For as long as Rhys was concerned, their only company was the endless line of trees and the occasional hoots ringing in the distance. Nobody dared go into the Forest of Beasts, which to Rhys, sounded like the perfect choice to hide while they figured out what to do.

He craned his neck to the sky, grateful for the lush, multi-colored canopies blocking it. That should keep them safe from being spotted by any aerial scouts. When they left the palace, they had flown for a while, keeping watch of the carpet of trees and fog until they cleared Arcole, the royal city. Once the border of Oaksham was in sight, Rhys and Reeca dove into the ground and continued on foot from there.

Oaksham, apart from what the tomes his tutors bring him say, was lively and a little bit busy for Rhys's taste. Having been shut off in the Palace for all his life, seeing the bluster of activity, the cacophony of various noises, and the calls of several cart-pulling animals gave him a headache.

Soon, they cleared the town located at the part where the forest was the thinnest, with only a sparse line of trees peeking in between houses made of wooden planks nailed and stuck together. It had only been a few hours of walking on foot but the forest was now considerably thicker, the foliage shielding most of the fading sunlight and, unfortunately, their view forward as well.

Beside him, Reeca had been silent for most of the time, just giving mum nods and shakes of head in response to Rhys's questions. It might be because she's too young to make sense of what's going on or maybe she still hasn't processed everything that has happened. Things might be too overwhelming for the girl and Rhys didn't know how to fix that. He needed Reeca back to her jovial, heaven-may-care attitude. He missed that girl.

The forest's dour air seemed to match Reeca's state. The deeper they got into the undergrowth, the more silent it became. Rhys thought it was because of the thickness of the foliage but it was not long before he noticed the animals had gone silent too. Gone were the flaps of wings of iphikis flying in colonies just earlier. Hoots, caws, and paws padding the soft earth, which were somewhat audible earlier, was replaced with a chilling curtain of nothingness.

Rhys strained his ear to pick up a sound, any sound. Footsteps, twigs snapping, leaves rustling. Anything. What came back was a harsh whisper of the wind and the soft brush of fog along the path they wove through on the ground. That wasn't a good sign if it wasn't going to tell Rhys anything about what they might be facing in this place.

The Forest of Beasts, according to varichrian folklore, was a haven of the gods. Calaris on the ground, as they say. Myths vary in terms of details but something happened that forced the gods out of Umazure and they fled to the sky, rebuilding their palaces in hardened clouds or something. There were some accounts saying it was because of the fairies' greed that they proceeded to attack the gods and take their power. Others claimed it was because the gods sensed magic was beginning to disappear from the island and saved themselves of the trouble of having to deal with it.

That last variation made Rhys scoff, earning a curious look from Reeca. He smiled at her and jerked his chin forward—a sign for her to keep walking. If the gods got out of Umazure just because they didn't want to deal with the consequence of not having magic, then, what powers them in the sky? A different kind of energy? That's dagrine crap, to be honest.

Magic was just one type in this place, that was, according to Kail Sorran's famed branch of research. He wasn't familiar with the technicalities of it but it's safe to assume the woman was responsible for detailing how the varichria synnavaim worked, making it a lot easier for the rest of them to utilize it best.

Nevertheless, with the gods fleeing the island, they have forgotten to take their servants with them, servants they, themselves, have created. These usually took the form of creatures that weren't fairies, humans or half-bloods, those who couldn't walk on two legs or even had only two of them. The Umazuran mythology, as well as the cheap Narfalk version of it, detailed such creatures in terms of stories, songs, and a sacred art involving tapestry-making.

That's where the Forest of Beasts got its name. It's a place where the gods' creatures got left behind when they left. Now, it's either those creatures have died off or they have figured out a way to survive and have now had the space overrun.

Such was the fear of a common varichria mind. What if unknown creatures, or even those who were known, were to suddenly attack them? A valid fear and the reason why Oaksham only had few habitable towns scattered in places where the forest was thinnest and why their people were known to build houses on branches of trees. They only masked it now by claiming the height of one's house was a reflection of one's wealth. Rhys snorted. Yeah, they're wealthy enough to not get eaten, at least.

Rhys shoved a shrow leaf out of his face, eyeing the naturally-weaving leaves resembling the baskets he had seen once being paraded in the palace by one daring merchant. Apparently, the man had only been harvesting shrow leaves and stitching them up. Props for confidence, nonetheless.

Nobody's going to look for them here if the soldiers and the palace were superstitious enough. They would either assume Rhys and Reeca would be eaten by the beasts or they'd do something against nature and be zapped to pieces by the gods. Either way, it would be a perceived bad end for them.

Rhys thought otherwise. The Forest would be a safe space to hide because of that. Unless the myths were correct and there were far worse things in this place than the one they had just outrun.

They have been walking for hours, reaching somewhere and nowhere at the same time. The foliage started to look the same, the ground darker as the sun went down. The moons took their places in the sky, drowning the forest in a choking darkness. Rhys was afraid of a lot of things but being stuck in the dark wasn't one of them. At least, way back then. But now, with the shadows of leaves dangling from protruding branches and the scratch of the wind being seemingly amplified along with the ringing in his ears, he wasn't so sure that's still the case.

A hand circled around his. He looked down to see Reeca drawing closer to him, pressing the side of her face to his arm. He clenched his jaw. Reeca needed him. He had to be strong for her. Screw being afraid of the dark.

"Hey," Rhys nudged Reeca, keeping a smile plastered on his lips no matter how fake and forced it was. His heart started pounding in his chest against his will. "Do you want a light?"

His sister nodded, a vague movement against the dark swallowing their forms. Rhys raised his hand and grabbed the nearest branch he could find. It was a thin stick but it would have to do. The sound of the branch breaking off its parent tree rang in waves across the forest floor. Well, if the silence was to be believed, it's relatively safe.

Without wasting a breath, Rhys called his magic, grateful for the warmth it brought to his skin, and enchanted the stick. After a few seconds, a small light shone from the stick's tip.

Reeca's expression loosened. That much was enough for Rhys. He gave the stick for her to hold, and without letting go of her hand, tugged her forward. It didn't matter how long they walked and which direction. They would get somewhere sooner or later. Whether it be another town, the coast, or another city or territory altogether, Rhys didn't care. He just has to get away from Arcole and from Narfalk.

Then, the leaves behind them shook and rustled. Garbled voices screamed in triumph. Rhys's throat constricted, a gasp never quite leaving it. Heavy footsteps and hooves slapped the soil, aiming for them. Rudik's breeches. They've been waiting for nightfall all this time? He had been stupid. Too stupid.

Gripping Reeca's hand again, he spread his wings and nodded at Reeca. The girl seemed to have understood and mimicked his action. Before the footsteps reached them, they dashed forward. Their feet slapped the ground but their wings propelled them forward. It was better than blindly tearing through the undergrowth.

Rhys wove around thick rimmon trunks, keeping watch of the swish of movements behind and around them. His eyes strained, struggling to cope with the dancing shadows and the thick darkness. He summoned his magic and blasted it straight through the biggest branch whizzing by them. He leaped over a fallen log, his boots sliding against the slippery carpet of fungi digesting it. Reeca had to balance him before he keeled over.

A huge, booming sound echoed behind them as the branch claimed the target of its fall. Someone groaned and cursed. Rhys's gut twisted. There was really someone after them. He tightened his grip on Reeca and urged her to run again. Hide. They needed to hide.

His eyes scanned the forest. There wasn't anything here which could cover them from all sides. If their pursuers were aiming from all sides, nowhere was safe. He needed a cave. Or something.

A sheen of metal glinted in his periphery. His body swung upon instinct, ducking before a dagger could slice anything in him. He cursed, urging Reeca to change directions. The fog stirred around their legs with every hulking step they took. The voices and movements behind them never stopped. After a while, Rhys's leg muscles burned and his side hurt. Stop. He needed to stop but couldn't. Reeca was huffing beside him, no doubt feeling the same thing as him. They needed to rest and these witches surely wouldn't allow that.

So, Rhys had to create his own avenue for it.

He reached deep inside himself, dropping his vision into the trail dimension. His trail curled away and through him in wisps of violet and green. Reeca's was a bright blue and gray. They're young. Usually, trail colors tend to turn permanent when they grow up. Sometimes, it could even turn a different color than the one they had as children.

That wasn't what Rhys was concerned about, though. Drawing from his well of magic, he wrapped weaving energy in his trail. He kept weaving and weaving, sweat pouring at the side of his face and running all the while. Reeca yanked him out of the way before he slammed face-first into a tree. He stumbled, cursing as his hold over his spell scattered. He lunged (with his senses, of course) and took hold of the strands of his magic. Then, he started anew. Weaving. Wrapping.

Soon, his trail was nothing but a faint hum curling off him. It's working. Next, he reached out to Reeca and did the same. Just wrapping. Over and over. Then, he yanked Reeca out of their direction and darted into a different one. He pressed against a tree, clamping a hand over Reeca's mouth when she let out a small whimper. Then, praying to the gods who left them in this rotting island, he spoke a rysteme spell, one he'd read a long time ago.

Heat rushed to his senses, almost drowning the hammering in his chest and the pounding in his temples. He opened his eyes he wasn't sure he had closed. When he looked down, his body was no longer visible. Reeca squirmed in his hold. She, too, was nowhere to be seen.

A breathy laugh tore off Rhys's lips. It worked. It damn well worked. He pressed his fingers to his face, muffling any sound his breaths gave out. Together, he and Reeca watched the forest as the footsteps moved closer. Soon, unsheathed swords glinting in the faint moonslight edged from behind thick trunks. Boots crunched against the grass as voices rose to a crescendo. Rhys even recognized some of them.

"I swear, they were here just a moment ago," a soldier said. Catching the meager moonslight was the familiar crest of the royal household of Narfalk. Rhys bit back a curse. Just their luck. The soldiers have no reverence to the myths at all. "Now...they're gone."

A tongue clicked. "We'll find them tomorrow," what seemed to be the platoon's leader said. He walked further, coming closer to the tree Rhys and Reeca were pressed against. He sucked a breath. Should they move? Dart to the next tree? No. That would stir the wind. The soldier could sense their movement and give them away.

Instead, Rhys swallowed the bile climbing at the back of his throat, willing the soldier to go far, far away. The tip of the soldier's scabbard brushed against Rhys's leg. Rudik's asscheeks. Not now. Not now.

Then, the leader put two fingers to his lips and blew a sharp whistle. "Regroup! We'll continue the search tomorrow."

Rhys only dared to breathe when the footsteps faded into the hiss of fog and the silence of the forest. He let go of Reeca and called off his weaving energy. His muscles felt heavy; his eyelids began drooping. Sleep. He needed to sleep. But where?

Something rustled behind him. He turned too late. Pain speared at the base of his nape. The last thing he remembered before the forest's darkness claimed him was a man going, "Tis a great catch for such a good day. Boss man's gonna be over the moons with the profit."