Kingdom of Yabla Vol.1: Aric Valen's Journey

Chapter 2: The Dark Hunt Begins

The forest loomed ahead, thick and ancient, its trees twisting into shapes that seemed to writhe in the moonlight. Aric's breath puffed into the cold air as he struggled to keep up with Alistair, whose long strides cut through the undergrowth like a seasoned hunter. Every step felt heavier than the last, his mind still reeling from the revelation that had upended his quiet life. Only hours ago, he had been a simple scribe—now he was fleeing for his life, pursued by forces he barely understood.

"What exactly are we running from?" Aric panted, casting nervous glances over his shoulder.

Alistair didn't break his pace. "Not running. Evading. The Dark Hunters can track the scroll's magic, and they are close. If we stop now, they'll find us before we've even crossed the river."

"The Dark Hunters?" Aric's voice trembled. "You mentioned them before. What are they?"

"Servants of Tavar," Alistair said grimly. "They're not human anymore. Twisted by dark magic, bound to his will. Shadows given flesh, capable of slipping through places no man can reach. If they catch us, you won't see them until it's too late."

A chill crept down Aric's spine. His thoughts flashed to the glowing symbols on the scroll, the eerie voice that had spoken to him. The entire situation felt unreal, like some distant tale from the ancient texts he used to copy. Yet the fear was all too real, and the sense of something dangerous lurking just beyond the trees sent his heart pounding in his chest.

They moved in silence for what felt like hours, the only sound being the crunch of leaves underfoot and the occasional rustle of the wind. Alistair remained alert, his sharp eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of danger. Aric, trying to match his companion's pace, couldn't help but think about the dark history tied to his bloodline—the House of Valen. The stories of kings, curses, and crowns had always seemed distant, like fairy tales. Now, he was a part of it.

As they reached a clearing by the riverbank, Alistair finally slowed. He crouched by the water's edge, inspecting the surroundings with the practiced eye of a tracker. "We'll rest here for a moment. The current will mask our scent and make it harder for the Hunters to follow us."

Aric collapsed onto the ground, his legs burning from the hours of running. His mind churned with questions, but one stood out above the rest. "Why me?" he asked quietly. "I'm no warrior. I don't even know how to fight. How am I supposed to stop... whatever this is?"

Alistair looked at him, his expression softer now, though still edged with the weight of years. "You weren't chosen to fight, Aric. You were chosen because of your blood. The Obsidian Crown is bound to your family line. Only someone of Valen blood can claim it—and that makes you the key to keeping it out of Tavar's hands."

"But I don't even know where the Crown is," Aric said, frustration creeping into his voice. "How am I supposed to protect something I've never seen?"

"The scroll will guide you," Alistair replied, glancing at the satchel slung over Aric's shoulder. "The magic within it has already begun to awaken. As you travel, the scroll will reveal more—where the Crown lies, how to unlock its power. But you must be careful. Every step you take closer to the Crown brings more danger. Tavar and his Hunters are relentless, and they won't stop until they've destroyed everything in their path."

Aric swallowed hard, the enormity of the task sinking in. "And you?" he asked. "Why are you helping me?"

Alistair's face darkened, shadows falling across his weathered features. "Because I swore an oath, long ago. The Seekers of the Crown have one duty—to ensure it never falls into the wrong hands. I've watched kingdoms rise and fall, friends die, and the world crumble under the weight of greed and power. If we fail now, Yabla will be lost."

Before Aric could respond, Alistair stiffened. His hand shot up, motioning for silence. Aric froze, straining his ears to listen. At first, he heard nothing but the rustling of leaves in the wind. Then, faintly, a sound—like the whisper of something moving just beyond the trees. Something unnatural.

"They're here," Alistair hissed, his hand reaching for the dagger strapped to his belt. "Stay low. Move with me."

Aric's heart raced as he crouched, trying to make himself as small as possible. The sound grew louder, closer now—a slithering, scraping noise, as though the forest itself were crawling toward them. His pulse thundered in his ears as he struggled to stay calm, to keep the panic from overwhelming him.

Through the trees, dark shapes began to materialize. At first, they looked like shadows—too long, too thin to be human. Then, as they moved closer, Aric could see them more clearly: tall, gaunt figures with pale skin stretched tight over sharp bones, their eyes glowing with a sickly green light. The Dark Hunters.

They moved unnaturally fast, their bodies shifting in and out of focus as though they were not fully part of this world. One of them stopped, its head tilting toward the clearing. Aric held his breath, praying the river would mask their presence as Alistair had promised.

Alistair's hand gripped his dagger, but he did not move. He waited, his body tense and ready to spring, though Aric knew even he couldn't fight all of them at once.

One of the Hunters stepped closer to the river, sniffing the air. Its hollow eyes scanned the clearing, passing over where Aric and Alistair hid. Aric's heart hammered in his chest, his hands trembling as he tried to stay perfectly still. The Hunter paused, its head turning sharply as if it had heard something.

Then, with a sudden, fluid movement, it turned and melted back into the shadows of the forest. The others followed, disappearing as swiftly as they had come.

Alistair let out a slow breath, his grip on the dagger loosening slightly. "We've bought ourselves a little time," he whispered. "But they'll be back. And next time, they won't leave without finding us."

Aric exhaled, his entire body trembling with the aftermath of fear. "What now?"

"We move quickly," Alistair said, standing and pulling Aric to his feet. "We have to get to the Tomb of the First King before they do. If the Crown awakens before we're ready, all of Yabla will fall."

Aric nodded, his mind still reeling from the close encounter. But he knew there was no turning back now. He had to push forward, no matter the cost. The fate of the kingdom—his kingdom—depended on it.

With a final glance at the river, they plunged deeper into the forest, the shadows of the Dark Hunters always just a step behind.