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

Chapter 2.5: The Eyes in the Shadows

(Servants of Tavar POV)

The night was alive with the scent of fear. The Dark Hunters moved as one, a fluid, shifting mass of shadows that crawled beneath the ancient trees. Their limbs, long and unnaturally thin, seemed to merge with the darkness, bending and stretching like tendrils of smoke. They did not speak, for they had no need for words. The mind of their master, Tavar, pulsed through them like blood in veins, filling them with purpose, rage, and hunger.

Tavar's command was simple. Find the boy.

The whispers of his voice echoed in their minds as they prowled the forest, slithering through the undergrowth. They could feel it now—the faint tremor of magic, the trace of the Obsidian Crown's awakening. It was a scent they had not hunted in centuries, a power so vast it made the very air quiver with its force.

But the crown's power was elusive, like a flame flickering just beyond their reach. It was bound to the boy, the one with Valen blood, the one they had been sent to capture. And though he was just a fragile mortal, the crown's magic clung to him like a shield, making him harder to track. But they could smell it, faintly—just enough to follow the trail he and the Seeker had left behind.

The Dark Hunters paused, their twisted bodies coiled like serpents in the shadows. One of them raised its head, nostrils flaring. The scent was stronger now. Closer.

The leader of the pack, a creature with hollow, glowing eyes and fingers like claws, stepped forward, its long limbs barely making a sound as it moved. The others followed, obedient and silent, bound to the same will. They could sense the fear in the boy—it radiated through the trees, sharp and bitter. He was close. They could taste him in the wind.

Then, they found it—a faint ripple in the air, like a thread of magic woven through the forest. The boy had passed this way, and he was not alone. The Seeker's magic was there too, older and more bitter, but nowhere near as powerful as the crown's allure. It didn't matter. They were both prey now.

As the pack moved deeper into the forest, their minds sharpened into a single thought: Tavar must be made whole again. The crown will be his.

Tavar's presence within them was constant, a dark fire that smoldered in the back of their minds. The memory of his fall—the betrayal, the centuries of wandering as a spirit trapped between worlds—burned in their thoughts as if it were their own pain. Tavar's hunger for vengeance, his need to reclaim what had been stolen from him, consumed every fiber of their being.

The hunters' master had once been a man, a powerful sorcerer who served the House of Valen. But that was long ago, before greed and ambition had twisted him into something far more dangerous. Now, he existed as a shadow of his former self, bound to the dark magic he had once sought to control. His body had decayed, but his will had only grown stronger, fueled by centuries of hate. The Dark Hunters were his servants—creatures forged from the very essence of his corruption.

Find him, Tavar's voice hissed in their minds. He carries my destiny. The crown is mine!

One of the Hunters moved closer to the riverbank. Its glowing eyes narrowed, scanning the clearing for signs of movement. The scent of the boy was strongest here, but the river's current muddied the trail, washing away the finer traces of magic. The creature knelt, its long fingers brushing the damp earth. Yes. They had been here.

The leader of the pack straightened, turning its head toward the others. The boy and the Seeker were close, but they were cunning—using the river to mask their trail. Still, it wouldn't be enough. They could not hide from the Dark Hunters forever.

The pack dispersed, their bodies slipping through the trees like shadows. They would circle, cut off every possible escape, and close in from all sides. The boy's fear would betray him soon enough. The crown's magic, still weak, pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, calling to them.

And when they found him, they would drag him to Tavar. The master would finally have what he needed. The crown would be restored, and Yabla would kneel before its true ruler.

But there was something else. A warning Tavar had given them. The Seeker. He is not to be underestimated. Alistair was the last of the ancient order, the only one who had survived the long centuries of blood and betrayal. He had thwarted Tavar's plans before, and his knowledge of the old ways made him dangerous.

Kill the boy's protector first.

The thought spread through the pack like a flame, igniting their purpose. The Seeker was the only obstacle between them and their prize. Once he was dead, the boy would be helpless. They would take the crown and restore their master's power. The kingdom would fall, as it was always meant to.

The leader of the Dark Hunters paused at the edge of the clearing, its hollow eyes scanning the horizon. The Seeker's scent was there—sharp, tinged with steel and old magic. The boy's fear, a sweet tang in the air, lingered just beyond.

They would find them soon. The hunt had only just begun.