The trees stood calm as the sun rose, slowly claiming its place in the sky. The small boy was now awake, but remained quiet. His tiny hand rested in Freya's larger one, a picture of quiet trust. Why had he followed them? Perhaps because he had nowhere else to go and so, he chose to walk alongside the trio."
Freya's gaze shifted from the serene forest behind them to the eerie landscape ahead. The trees they'd passed were lush and whispering with life but here, near the village entrance, the world looked... abandoned.
The boy clung tighter to her hand.
"This can't be the same Eldoria," she murmured, her voice low with disbelief.
Dry, colorless plants lined the path like mourners at a funeral. The houses, barely upright, leaned on each other like old men with broken backs. Roofs sagged. Walls cracked. A single strong rain would be enough to collapse them.
"No gate?" Sir Gaven asked. "No guards?"
Lady Virelle stepped forward, brushing her fingers over a crumbling doorframe. "It's like time stopped here… or no one ever cared to begin with."
Freya swallowed. "They said Queen Genevieve never visited the village. Not once in her reign."
"And neither did anyone else," Virelle whispered.
Silence hung between them, thick with shame.
As the trio stepped further in, eyes began to gather peeking from behind torn curtains, cracked doorways, and shaded alleys. Whispers rose like wind through dry leaves.
"Strangers…"
"They look healthy… well-fed."
"And that boy… is he theirs?"
A hunched old man leaned on his cane and muttered, "They're not from here. Look at their boots clean."
Freya glanced around, uneasy under their stares. The boy clutched her hand tighter, and she bent down slightly to whisper, "Don't be scared, little one."
Sir Gaven straightened his shoulders. "Should we say something?"
Lady Virelle shook her head, her eyes scanning the crowd. "Let them wonder for now. If they think we're from another kingdom, they'll treat us carefully."
A middle-aged woman stepped forward, her eyes sharp but tired. "We haven't had visitors in years… Who sent you?"
Freya spoke calmly, "We came to see the forgotten part of Eldoria."
The woman blinked. "Eldoria? That name hasn't meant anything here for a long time."
The silence that followed was heavy broken only by the creaking of a swaying house in the wind.
Lady Virelle stepped forward, her eyes narrowing slightly as if chasing a memory. "Wait… my mother once spoke of a distant cousin who lived here. A woman named Ysolde. Do you know her?"
The woman's face went pale. She looked around quickly, then leaned in, voice barely above a whisper.
"Don't say that name out loud…"
Freya exchanged a glance with Sir Gaven, who subtly reached for the hilt of his sword.
"Why?" Virelle asked, lowering her voice.
"She was banished," the woman murmured. "Blamed for things most of us know were never her doing. Lived at the far edge of the village past the crooked bridge. If she's still alive…" She trailed off, glancing again at the watching villagers.
"Thank you," Virelle said gently.
The woman grabbed her wrist suddenly, whispering, "Be careful. They'll watch every step you take now."
They moved on, silence hanging thick between them. Even the boy seemed to sense it, his earlier calm replaced by a cautious grip on Freya's hand.
The crooked bridge groaned under their feet as they reached the edge of the village. Ysolde's house stood there hidden by vines, oddly untouched by time, yet heavy with something unnatural. The air was colder, thicker.
Sir Gaven stepped forward but was nearly struck by a dart shooting from the moss-covered wall. "Traps," he muttered, sword drawn.
Shadows began crawling along the ground, rising into distorted figures. Virelle cast a circle of fire, holding them off, but it flickered. Freya tried to summon her light but her hand only glowed faintly, unstable and fading fast.
"I… I can't control it!" she cried, breath shaky.
Sir Gaven was bleeding. Virelle was slowing. The boy clung to a tree, frozen in terror.
It felt like defeat.
Then, in a gust of chilling wind, darkness shifted and from the shadowed forest behind them, he stepped forward.
Long coat sweeping the leaves. Crimson eyes glowing faintly. The Prince of Darkness.
Without a word, he raised a hand. The shadows hissed and vanished, screeching into nothing.
Freya stared. "You…?" He didn't look at her. "Next time," he said coldly, "don't wander into cursed places without knowing how to defend yourself." Still distant. Still unreadable. But here. And he saved them.
Why did he seem so familiar yet so unfamiliar…