Chapter 15: The Haunting of Shadows
The group pushed deeper into the woods, leaving behind the cursed ruins of Eveska. The oppressive air of the village had lessened, but it still lingered, clinging to them like a heavy shroud. Their breaths were shallow, their footsteps quiet. There was no talk, no conversation—just the uneasy silence that had wrapped itself around them since the fight.
Eirlys could still hear the sickening thud of Cedric’s blade as it cleaved through those poor souls, the hollow, lifeless bodies collapsing in heaps at their feet. And worse, the look in their eyes—blank, unseeing, and filled with the raw, chaotic energy of Morven’s curse. It unsettled her, gnawed at her insides. The Frostblade hummed softly at her side, as if resonating with the darkness they had left behind.
She could still see them in her mind. The way they moved, the unnatural jerking of their limbs. It wasn’t human. It was like something else had taken control of their bodies, twisted them into puppets of rage and madness.
“Eirlys,” Elric whispered, breaking her from her thoughts. He was walking beside her, his face tight with concern. “You’re shaking.”
“I’m fine,” she muttered, though her voice was low and strained. She wasn’t fine. None of them were.
Behind them, Cedric and the remaining scouts followed in silence, their movements stiff with exhaustion. They had lost too many of their comrades back in the village, and though the immediate threat had passed, the weight of their losses hung over them like a storm cloud.
“We should set up camp soon,” Eñric continued. “We’ve put enough distance between us and Eveska.”
Eirlys nodded, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. The wind had picked up, rustling the branches of the trees above them, but there was something in the air—something more than just the chill of the coming night. It felt...watchful. Like eyes, unseen but ever-present, followed their every step.
“Cedric,” she called softly, glancing back at the knight.
He raised his head, his eyes dark with fatigue. “We’re not stopping here, are we?”
“No,” she replied, her voice low. “We push forward a little longer. I don’t like this place.”
Cedric nodded in agreement. “Neither do I.”
The scouts murmured their assent, their eyes flickering with unease. They had all felt it—the weight of something wrong hanging in the air. The cursed land had left its mark, and the further they ventured from Eveska, the more the atmosphere seemed to warp around them.
The trees grew denser, their twisted branches forming unnatural arches overhead. Shadows stretched long and distorted, playing tricks on the mind. At first, it seemed like nothing more than the encroaching darkness of the evening, but soon Eirlys realized that the shadows were moving.
She stopped in her tracks, her heart skipping a beat. For a moment, she thought she saw something—no, someone—standing among the trees. A figure, barely more than a silhouette, its form blending seamlessly into the darkness. But when she blinked, it was gone.
“What is it?” Elric asked, his voice tense.
Eirlys shook her head, forcing herself to breathe steadily. “I... thought I saw something.”
The others had stopped too, their eyes scanning the forest around them. The silence had deepened, broken only by the soft creaking of branches in the wind. But there was something more beneath it, a whispering sound—faint, distant, and yet unmistakably there.
At first, it was so quiet that Eirlys thought it was her imagination. But as they moved forward again, the whispers grew louder. Not words, but voices—murmuring, chanting, like the wind itself had learned how to speak.
Eirlys stopped again, this time more abruptly. “Do you hear that?”
The others paused, their eyes narrowing as they listened.
“Hear what?” Cedric asked after a moment, his brow furrowed.
“The voices,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “There are voices.”
Eñric exchanged a glance with Cedric, his hand resting on the hilt of his dagger. “I don’t hear anything.”
The whispers continued to grow louder in Eirlys’s ears, insistent and unrelenting. They were coming from all around her now, weaving through the trees like a chorus of invisible phantoms. Her grip tightened on the Frostblade, her pulse quickening.
“Something’s wrong,” she muttered under her breath. “Something’s very wrong.”
As if in response to her words, the whispers seemed to swell, growing louder and more distinct. They weren’t just whispers anymore. They were voices—echoes of pain, of fear, of madness. They called to her, pulling at her mind, dragging her down into their darkness.
Eirlys staggered back, clutching her head as the voices surged in her mind. They were screaming now—screaming her name, over and over, filling her head with a cacophony of torment.
“No!” she gasped, trying to shake them off. “No, get out of my head!”
“Eirlys!” Eñric’s voice cut through the haze, sharp and urgent.
She blinked, her vision clearing just enough to see Eñric’s face in front of hers, his hands gripping her shoulders. The voices receded slightly, but they didn’t disappear. They lingered, just at the edge of her consciousness, like a shadow that refused to be cast away.
“What’s happening to you?” he asked, his voice filled with concern.
Eirlys shook her head, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “I... I don’t know. The voices... they’re...”
Before she could finish, the ground beneath their feet trembled. The air around them grew thick and oppressive, as if the forest itself were suffocating them. The shadows twisted and writhed, forming unnatural shapes in the gloom.
Then, from the darkness, something moved.
It was barely visible at first, just a blur of motion between the trees. But as it drew closer, Eirlys could see it—a figure, tall and gaunt, with pale skin stretched taut over its bones. Its eyes were sunken, its mouth twisted into a grotesque grin.
It was one of the cursed villagers—just like the ones they had fought back in Eveska.
But this one was different. It wasn’t mindless. Its eyes gleamed with intelligence, with malice, as it stepped out of the shadows and stood before them, its bony fingers twitching with barely restrained hunger.
“By the gods,” Cedric muttered, drawing his sword.
The figure’s grin widened, revealing rows of sharp, broken teeth. Its voice slithered out like venom, low and rasping. “You should not have come here.”
Eirlys raised the Frostblade, her heart pounding in her chest. “Who are you?”
The figure laughed, a hollow, rasping sound that sent a chill down her spine. “I am nothing. I am no one. But I have seen what awaits you. The crown’s curse... it is spreading. It will consume you all.”
“We’re not afraid of your curse,” Cedric growled, stepping forward. “We’ve faced worse.”
The figure’s eyes flicked toward him, and for a moment, it seemed to grow taller, its form stretching unnaturally in the gloom. “Oh, but you should be afraid. You should be terrified.”
As if in answer to its words, the whispers returned, louder and more insistent than before. They filled the air around them, swirling like a storm of madness. The shadows danced and writhed, closing in around them, suffocating them with their darkness.
Eirlys felt the Frostblade tremble in her grip, its magic straining against the oppressive force that surrounded them. She gritted her teeth, trying to push back against the voices in her head, but they were too strong. They were everywhere, inside her mind, twisting her thoughts, pulling her deeper into their madness.
“Eirlys!” Eñric shouted, his voice barely audible above the cacophony. “We need to get out of here!”
But she couldn’t move. The voices had her now, dragging her down into the depths of their darkness. She could feel their hands on her, cold and skeletal, pulling her away from reality, pulling her toward the cursed crown.
“No,” she whispered, her voice weak and trembling. “No...”
The figure stepped closer, its grin widening. “Yes. You will all fall. Just like the others.”
But before it could take another step, Cedric roared, charging forward with his greatsword raised high. The figure’s grin faltered for a moment as the blade came down, slicing through its body with a sickening crack.
The figure collapsed to the ground, its body dissolving into shadow as it died. But the whispers didn’t stop. The voices didn’t fade.
Eirlys fell to her knees, clutching her head as the darkness overwhelmed her. The last thing she heard before everything went black was the sound of the voices, whispering her name.