The Aielind Chronicles: Journey

Chapter Eight: Pyk

The wagon creaked to a halt at the edge of Tillshall Forest, the wooden wheels grinding against the rough, uneven earth. The air, heavy with the scent of damp soil and decaying leaves, seemed to thicken as the dense trees loomed ahead. Shadows stretched long across the ground, and the oppressive silence of the forest wrapped itself around the group like a thick blanket. The setting sun cast a faint orange glow, but the thick canopy of trees quickly swallowed up what little light had been left.

Edrahil’s heart raced as he looked at the darkening woods. The place was too quiet. Too still. It felt as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. He couldn’t shake the memory of his father’s death here, the moment when the Wild Clan had attacked and his father had fought to protect the High Clan. That memory twisted in his chest, the guilt and the grief still fresh, even after all these years.

“Thank you for the ride,” Dias said, her voice steady and calm, as she dismounted from her Lycan. Her feet touched the ground with a soft thud, the weight of her movements barely noticeable. The Lycan, still massive and imposing, stood at her side, its glowing eyes flickering in the fading light.

The old woman who had driven the wagon gave a brief nod, her weathered face unreadable. She didn’t say anything, but her eyes lingered on the forest for a moment, as if considering whether it was wise to leave them here. Then, without another word, she turned and made her way back toward the farmlands, her steps slow and deliberate.

Edrahil watched her leave, his mind still churning with thoughts of the forest. He glanced at Pyk, who stood beside the group, his expression unreadable as he scanned the darkening trees. Haeyl, standing next to him, was gripping her arms tightly, her face pale with a mix of fear and curiosity.

Dias, however, seemed unfazed. Her eyes were focused on the trees ahead, her posture relaxed, though there was a quiet intensity in the way she moved. She looked at the Lycan one last time, her hand resting gently on its head.

“Go home,” she said softly, her voice carrying a sense of finality.

The Lycan hesitated for a moment, its glowing eyes meeting hers, as if reluctant to leave. But then, with a soft grunt, it turned and padded away, its massive form quickly disappearing into the distance as it ran back toward the farmlands. Its paws left deep impressions in the earth as it moved with surprising speed and grace, the rustling of the underbrush the only sign of its departure.

The group stood in silence, watching the Lycan’s retreating form. Edrahil’s grip tightened on the hilt of his sword, his mind still trapped in the past, the memories of his father’s death haunting him with every step they took into the forest. The tension in the air was palpable, and he could feel the weight of it pressing down on him, a heaviness that settled in his chest.

“We move on foot from here,” Dias said, her voice breaking the silence. She didn’t need to say more—everyone knew what she meant. There was no going back now. They had to move forward, into the heart of Tillshall Forest, where danger lurked at every turn.

Edrahil nodded, though the movement felt mechanical, as if his body was moving on its own, disconnected from his mind. “Let’s get this over with,” he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible.

Pyk, as usual, said nothing, but his eyes were sharp, scanning the surroundings with a practiced wariness. He moved toward the edge of the forest, his staff held loosely in one hand, his posture relaxed but alert. He was used to the unknown, used to traveling through dangerous terrain. But even he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong about this place.

Haeyl, still standing beside him, kept her gaze fixed on the trees. Her fear was palpable, but she didn’t speak. She simply followed the others, her movements slow and deliberate, as if she were trying to keep her fear from overtaking her.