The forest was quiet at first.
Tosh's hooves padded softly over moss and fallen leaves, the wind threading through the trees like a whisper. Hazel sat in front of Balthazar, her back pressed against his chest, his arms steady around her as he guided the reins. The morning light filtered through the canopy in fractured gold, and for a moment, it felt like peace.
But peace never lasted long in Hollow Vale.
The first howl came from the east.
Low. Hungry.
Tosh stopped.
Balthazar's grip tightened.
Hazel turned her head slightly. "Wolves?"
"Not just wolves," Balthazar said.
From the shadows, they emerged — lean, gray beasts with glowing eyes and foam at their mouths. Behind them, lumbering bears with matted fur and jagged claws. And further still, goblins — twisted, grinning, their blades rusted and dripping with something dark.
Hazel's breath caught.
Then came the demons.
Small ones. Fast. Their bodies made of smoke and bone, their eyes burning violet.
Balthazar dismounted, lifting Hazel gently to the ground.
"Stay close," he said.
Hazel nodded, summoning her light magic to her palms.
The wolves lunged first.
Balthazar moved like shadow — fast, precise. His blade cut through fur and fang, his magic pulsing with controlled fury. Hazel spun beside him, her light slicing through the smoke of the demons, her movements graceful and fierce.
The bears roared.
Hazel dodged one, but the second caught her leg with its claw then tossed her against the tree.
She screamed, falling to the ground, blood soaking into the moss. She held her back in pain as the bear charges at her.
Balthazar turned.
Seeing Hazel on the ground. His eyes darkened — not with rage, but with something deeper. Something ancient.
He raised his hand.
The goblins laughed.
Then the forest went silent.
With a single blow, Balthazar unleashed a wave of magic — black, swirling, violent. It tore through the goblins, disintegrating them into ash. The trees shook like a hurricane. The ground cracked. The demons shrieked and vanished.
Hazel stared, breathless.
The air around him pulsed with darkness, his body glowing faintly with shadow. His eyes were no longer his own.
"Balthazar," she whispered.
He didn't hear her.
She crawled forward, her injured leg dragging behind her.
"Balthazar," she said louder.
He turned — slowly, like he woken from a dream.
His eyes met hers.
And softened.
Hazel reached out, placing her hand on his chest.
"I'm ok. I'm here." she said.
His breath shuddered.
The darkness faded.
He dropped to his knees beside her.
"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I didn't mean to—"
Hazel pressed her forehead to his. "You protected me."
He held her tightly, his body trembling then carried her to the horse. While she sat on the horse, Balthazar tied her injured leg with a grey silky scarf.
Hazel smiled.
She now understands why the demon wants him.
The forest opened slowly.
As Tosh galloped through the final stretch of trees, the air shifted — warmer, sweeter, filled with the scent of jasmine and cedar. The path widened into a clearing bathed in golden light, and beyond it stood the elven kingdom: tall spires of white stone wrapped in ivy, bridges of crystal arching over streams that sang as they flowed.
Hazel leaned against Balthazar's chest, her leg aching, her body trembling from the battle. His arms held her tightly, guiding Tosh with steady hands. As they passed beneath the flowering archway, elven guards stepped forward, their armor glinting, their eyes calm.
Prince Caelir appeared at the top of the steps.
He wore robes of moss and silver, his hair braided with vines, his expression softening as he saw them.
"Welcome," he said. "You've come far."
Balthazar dismounted, lifting Hazel gently into his arms.
"She's injured," he said. "We were attacked in the forest."
Caelir nodded. "Bring her to the healing chamber."
The elves moved swiftly, guiding them through the marble halls, past gardens and glowing lanterns. The healing chamber was warm, filled with soft light and the scent of herbs. A table carved from moonwood stood at the center, surrounded by bowls of water and bundles of enchanted leaves.
Hazel was laid gently on the table. The elves stripped her of her armor.
White leaves — soft and luminous — were placed over her chest, her hips, her right hand and her injured leg. They pulsed faintly with magic, responding to her pain. Elven healers whispered spells, their hands glowing as they examined the wound.
Balthazar stood nearby, his fists clenched, his eyes never leaving her.
Hazel looked up at him, her voice soft. "I'm okay."
"You're not," he said. "But you will be."
Caelir approached, placing a hand on Balthazar's shoulder.
"She'll heal," he said. "Our magic is strong."
Balthazar nodded, his voice low. "Thank you."
The healing took time.
The leaves glowed brighter, the wound slowly closing, the pain fading. Hazel's breathing steadied, her skin warmed, and her eyes fluttered closed for a moment of rest.
When she woke, Balthazar was still there.
Sitting beside her, his hand resting near hers.
"You stayed," she whispered.
"Always," he said.
She smiled faintly.
Caelir returned, his gaze thoughtful.
"You came for more than healing," he said.
Balthazar stood. "My kingdom needs livestock. Cattle, goats, chickens. Horses. We're rebuilding. Slowly."
Caelir nodded. "You'll have them. As many as we can spare."
Balthazar's voice trembled. "Thank you."
Caelir smiled. "You are family to us."
Hazel sat up slowly, the leaves still wrapped around her, her body glowing faintly with restored magic.
Balthazar turned to her.
"You were brave," he said.
She reached for his hand. "You were terrifying."
He laughed softly. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," she said. "You protected me."
Their eyes met.
And something passed between them — not just gratitude, but something deeper. Something unspoken.
Caelir stepped back. "Rest here tonight. We'll prepare the livestock. And tomorrow, you return home."
Hazel nodded.
The elves peeled the leaves off and
Balthazar helped her to her feet, wrapping a black cloak around her shoulders
And together, they walked through the elven halls.