Charlie and I froze.
Not the sharp, instinctive freeze that came from spotting a predator—
but something heavier.
Something wrong.
The silhouettes ahead didn't move like beasts.
They stood upright.
Shifted their weight deliberately.
Paused as if thinking.
Human.
That realization hit me harder than any monster could have.
As the two figures stepped fully out of the forest's shadows, pale moonlight slipped through the tangled canopy and washed over them—and my breath caught painfully in my throat.
They weren't beasts.
They were people.
Two of them.
A man.
And a woman.
I had never seen anyone like them before.
The man was tall—unnaturally tall—and built like a living weapon. His body wasn't refined the way trained guards were; it was thick with raw, brutal strength earned through survival and violence. His upper body was completely bare, exposing skin carved with strange tattoos that twisted across his chest, shoulders, and arms. Jagged lines. Broken symbols. Marks I didn't recognize.
They didn't look decorative.
They looked ritualistic.
Like scars turned into meaning.
A rough piece of animal leather was tied around his waist, hanging loosely to his knees, the edges torn and darkened with age. In his hand, he held a long spear. The shaft was dark wood reinforced with bone near the grip, and the metal tip was chipped and stained.
Not with rust.
With blood.
Beside him stood the woman.
She was lean and compact, her body coiled with tension like a drawn bow. Animal-hide clothing was wrapped tightly around her waist and chest, leaving her limbs free to move. A bow rested easily in her hand, her fingers loose near the string, as if she could draw and fire in the same breath. A quiver of arrows was strapped across her back, the fletching worn and dark.
But it was her eyes that made my skin crawl.
Sharp.
Alert.
Never still.
They swept the forest constantly, scanning shadows, roots, and branches like a predator's gaze.
My thoughts scattered.
They didn't look lost.
They didn't look cautious.
They looked like they belonged here.
"Charlie…" I whispered, barely moving my lips. Even the sound of my own voice felt dangerous.
"Who… who are they? Why are they dressed like that?"
Charlie didn't answer immediately. His body was rigid beside me, eyes narrowed as he studied them carefully.
"…By their appearance," he whispered back at last, "they look like barbarians. But that's only a guess."
My stomach dropped.
"Barbarians…?" I mouthed.
Charlie gave a faint nod.
"There are people who live outside nations," he explained quietly. "They reject laws, borders, kings, empires. They don't answer to the Royal Family—or anyone."
I swallowed hard.
"The Royal Family leaves them alone," he continued, "as long as they don't interfere with the civilized world."
His eyes darkened slightly.
"But I never imagined any would live inside the Silent Forest. This place is far too dangerous—even for them."
My throat tightened.
The two strangers moved again.
Their steps were slow and deliberate, as if they were listening to something I couldn't hear. Their gazes swept the forest floor, the roots, the shadows between trees—searching.
Hunting.
The man stopped abruptly.
His entire body went rigid, every muscle locking into place at once. He tilted his head slightly, listening—not just with his ears, but with something far deeper.
Instinct.
A predator's sense that reached beyond sound, probing the forest for what ordinary perception could not detect.
Then he spoke.
"Krrh… skra-sense? Tresh-sign va?"
("Did you sense it? Any sign here?")
The language scraped through the air, harsh and guttural. Every word sounded clipped and edged, like stone striking stone. It wasn't just unfamiliar—it felt primitive, born from survival rather than culture.
The woman halted beside him. Moonlight caught her eyes as she scanned the forest one last time. Then she shook her head, irritation tightening her jaw.
"Nah. Skra-vin, nah! Tor'eth faila."
("No. Nothing here. This trail is dead.")
I frowned.
"…I don't understand a word," I whispered.
Charlie shook his head slowly. "Neither do I."
The man clicked his tongue sharply in annoyance and raised two thick fingers, pointing westward.
"Graah. Vaela east. Rokar west."
("Tch. Vaela goes east. Rokar goes west.")
Without waiting for a response, he turned away and strode westward. His heavy steps crunched softly against roots and leaves as his broad back disappeared into the trees. The spear in his hand swayed with practiced ease.
Vaela remained.
And she began moving east.
Straight toward us.
My heart slammed violently against my ribs, so loud I was sure she could hear it.
She moved with terrifying silence—each step measured, deliberate, barely disturbing the forest floor. Leaves didn't crunch beneath her boots. Twigs didn't snap. Even the loose soil seemed to settle quietly beneath her weight, as if the ground itself yielded to her presence.
Her sharp gaze didn't merely pass over the forest—it searched it.
She inspected the base of trees, eyes narrowing as she studied exposed roots and the shadows curled between them. Her attention flicked to scattered stones half-buried in moss, to clusters of fallen leaves, to hollow gaps beneath rotting logs.
Nothing escaped her scrutiny. Every corner, every crevice, every possible hiding place was measured and judged in a heartbeat.
Then she stepped closer.
Closer.
Each step shortened the distance between us, and with every silent movement, my heartbeat grew louder in my ears—so loud I was certain she could hear it. I stopped breathing without realizing it, my chest locking tight as fear wrapped around my throat like a vice.
I could see her now—really see her.
The faint scars along her forearms. The subtle tension in her shoulders. The way her fingers hovered near the bowstring, relaxed but ready, as if drawing and killing were second nature to her.
Closer.
My palms were slick with sweat. My mind screamed at me to move, to run, to do something—but my body frozen in place as death slowly, patiently walked toward us.
Beside me, Charlie's muscles tensed. I could feel it even without looking—his entire body drawn taut, coiled like a spring ready to snap, despite knowing that resistance here would be meaningless.
Her footsteps grew clearer now.
Near enough that I could distinguish the rhythm of them.
Near enough that every second stretched unbearably long.
I was frozen, trapped between instinct and terror, waiting for the moment I feared would come next.
Vaela slowed.
Then stopped.
Her head tilted slightly, as if she were listening—not with her ears alone, but with something deeper. Her sharp eyes shifted, scanning, dissecting the space in front of her piece by piece.
Then they settled.
Slowly… deliberately… her gaze locked onto the hollowed bark of the massive tree we were hiding in.
She stepped closer.
One step.
Then another.
Until she stood directly in front of us.
Her hand reached out toward the leaves covering the hollow—
"Vaela!"
Rokar's voice cut sharply through the forest.
She froze.
For one long, unbearable heartbeat, she didn't move at all.
Not a breath. Not a shift of weight.
Her presence lingered like a blade hovering just above my throat, and I was certain—absolutely certain—that she could hear my heart pounding in my ears.
Then she clicked her tongue, a sharp sound of irritation cutting through the silence.
She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes narrowing briefly as if reconsidering, before finally turning away from the tree.
Her steps retreated slowly, deliberately, as she walked back toward Rokar.
Only then did my legs threaten to give out beneath me.
I didn't realize how tightly I'd been holding myself together until the tension loosened all at once, relief crashing over me so hard it left me weak and trembling.
Rokar opened his palm.
Resting at its center was a small blue jewel.
Even beneath the weak, fractured moonlight, it shimmered faintly—its surface catching the light in a way that felt wrong, unnatural.
Vaela's eyes widened a fraction.
She reached out slowly, almost reverently, and took the jewel from his hand. For a brief moment, she turned it between her fingers, studying the way the light bent and danced across its facets. Then she closed her hand around it and slipped it into a small pouch at her side, the glow vanishing as the leather swallowed it whole.
She inclined her head slightly toward Rokar—not a bow, but a gesture of acknowledgment.
"Va'thra, Rokar."
("You have my thanks, Rokar.")
Rokar grunted in response, already scanning the forest again, his attention shifting elsewhere.
Vaela turned back toward the darkness, her eyes narrowing as they swept the trees one last time. Her gaze lingered—just a heartbeat too long—in the direction of the hollow tree.
Then, in a low voice meant only for him, she muttered,
"Dru'kai… skra-hide." ("Someone is here… and they're hiding.")
My stomach dropped.
I didn't understand her words—not truly.
But I felt them.
The way her eyes had paused. The certainty in her voice. The cold instinct screaming that we had been sensed, if not fully found.
She knew.
And the Silent Forest had just become far more dangerous.