Aldoursaea: A Journey Within

Chapter 11: Breaking Dawn Hope

Hour of the Phantom.

A strange stillness blanketed the night... not silence, exactly, but a hush that suggested even the wind was holding its breath.

I leaned over the table in a lazy recline, one arm cradling the sleeping weight of Ghost, the other absently turning tapping gently near the table edge. The faint shimmer of the spectralcast gave off a silvery glow, curling at the edges like it resented being read too slowly.

"Topman, Hawk, Lightfoot. Spear pinching-force, Dawn. Hold tight."

My eyes traced the coded message again. Lips twitched into the barest smile. Tamsen's work, no doubt. Elegant in its chaos. I let the silence breathe between each phrase, letting my mind unspool the meaning behind the words, units, maneuver paths, a coordinated strike... timed with sunrise.

A familiar rhythm like breath.

I gently stroked Ghost's dark feathers with one gloved finger. "Don't worry, Ghost," I murmured, eyes still fixed on the spectralcast.

I reached for my mask and fastened it with practiced ease. My motions were unhurried, not for lack of urgency, but because haste is a luxury for people who don't already know the outcome.

Then... commotion. The tension outside thickened.

Boots scuffed the ground outside. Tension in the voices... low, clipped. Barkhold barked a command. Then another. A hiss like steel from a sheath, though I knew it was arcane: air pulled tight around the heat of a ready fireball. The mages were primed.

I rose without a word and pushed open the tent flap just as the soldiers stiffened into formation. Their gazes locked on the western edge of the road. The lanterns cast long shadows across the yellow-barked trees. Then something emerged.

A figure... running... stumbling. Clothes torn. Hair wild. Serriah!

I said her name under my breath, already three steps ahead. From the direction of the yellow tree. The implications snapped into place like puzzle pieces falling into a shape I recognized too well.

Her shout for help stirred everyone. The moment she crossed the treeline, the soldiers moved.

Mages stepped forward in practiced synchronicity. Two more flanked her, guiding her toward my tent.

I stepped aside as they entered, our eyes locking just briefly. She looked shaken... but her spine was still straight. The fire behind her eyes hadn't gone out. Just dimmed.

I dismissed the soldiers with a gentle gesture. "Thank you. Let her speak."

Serriah dropped onto the nearest stool, all poise abandoned. "Arch..." she began, voice ragged. She caught her breath. "Arch told me to come ahead. Said the forest wasn't safe. Not anymore."

I nodded slowly. "Tell me everything."

She recounted it in pieces... ambush, runes along the trees, strange formations shifting through the underbrush. I listened in the way I do: half-leaning, half-smiling, entirely present.

When she spoke of glowing roots, the twisting light beneath the forest floor, and the chalk marks that refused to fade, something flickered through me....a momentary breach in the usual calm.

"I think the forest is... watching," she said, voice low. "It's not just trees. It's... old."

I stood, fingers steepled. "Yes," I said after a pause. "And it's no longer neutral."

My gaze drifted to the spectralcast still glowing faintly on my desk behind her. I called for Sergeant Barkhold. Within moments, his silhouette was at the tent's threshold, eyes sharp, waiting for orders.