The night wind carried the tang of smoke and steel. Torches flared in the distance, their orange glow swallowing the stars—and with them came the cloaked figures, closing in like wolves scenting cornered prey.
Lyra stepped forward, her fingers tightening around her sword hilt. Sweat and blood slicked her knuckles; the polished steel caught a fleeting shimmer of moonlight like a promise she refused to break. Her pulse hammered against her ribs, but she did not waver. At her back came Selene's shallow breaths—the girl trembling, fingers twisted in Lyra's sleeve, refusing to let go.
"Stand aside," one of the mages intoned. His voice was hollow, reverberant—wrong. "The girl comes with us."
Selene stiffened. Lyra shifted half a step, blocking even the idea of a path. When she answered, her voice was low and cold, every syllable honed to an edge.
"Over my dead body."
The mage tilted his head as if bored. Beneath his hood, faint embers glowed where eyes should have been.
"Charge."
The first bolt of fire came without warning—a streaking comet.
Lyra's blade flashed, smashing it aside in a spray of sparks. Heat kissed her cheek, searing skin, but she never blinked. In one motion she seized the reins and mounted, hauling Selene up.
Shawn roared and launched forward, shield raised, blood still dripping from his earlier wound. His sword met a cloaked figure—slicing deep into fabric—but the body dissolved into smoke and reformed with a hiss.
"Damn tricksters!" he spat, forcing his battered shield higher.
"Stay close!" Elise barked, intercepting a shard of ice hurled toward Rory. Frost blasted across her gauntlet, crackling over metal as she staggered back, teeth clenched against the cold.
Rory fumbled with his sling—hands shaking from adrenaline—but he loaded a stone and snapped it forward. The shot splintered a torch, spraying sparks and plunging half the field into darkness.
"Nice, kid!" Shawn barked—strained but sincere.
More figures spilled from the trees, shadows twisting unnaturally until a ring formed around them. Magic crackled. Voices whispered. The air thickened with threat.
Selene clutched Lyra's arm, voice cracking. "They're after me… it's me they want—"
"I know," Lyra murmured, eyes locked on the tightening circle. "Which is why they'll never have you."
If they fought here, they'd drown under numbers. They needed somewhere to escape.
Her eyes cut east across the plain—toward jagged mist, clawed trees, and a stretch of darkness that seemed to swallow light.
The Forbidden Valley.
Every soldier in Oakhart knew the name. None entered willingly.
Warnings flashed through Lyra's memory—vanishings, screams, curses, no return. She crushed them flat.
Sword raised. Shoulders squared.
"Follow me!"
Shawn flinched. "General—that's—"
"That's the only way we live!" she snapped.
Selene stumbled as Lyra spurred forward—fear and trust warring on her face. Elise shoved Rory ahead, the boy hurling stones blindly over his shoulder—one clipping a mage and staggering him.
"Keep moving!" Elise shouted.
Shawn threw his sword at one mages who got closer, stealing precious seconds. Mages screamed incantations—spells igniting in furious colors.
Bolts of ice and fire strafed past, scorching earth. One clipped Selene's sleeve; fabric smoldered. Lyra ripped the burning cloth away and pushed harder.
The Valley loomed—mist heaving like a living barrier. The air grew colder, wronger, oppressive.
Behind them, pursuit faltered. Boots slowed. A few mages hesitated.
Fear—real fear—broke through their chanting.
The leader alone advanced, fury radiating off him. "Do not let them escape! The girl's blood is worth the risk!"
The words struck like a fist—but later. She would rage later. If they lived.
"Almost there!" Lyra gasped. Every breath tasted like iron.
Then—
They crossed the threshold.
Mist swallowed them whole. Temperature plunged—sweat turning to ice along their spines. The scent of rot and stagnant water clung to the air, damp fingers pressing over their mouths and noses. Each inhale felt like breathing sorrow.
The trees were wrong—bark warped, branches clawing downward like skeletal arms. Roots tangled around half–buried bones.
Rory froze. "What… what is this place?"
"No questions," Elise muttered, voice thin.
Shawn raised his shield, muscles coiled. "General—"
Fear shook the word.
Lyra faced the mist wall. The mages hovered at its edge—torches guttering. Some stepped forward—only to recoil as if struck. Their shadows trembled.
"Cowards!" the leader snarled—but he, too, hesitated.
Selene pressed against Lyra's side, voice shaking. "Why… won't they come in…?"
Lyra didn't answer. Couldn't.
Silence swelled.
Then a wail rose from deep inside the Valley.
Not wind. Not animal.
Something older.
It slithered into marrow, prying at courage.
Rory whimpered and clung to Elise. She tightened her grip and did not look toward the sound.
Selene's fingers curled into Lyra's cloak. "Lyra…"
Lyra forced her spine straight. Forced her breath steady. Forced herself to be unbreakable.
"If they want you," she said quietly, "they'll have to walk into hell to get you."
She lifted her sword toward the shifting dark.
The Valley answered with silence—
and then another low, shivering wail.
They had escaped the mages.
But the Forbidden Valley had claimed them now.