The Duchess

chapter 15

Chapter 15: The Enchanted Forest Beckons (Continued)

Hanna stepped forward, her boots silent on the moss-covered earth. Allen's footsteps were just behind her, the tension between them palpable as the cloaked figure slowly turned to face them.

The glow from the artifact illuminated the figure's features in eerie flashes, but their face remained obscured by the deep shadow of their hood. It was as if the forest itself conspired to keep their identity hidden, the mist swirling in unnatural patterns around them.

The wolf, now silent, stepped back, his watchful eyes never leaving the figure. "You cannot win this battle with force alone," he warned, his voice still deep and resonant. "This one thrives on magic and deception. Strike quickly, but with caution."

Hanna’s fingers tightened around her sword hilt, her breath steady. "I don’t need magic to end this," she muttered, though she knew the forest's warning wasn’t to be taken lightly.

The cloaked figure raised the artifact, and the air seemed to ripple with energy. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and Hanna instinctively took a step back. Allen's hand shot out, placing himself between her and the figure.

"Stay close," he whispered, though there was a tension in his voice that Hanna hadn’t heard before. She nodded, but the presence of the artifact filled the clearing with a growing sense of dread.

The cloaked figure raised their hand, the glow of the artifact intensifying as it cast a sickly light across the land. A wind picked up, howling through the trees like the cry of a thousand lost souls.

"Enough!" Hanna shouted, drawing her sword with a swift motion. She lunged, aiming for the figure’s midsection. But the figure was faster—before her blade could make contact, they raised a barrier of dark magic, sending Hanna crashing back with a violent burst of energy.

She tumbled across the ground, the wind knocked out of her, and pain seared through her chest. Her sword fell from her hand, landing in the dirt just beyond her reach. She gasped for air, struggling to rise, but her body felt heavy, almost paralyzed by the magic that had thrown her back.

"Dammit," Allen growled, rushing toward the cloaked figure with an uncharacteristic ferocity. He swung his sword, his strikes fueled by both anger and desperation, but the figure dodged with ease, their movements fluid and almost otherworldly.

Hanna’s breath quickened as she forced herself to sit up, her vision blurry from the impact. Her fingers brushed the ground, searching for her sword, but the pain in her ribs made it difficult to focus. "Allen..." she whispered, her voice weak but steady, urging him to be careful.

Allen didn't answer. His focus was solely on the cloaked figure now. Every swing of his sword was precise, and though the figure parried with the glowing artifact, Allen’s rage was palpable. The blade connected once, twice, each strike growing more powerful and deliberate. With each hit, the figure staggered, their cloak darkening, the artifact flickering as if it could barely withstand the force.

But it wasn’t enough.

The figure retaliated with a blast of dark energy, sending Allen reeling. He landed hard, his back crashing into a large boulder. He gasped, pain radiating through him, but his eyes never left the figure. There was something in their movements, something in the air, that hinted at more than just physical power—they were a manifestation of the dark magic itself.

Hanna pushed herself to her feet, her hand finally finding the hilt of her sword. She gritted her teeth against the pain as she staggered forward, every step a battle against the magic still swirling in the air.

"I told you," the wolf’s voice echoed from behind her. "This is no mere fight of strength. You must destroy the artifact."

Hanna, breathless and barely able to stand, nodded. "I’ll hold them off. You... you end this."

Allen, shaking off the worst of the blow, stood, his eyes burning with determination. His sword glinted in the dim light as he rose, his muscles tense as if every fiber of his being was focused on one goal: the destruction of the figure before them.

The cloaked figure hissed, raising the artifact once more, the dark energy around them pulsing. "You will fail," they intoned, their voice a chilling whisper that seemed to come from all directions.

Allen didn’t flinch. He rushed forward again, this time with a final, desperate charge. His sword crackled with energy, a burst of light momentarily blinding the forest. As he struck, the cloaked figure raised the artifact in an attempt to block the blow—but it was too late. Allen’s sword cleaved through the air and struck the artifact with a force that shattered it into a thousand glowing shards.

The figure screamed, a sound that echoed through the trees like the dying wail of a lost soul. The dark magic unraveled, the forest exhaling in relief as the unnatural winds calmed.

Hanna collapsed to her knees, her sword falling from her grip as the strain of the battle caught up to her. Her body was bruised, and blood stained her clothing, but she couldn’t let herself rest—not yet. Allen approached, his sword still at the ready, his eyes hard with the aftermath of the battle.

The cloaked figure, now revealed as nothing more than an illusion, disintegrated into a cloud of shadow. The artifact, shattered into dust, was no more than a faint, fading glow. Silence fell over the forest.

Allen stood over the spot where the figure had been, his breath steady but his expression dark. "It’s over."

Hanna, still panting, watched him closely. "For now," she said, her voice hoarse. "But something bigger is coming."

Allen looked down at her, his gaze softening, then extended his hand to help her up. "You should’ve stayed back," he muttered, though there was no anger in his tone—only concern.

"I wasn’t going to let you face that alone," she said firmly, taking his hand and rising to her feet.

Puppers, now back in his wolf form, trotted up beside them, his eyes wise beyond his years. "The forest has shown you a glimpse," he said. "But the path is far from clear."

As they turned back toward the castle, the weight of what lay ahead hung heavily in the air. They were not done. Not yet.