady himself. At Loren’s encouragement, Martin finally found enough composure to speak:
“We… we were patrolling the edge of the Dark Woods, like you said. Heard someone cry out for help.” He paused to wipe sweat from his brow. “Frederick ran in first. We followed, but then these—these things attacked us. They looked almost human, but not quite…”
Stewart nodded vehemently, still too winded to form words. Martin swallowed, voice trembling:
“There were at least three of them, maybe four. Frederick fought them off and told us to run back for help. One slashed at him, but he cut its leg. Then he… he yelled at us to go.”
A cloud passed over Loren’s face, deepening the shadows across the courtyard. Dark Woods had been quiet for so long, yet here was undeniable proof of a lurking threat. Asil caught a glimpse of the fear in the older man’s gaze, quickly replaced by cold resolve.
Before Loren could formulate a plan, both Asil and Abby felt a familiar buzz at their hips—those curious journals they’d grown reliant upon. They barely had time to register the vibration before words manifested in their mind’s eye:
New Quest: Rescue Frederick.
They didn’t so much as glance at one another to confirm. Asil darted toward the armory door without hesitation, and Abby followed at her heels. Within seconds, they reemerged, Asil gripping a pair of real steel swords while Abby gathered a handful of daggers. Asil slid one sword into a scabbard strapped at her hip and tossed the other toward Loren.
“You can’t keep me from this,” Asil said, eyes flashing with determined fire.
Loren’s gaze flicked between Asil and Abby, then to the trembling Martin and Stewart. He clenched his jaw but recognized there was no stopping them. With a gruff nod, he accepted the blade from Asil, tension evident in the set of his shoulders.
“Fine,” he muttered. “But move quickly. Frederick’s got a head start, and the Dark Woods are no place to linger.”
Martin and Stewart stood aside, relief mingling with lingering terror on their faces as Asil, Abby, and Loren slipped through the gates, the fortress behind them. The specter of a threat long thought dormant loomed in every gust of wind.
They raced along the beaten path that cut through tall grass and wild brambles until the forest canopy began encroaching. The Dark Woods lived up to its name, the ancient trees twisting overhead, forming a nearly unbroken screen that filtered out the sun. Shadows clung to every trunk as though the forest itself recoiled from the light.
“I saw something move,” Abby whispered at one point, halting briefly.
Sure enough, there was a fleeting figure darting between twisted oaks, its shape inhumanly hunched. But before either woman or Loren could pursue, a faint cry echoed in the distance—a mix of rage and desperation.
“Frederick,” Loren growled, pressing onward. “This way.”
They pressed deeper until they reached a small clearing ringed by trees whose branches clawed at the sky like bony hands. Three dark figures were hauling a bound and struggling Frederick deeper into the woods in that opening.
“There he is,” Asil hissed, pointing. Frederick’s muffled shouts carried faintly across the clearing.
One of the larger figures had Frederick slung over its shoulder as though he weighed nothing. His arms and legs jerked in protest, but he was bound tight with coarse rope. Despite his attempts to wrench free, the creature continued onward, its companions forming a blockade between the rescuers and their prey.
Another mental flicker: Asil and Abby both recognized the phantom text in their heads:
Minor Demon (Level 1)
Minor Demon (Level 1)
Black nails glinted in a shaft of waning light, and one of the demons hissed a warning. Asil’s heart pounded a swirl of adrenaline and anger. These were no mere bandits.
“I will get Frederick,” she said, her voice cutting through Loren’s startled silence. “Keep these two off my back.” pointing her sword at the two demons; she barely spared time for Loren or Abby to respond. Veering left, Asil broke into a swift dash, skirting around a gnarled tree to outflank the demons.
“Hah!” One demon snarled, turning to follow Asil’s movement.
But Loren was already surging forward, sword raised. He slashed at the nearest minor demon, forcing it to peel back. Meanwhile, Abby let out a controlled exhale, seeming to vanish where the shadows pooled under a large tree. A heartbeat later, she rematerialized behind the second demon, plunging her dagger into its side in a rapid triple stab.
Critical strike on Minor Demon.
The note flashed in Abby’s mind, but she had no time to dwell on it. The wounded demon howled, lashing out with talon-like nails. Abby danced backward, avoiding the slash by inches, heart thrumming with an electrifying mix of fear and exhilaration.
All the while, Asil sprinted after the large demon carrying Frederick. She wove between thick trunks, each step guided by the Blade Dancer instincts that had sharpened under Loren’s tutelage. The forest floor underfoot was slick with moss and fallen leaves, but Asil’s footing remained steady. She was acutely aware that each passing second put Frederick further from rescue.
Back at the clearing, Loren clashed with the demon that had turned its claws on him, steel ringing out in the hush of the woods. Abby circled wide, looking for another opening to land a critical hit, shadows flickering across her face as she used her newly honed Shadow Dancer reflexes.
“Hurry,” Loren shouted, glancing at where Asil had vanished. “We can’t let them disappear!”
The demon before him raked the air, narrowly missing Loren’s arm. Sparks seemed to fly as blade and talons collided, the forest echoing with guttural snarls and grunts. For her part, Abby twisted aside from a barrage of flailing claws, rolling neatly behind a tree trunk to catch her breath. Her eyes darted toward the direction Asil had gone, hoping the woman would find Frederick before it was too late.
Leaves rustled overhead, the canopy filtering light into dappled spots on the ground. Each flicker of movement made it hard to track the demons’ shifts. Fear throbbed in every heart, yet Abby, and Loren fought with steeled resolve. If they failed, Frederick would be lost to the horrors of the Dark Woods—if he wasn’t already.
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Asil’s breath came in quick, steady bursts as she slipped between moss-laden trunks, eyes fixed on the demon ahead. Thick undergrowth tugged at her ankles, yet each nimble step propelled her forward with surprising ease. She gave silent thanks for the extra stamina her class abilities seemed to grant; otherwise, she might have tired out long before catching up.
She could see Frederick draped over the creature’s shoulder, bound and squirming futilely. Spearing through the dense canopy, a trickle of sunlight flickered over his pale face. Gritting her teeth, Asil pressed harder, closing the gap at last.
Time to act, she thought, heart pounding.
She summoned Phantom Step, feeling a sudden rush of energy flare through her limbs. With a burst of impossible speed, she blinked forward, covering the last few yards in the blink of an eye. Before the demon could react, Asil slashed at its legs—mindful not to endanger Frederick’s battered form.
The demon stumbled forward with a guttural snarl, Frederick tumbling from its grasp onto the leafy ground. Yet the monster didn’t crash headlong as she’d hoped. Instead, it hovered for a heartbeat, twisting midair in a disturbingly graceful move, and landed facing Asil with its clawed hands raised.
Minor Demon Level 2
Those words flashed in Asil’s mind like a bright spark. She’d learned to half-ignore such intrusive messages by now, focusing on the real threat before her. The demon lunged, claws slicing at head level in an arc of black nails.
Asil spun aside, but the creature’s talon still raked her ribs, drawing a hot line of pain across her side. She sucked in a sharp breath, cursing as her mind screamed that the wound could have been far worse had she moved a moment later. Still, she planted her feet, refusing to let fear distract her.
The demon tore forward again, but Asil met its ferocity with her own. She slid into a practiced stance, blade raised, adrenaline fueling every motion. The monster feinted right—just as she’d expected. She turned her sword, ripping it across the spot the demon truly moved to.
Its ear-splitting howl tore at the silence of the Dark Woods, echoing off twisted branches. Blackish blood spattered the bark of a nearby tree as the demon slammed against it, momentarily reeling. Asil saw the chance to finish it. Heart hammering, she lunged, blade angled for a killing blow.
An instant before steel found flesh; another shape barrelled into her from the side—a fourth demon she hadn’t noticed creeping up in the gloom. The impact sent her sword off-course, hacking off the larger demon’s right forearm instead of striking a lethal blow to its core.
“Ugh!” Asil grunted, forced aside.
But her Blade Dancer instincts refused to let her crash to the ground. She tucked into a roll, coming up on one knee, sword at the ready. Her momentum carried her into a swift pivot that ended face-to-face with the new attacker.
Minor Demon Level 1
This time, the demon gave no chance for a respite, already leaping at her midair. Asil’s eyes narrowed. A flash of fury overcame her caution—she swung her sword in a lethal arc. The blade bit into the demon’s neck, severing its head cleanly. In the same move, she twisted her torso just enough to avoid the headless corpse that plummeted where she had stood a heartbeat before.
Minor Demon Level 1 died, EXP gained.
The message pinged at the edges of her mind, but fresh pain flared as the larger demon—the Level 2 that had lost an arm—charged back into the fray. It raked its intact claws across Asil’s midsection in a frenzied assault. She hissed in pain, stumbling back a step.
Summoning every ounce of focus she had left, Asil invoked Crescent Strike. A swirl of silver-hued energy charged her blade, arcs of light crackling along the steel. Even a glancing blow could prove lethal now. With a resolute shout, she slashed at the demon’s shoulder.
By usual standards, the wound would have been superficial. But the infused magic exploded on contact, sending a crackling wave through the demon’s form. Its body dissolved in a sickening vapor, leaving only a fading echo of its wrathful shriek.
Minor Demon Level 2 died, EXP gained.
You have leveled up!
Asil barely registered the triumphant text. The last demon’s ashes drifted away on the breeze, the danger abating as quickly as it had flared. She inhaled sharply, clutching her stinging wounds, blood seeping through the slashed fabric. But Frederick—he was still at her feet, bound and very much alive, wriggling in panic.
Her adrenaline spent, Asil collapsed to her knees, sword clattering on the forest floor. She pressed a trembling hand against Frederick’s shoulder, feeling him squirm helplessly.
“Easy, it’s me,” she managed, breath ragged. Her head spun, either from pain or pure relief. “Frederick… hold still.”
His eyes, wide with fear, found hers. Recognition dawned, and he let out a muffled noise through his gag, shoulders sagging. Asil exhaled, leaning against the trunk of a nearby tree to steady herself. She reached for the rope binding him, fumbling for the hilt of her sword with unsteady fingers.
“Hold on,” she said again, softer this time.
“I’ll get you free.”
As she braced Frederick with one arm, the other sawed carefully at the rope, her chest heaving with each breath. Pain blazed at the edges of her consciousness, but she forced it aside, each heartbeat reminding her how close they’d come to losing him.
“Just… one more sec,” she murmured.
The final threads parted under her blade, and Frederick’s arms jerked free. He tore off his gag, sucking in the air, tears of gratitude shining in his eyes. Asil gave him a shaky grin, her side burning with each movement. Yet, she sensed the worst had passed—for now.
For a long heartbeat, neither spoke. The forest around them was eerily silent after the chaos. Faintly, the sound of distant clashes drifted from deeper in the wood—the signs of Loren and Abby finishing their own battles, perhaps. Asil cradled her sword in her lap, letting relief wash over her.
“Thank you,” Frederick finally rasped. “I… I was sure—”
Asil shook her head. “Let’s just… focus on getting back. You can owe me a favor later.”
She tried to stand, but a lance of pain shot through her side. She winced, pressing a hand to the wound. Frederick swore under his breath, face contorting with concern. With trembling arms, he managed to support her enough to shift closer to a fallen log.
“We’ll… rest a minute,” Asil said. Blood stained her tunic, but the cut, while painful, seemed survivable—especially if they got back to the fort soon. “Then we’ll find Loren and Abby.”
Frederick nodded, swallowing hard. Though their ordeal wasn’t quite over, the immediate danger had been vanquished. For now, the forest gave them a fragile reprieve, and Asil’s heroic dash had spared Frederick from a fate too grim to imagine.
As Asil regained her breath, her trembling body hunched protectively over Frederick. The trees around them seemed to press in as if eager to reclaim the small clearing. A low wind stirred the dead leaves at her feet, carrying an uneasy hush.
Suddenly, her pouch vibrated—an all-too-familiar signal that her journal was updating. The timing felt off, but Asil, blood still seeping from her side, braced herself and retrieved the worn leather book. She flipped through the latest pages, shocked that even in the murky twilight, she could read the text with perfect clarity.
Loot Minor Demon Level 1? Yes / No
Loot Minor Demon Level 2? Yes / No
Quest Complete: Rescue Frederick. EXP Gained.
Reward: 20 copper coins.
Reward: Simple Leather Armor.
Her eyes flicked over the words in disbelief. A surge of relief mixed with her exhaustion—the system recognized their mission to save Frederick. With a shaky grin, she circled “Yes” for both loot prompts:
17 copper coins were added to your pouch.
Worn Skill Book was added to your pouch.
Simple Leather Bracers were added to your pouch.
Leather bracers? she wondered, but her mind was too drained to process it. She only glanced toward Frederick, who stirred at her side, still dazed but conscious. Asil pressed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
“We’ll get you back,” she murmured under her breath. “Don’t worry.”
Just as she was about to stow the journal, another line of text manifested in crisp letters across the page:
Loot Minor Demon Level 1? Yes / No
Loot Minor Demon Level 1? Yes / No
A flicker of surprise and confusion danced across Asil’s face. These prompts had to be for the initial demons she’d abandoned when she dashed off to save Frederick. If the journal was registering them now…
Abby… Loren… they must’ve defeated those creatures, she realized. Relief flooded her—if they’d lost, there’d be no loot to claim. And yet, concern gnawed at her, too: Were they okay? Had they survived unscathed?
Frederick let out a soft groan, reminding Asil that they didn’t have time to dwell on notifications. She carefully lowered her journal, steadying herself to rise. The darkness of the woods pressed harder, every ragged breath echoing in the hush. She forced her battered body to comply, determined to check on Abby and Loren.
Just as Asil put a hand on the nearest trunk, ready to stand, an ominous rustling rippled through the brambles and fallen leaves, like some creature skulking just out of sight. A chill raced up her spine, instincts screaming that another threat lurked nearby. She instinctively raised her sword—until horror froze her in place.
The metal of her blade, once bright with that final Crescent Strike, now appeared eroded—pockmarked with holes and blackened edges. In the dim light, it looked more fragile than cheap tin foil, as though it might crumble if she swung it again.
“What…?” Asil gasped, eyes wide. Blood thundered in her ears, a mix of fear and disbelief. That last demon’s acid-like blood or corrupted aura must have corroded the steel.
She swallowed, heart pounding. If another demon pounced on them now, she had effectively no weapon. Her free hand reached reflexively for the hilt of her secondary blade—only to recall she hadn’t brought one. She’d come here in such a rush.
The demon lunged, but Abby twisted aside with the swift agility her Shadow Dancer training granted. Her heart thundered in her chest, the burn of fear keeping her acrobatics in check. She’d spent only a scant week learning these powers—barely enough time to grasp their potential, let alone master them in life-or-death combat. Yet here she was, forced to rely on raw instinct to protect her friends.
Desperate, she tried to invoke Shadow Meld, hoping to vanish as Asil had done in a burst of speed. A prickling sensation gathered in her limbs but faded abruptly—the cooldown had not yet ended. That half-second hesitation cost her dearly. The demon’s heavy form collided with her, driving her into the ground with a dull thud. All Abby could manage was a choked squeak as she felt claws clamp around her throat.
This is it… I’m done…
The demon’s second hand rose overhead, nails gleaming wickedly, prepared to slash downward in a killing strike. Abby tried to scream, but the monstrous grip on her windpipe strangled any sound.
Just as the demon’s arm descended, a flash of steel sliced overhead, severing the demon’s limb in one clean stroke. Its bellow of rage provided Abby the split second she needed to roll free. She gasped for air, eyes smarting with tears of relief. She continued the roll to her feet in one fluid motion, ripping two more daggers from her belt to replace the ones lost when the demon had pinned her.
A short distance away stood Loren, panting heavily, his leg clearly wounded. Blood seeped through a tear in his trousers, yet his grip on his sword remained fierce.
“Tend to your own creature, girl,” he rasped, nodding at the one-armed demon writhing at his feet, “or it’ll come for Asil next.”
But before Abby could finish off the armless horror, her eyes darted behind Loren. The other demon—the one Loren had been fighting—was poised to pounce from behind, jaws parted in a savage snarl. Loren was too drained from blood loss to react in time.
“Shadow Meld,” Abby pleaded silently, praying the cooldown had elapsed.
Her powers answered. She vanished, reappearing in a swirl of darkness directly before the lunging demon. Harnessing every scrap of adrenaline, she drove both daggers into the glowing yellow orbs it had for eyes, burying the blades to the hilt.
Minor Demon Level 1 has died. EXP Gained.
The system message flickered in her mind, but there was no time to revel in it. Momentum carried the demon’s corpse forward, knocking Abby to the ground in a tumble of limbs. She suppressed a cry as she landed hard on her side. A sharp ache throbbed in her shoulder, but she refused to let it paralyze her.
Wincing, Abby tried to roll the demon’s body off her. Through the creature’s leathery skin, she saw Loren brace himself against his sword as the one-armed demon, still bleeding profusely, rose behind him in a final, desperate attack.
“Look out!” Abby tried to shout, voice cracking with strain.
But Loren spun, moving like a wounded whirlwind. His blade cleaved the demon’s head from its shoulders in one decisive arc.
Minor Demon Level 1 has died. EXP Gained.
The older man’s victory cry twisted into a pained groan as he dropped to one knee, clutching at his bleeding leg. The motion sent him toppling onto his other hand, blade biting into the ground for balance. Blood seeped between his fingers, painting them red.
A flurry of messages danced in Abby’s vision:
Loot Minor Demon Level 1? Yes / No
Loot Minor Demon Level 2? Yes / No
Quest complete: Rescue Frederick. EXP Gained.
Congratulations you have leveled up
Reward: 20 copper coins.
Reward: Simple Leather Armor
“What the fu—!” Abby began before the dead demon she was pinned under shifted, pressing down on her again with its full weight.
Loren dragged himself across the dirt, teeth gritted against waves of agony and helped shove the corpse off Abby. She scrambled upright, only to see how white his face had grown.
“Your leg—” she gasped.
Loren’s calf gushed blood from a ragged tear. Without a second thought, Abby tore off her own shirt, unmindful that it left her in a simple binding across her chest. She hurried to wrap the cloth tight around Loren’s wound. The older man hissed through clenched teeth.
“I’m… fine,” he said, though the lines of pain on his face told a different story. “Help me up, girl.”
Abby opened her mouth to protest but saw his steely glare. She nodded, slipping one arm around his waist as he draped his over her shoulder. Together, they managed a halting limp forward. The Dark Woods still pulsed with unspoken menace, but at least their immediate foes lay dead in the leaf-strewn clearing.
“We should find Asil,” Abby muttered, glancing around anxiously. “She went after Frederick… let’s hope we’re not too late.”
Loren simply grunted, focusing on hobbling forward. Despite the pain, he refused to let Abby bear his full weight, intent on retaining some shred of dignity. Using years of tracking expertise, he studied the trail of bent branches and disturbed leaves, guiding them deeper in the direction Asil had fled.
They’d hardly gone a hundred yards when Abby’s journal gave a faint buzz at her belt. She ignored it—no more mental prompts flashed into her mind, so they were clearly out of active combat. Another few steps brought them around a gnarled tree, and suddenly:
“Asil!” Abby exclaimed, heart leaping.
Asil, sword raised defensively, nearly struck at them—her eyes wild with fear—but she recognized them at the last second. Relief washed over her features. Beside her, Frederick lay on the forest floor, looking shaken but alive. The tension released in Asil’s body like an unwound spring, and in that moment, the blade in her hand crumbled into dust, metal corroded beyond salvage.
She let the hilt fall to the ground as if it weighed a thousand pounds. Then Asil collapsed to her knees, chest heaving. Her face was pale with exhaustion and pain, a matching expression of triumph and terror flickering in her gaze.
“You’re… both okay?” she breathed, eyes darting from Loren’s leg to Abby’s torn shirt. “Thank the gods.”
Abby rushed forward, half-supporting Loren, who planted his good knee beside Frederick. He quickly checked the young man’s pulse, nodding in approval. Frederick’s eyes fluttered open, a weak smile tugging at his lips. The battered group gathered in a moment of shared relief, their separate struggles against the demons finally ending.
Yet, as they caught their breath in the dim hush of the forest, a collective realization set in: though they had survived, the Dark Woods seethed with dangers far worse than any of them had anticipated. Their quest to rescue Frederick might be finished, but their battles in this grim realm were likely only beginning.