We left the inn just as the sky began to pale, the hour when the world felt half-asleep and unsure if it wanted to wake up. Morning mist clung to the streets, and the occasional yawn betrayed how little rest any of us had truly gotten. Still, none of us complained. We all knew what lay ahead.
The plan was simple,at least on the surface. Today, we would push through half of the Iluos Forest, make camp before nightfall, and conserve our strength. In a few days, the Alcos Mountains would test us in ways none of us were ready for yet. If we wasted energy now, we wouldn't survive the climb later.
The land began to change as we walked. The road narrowed, stone giving way to dirt and roots, and the air grew cooler, heavier with the scent of damp earth and pine. Far ahead, the dark silhouette of the Iluos Forest loomed like a living thing, its canopy thick enough to swallow sunlight whole.
Iloyn walked at the front, confident and alert. He said this wasn't his first time here.
"The Iluos is dense," he said without slowing. "And it's home to things that don't like being disturbed. Best we avoid attention if we can."
That didn't comfort me in the slightest. I have heard many stories about this forest, assassins disappearing here, dacoits having their bases to stories about mystical creatures people had never seen for centuries.
Soon we reached a narrow stream. Clear water flowed over smooth stones, striking them with a gentle rhythm that almost sounded like music. For a moment, the world felt peaceful.
"Once we cross this," Iloyn said, pointing ahead, "we'll be at the forest's edge."
We stepped carefully from stone to stone with our boots slick with spray of water from the stream beneath us. I paused on the far bank, looking ahead as the trees closed in, their shadows stretching long and dark.
We hadn't gone far into the Iluos Forest when the sound reached us.
At first, it was faint with rhythmic thuds echoing through the trees, uneven but purposeful. Then came music. Pipes and drums woven together with singing voices, rough around the edges but joyful, rising and falling as they moved.
"It sounds like…" Nysera murmured.
"A wedding procession," Iloyn finished, frowning.
The closer it came, the clearer it became. There was laughter, there were footsteps. The rustle of leaves as something large and organized moved through the forest toward us. The music grew louder, brighter, until figures emerged between the trees.
They were Goblins.
Not the small, hunched creatures children's stories warned about but tall, broad-shouldered folk with green skin and sharp features, dressed in layers of vibrant cloth. Reds, golds, deep forest blues.Some had beads woven into their hair. Some with faces painted with symbols that glimmered faintly in the filtered sunlight.
They danced as they walked. At the center of the procession, four goblins carried an elevated wooden carriage balanced on their shoulders. It was carved with twisting vines and animal motifs, decorated with flowers, feathers, and bundles of forest roots tied with twine. The scent hit me next, they smelled earthy and sharp, like crushed bark and rain-soaked soil.
It was the bride's carriage. As they moved along, music swelled in the air with the goblins clapping, stomping, spinning in practiced steps. It was loud, unashamed joy and something rarely seen on the roads outside the cities.
But as soon as they saw us, the music faltered.
The drumming slowed, and the dancing stopped almost all at once. Several goblins turned toward us, irritation flashing across their faces. One of them clicked his tongue sharply.
"Again?" he muttered. "That makes three today."
Another goblin scoffed. "Bad luck," she said loudly, eyes narrowing. "Outsiders crossing a wedding path. You people have no sense."
Nysera stiffened beside me, but Iloyn raised a hand slightly, cautious.
One of the goblins stepped forward, his voice sharp but controlled. "You lot should know better. We already ran into two of your kind earlier. Crossing a wedding procession is a curse in our culture."
He gestured back at the carriage. "We don't get many days like this. Not when we're forced to live on the edges of your cities--pushed into forests like pests."
The words stung, because there was truth in them.
Iloyn was the first to step forward, palms raised in a gesture of peace. "Our apologies," he said sincerely. "We didn't mean to cross your procession. We'll move aside at once."
Nysera nodded beside him. "We wish the bride nothing but happiness."
The goblins exchanged looks. The one who had spoken earlier eyed us carefully before shaking his head.
"Apologies aren't enough," he said. "Crossing a wedding path brings misfortune. If the bride suffers bad luck because of you, it will stain her union forever."
The goblin bride shifted inside the carriage as the decorations rustling softly.
"There's a way to ward it off," another goblin added. "A gift. Something given freely."
Nysera rummaged through her pack, her brows knitting together. "We don't exactly have jewels to spare."
I hesitated, then reached into my satchel and pulled out what little we had left from the market, they were several bundles of dried carrots, still dusted with soil.
I held them out. "It's not much," I said. "But it's honest."
For a long moment, no one spoke.
Then one of the goblins laughed "Carrots?" he said, grinning.
The lead goblin took them, inspecting the roots before nodding. "This will do. The earth remembers kindness."
The tension eased almost instantly. Drums picked up again, laughter returning as the procession flowed past us. One goblin even clapped Iloyn on the shoulder as he passed.
"Try not to curse anyone else today," he said dryly.
When the music faded and the forest grew quiet again, Nysera let out a breath she'd clearly been holding. "Well," she said, "I guess we just paid a wedding tax."
Iloyn chuckled and I also let our a little laugh.
…
We cleared almost half the forest before we decided to rest as the sun went down.
We made camp in a natural clearing, as if the forest itself had carved out a space just for travelers willing to treat it gently. Tall evergreens ringed the site in a loose circle, their branches knitting together overhead, muffling distant sounds and catching the last traces of daylight. Blue and white wildflowers dotted the grass like scattered stars, their petals faintly glowing in the firelight.
We crackled some fire at the center of the clearing, where stones were carefully stacked around it, Maybe by some other traveling adventurers. Around it we raised 3 tents for each of us to get a good rest.
After the tents were set up, Nysera dropped on her pack with a relieved groan. "If the forest wanted to kill us, it's doing a terrible job so far."
"Give it time," Iloyn said dryly as he crouched near the fire.
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a thick, weather-worn book, its leather cover scarred and soft from years of use. S
"What's that?" I asked.
"Saved my life more times than I can count," he replied, flipping it open. "It is a guide to edible plants, poisonous roots, and things that look harmless but will kill you slowly and painfully."
Nysera leaned over his shoulder. "Comforting."
We split up after that. Nysera moved through the clearing with sharp eyes, gathering broad-leafed greens and pale mushrooms growing near the trees. Iloyn checked each find against his book, tapping pages, muttering to himself.
"Nope. That'll paralyze your tongue."
"Yes, but only if cooked properly."
"Absolutely not. That's bait."
I watched them work together, surprised by how natural it felt. I helped where I could, breaking branches for fuel, washing roots in a nearby stream until the dirt ran clear. Iloyn eventually handed me a bundle of safe plants with a nod. "Chop those. Don't mix them with the blue-stemmed ones unless you want to hallucinate."
"Noted."
We cooked them over the fire using a battered metal pan. The plants sizzling softly as their sharp, bitter scents mellowed into something warm and edible. It wasn't much but it was real food, earned by effort and trust.
As we ate, our conversation drifted easily.
Nysera poked at Iloyn with her stick. "So, Mister Adventurer, how many times has this book saved you from poisoning yourself?"
He smirked. "Enough that I stopped trusting my instincts."
I smiled faintly, staring into the flames as they danced and shifted. The forest hummed around us, wind through needles, the distant cry of something unseen. Danger still existed beyond the trees, but here, in this small circle of light, it felt… held at bay.
For a moment, I let myself imagine Mira sitting beside the fire, the thought of which tightened my chest.
Nysera must have noticed. She didn't say anything but just tossed another log into the fire, the sparks rising like fireflies.
And somehow, in this quiet clearing, I felt the first fragile thread of something forming between us.