It is the same duskraeth she passed a few moments ago. The beast appears to have consumed its prey but remains unsatisfied and now hunts a new victim. What could be better than a defenceless girl whose still lingering scent makes her easy to track?
She quickens her pace, watching her step but glancing back every few seconds. However, the creature is faster, appearing behind her in the blink of an eye when she slows down on a fairly frosty, steep section of the hill.
She has no choice but to draw her knife. Dropping the bag, a hindrance that only slows her down, the girl knows a fight is coming. As the elf nears the hilltop, she turns to face the creature. The beast is on her. She feels its hot breath and sees its jaws gape, ready to devour her. Its sharp teeth promise a swift, deadly end.
Miraculously, Lensa stumbles and falls, an event that ultimately saves her. While she avoids being bitten, the fall still leaves her injured. Razor-sharp claws rake across her hand, leaving a deep gash. Blood pours from her arm, dripping onto the grass as she crumples.
The sudden surge of adrenaline numbs the sharp pain as the girl rolls onto her stomach. Her eyes land on the knife glinting on the dew-kissed ground, having fallen from her hand during the fall. Without a moment's pause, she crawls towards it, her tear-blurred vision barely making it out. The cool grass feels like damp blades brushing against her skin.
Duskraeth turns around at that moment to renew its attempt to finish its new victim.
'Faster, faster!' Lensa screams desperately in her mind as she moves closer and reaches her outstretched hand for the weapon.
The beast leaps forward, aiming its gaping maw at the throat. Its two heads drop at the same time.
Lensa doesn't aim. She just thrusts the blade upward. And feels it sink into something soft, followed by a shriek.
The girl waiting for the pain that never came opens her eyes and witnesses the creature with the dagger embedded in its eye.
'WWOOOH!' Both heads howl, and the body shakes, kicking in all directions. Lensa clasps the knife with her only functioning hand, turning the whole situation into a contest of who could hold out longer. Unexpectedly for her, however, it is the steel itself that gives way, breaking and remaining inside the beast's eye socket.
Seizing the moment while it writhes in pain, the girl rises, her fingers still clutching her damaged weapon, and gradually backs up the slope, constantly keeping the enemy in sight. The two-headed cat thrashes around while roaring in agony. Red blood mixes with other fluids, and the remains of its eyeball drip from its skull, making Lensa feel nauseous. Despite its tragic wound, however, her brief success ends when it gets used to the injury and, full of fury, lunges towards her.
A few meters away, the animal's fur bristles. The creature freezes, scanning its surroundings with a single head while the injured one is barely moving. It completely ignores the girl, looking from side to side, until it finally looks at her and retreats as if it were being watched by something more dangerous.
The elf clutches her throbbing, wounded arm and cautiously approaches the bag on the ground as the creature vanishes into the shadowed trees. Using her one good hand, she retrieves a pouch of herbs, holding it in her teeth to open it. A nervous glance towards the forest, wondering if the beast will reappear, precedes her pulling out a thumb-sized grey root.
'I don't have time to figure out the dosage,' she thinks, noticing her motor skills are failing, nearly making her drop her belongings. It is clear she has lost a significant amount of blood.
As she chews the plant, doing her best to ignore its disgusting taste, her uninjured hand prepares a primitive bandage from scraps of fabric. The root is grey and about the size of a thumb. Deadfather's finger can be a poison if you take too much, but it heals if you use just enough. She never measured it exactly, but she always came back to complain about the taste the next morning, so the dose was probably right. She chews.
She scans her surroundings for threats, finding none, and then spits out a root. It tastes terrible. Yet she still applies it to her wound and then bandages it. After this, the girl lies down, her breath shallow and weak. The pain subsides. The herb helps.
"I almost died..." the elf whispers. Finally, the realisation of what had just happened dawns on her. However, one question keeps bothering her. "But why did duskreth follow me right away? It had a lot to eat."
Lensa lies there, looking at the three moons setting over the horizon. She ignores the stench of blood soaked into the ground and vegetation. Her chest visibly rises and falls in ragged, uneven breaths.
Her breathing calms slowly. After a while, she comes back to her senses.
"The triune night," the elf says aloud, admonishing herself for forgetting about it. The old herbalist had mentioned it once, many years ago. Since then, she had forgotten all about it. This is a very rare event when all three moons meet in full at the same time. They say it occurs around every century, although the frequency isn't constant. "That's why birds were chirping even with predators around."
This makes the beasts restless. At first, she does not understand because she has only heard about this thing happening once. The old herbalist who taught her the trade mentioned it once in passing.
She gets up from the ground. With unsteady steps, she approaches the top of the hill, wondering what has frightened the creature. A powerful opponent? Or perhaps another predator from the forest? She does not know.
At the peak, she keeps low to hide as much as possible from whatever is on the other side. In the light of the slowly rising sun, she sees a clearing. However, it is not what catches her attention, but the people on it.
Steel clashes and attackers roar as a determined group, clad in gleaming armour, forms a shield around an ornate carriage. A faint scent of sweat and hot metal hangs heavy, mingling with the dust kicked up by the fierce struggle. Despite the enemy's overwhelming numbers, the defenders move with a practised, almost balletic precision. Their every block and parry is a testament to rigorous training.
The invaders, clad in rough hides and wielding crude weapons, surge forward with a raw, desperate energy, but their lack of discipline and inferior equipment is starkly clear. It's a stark contrast: a disciplined force from a powerful empire stands firm against a wave of less organised, almost savage opposition.
"Hm? A noble?" She spots some coats of arms on the carriage. She can't see the whole crest, but can make out the most important shapes like a golden raven. It holds a golden scale in its beak, with the left side lower. The symbol's background is entirely black.
"What if..." The idea quickly pops into her head, and she hides just as the vehicle door opens. "What if that is the Inquisitor?!"
As soon as the thought strikes her, she runs back into the forest. However, in a completely different direction than the wounded beast had gone. She does not want to take any risks. Fortunately, dawn is breaking, so duskreath is already on its way to its burrow.
The ground vibrates under Lensa's worn boots, a phantom tremor shaking the earth. Sudden, violent jolts make her legs sway, threatening to topple her. She knows the cause without seeing the dust cloud billowing behind her. A powerful being, she surmises, the air thick with the scent of horses and expensive leather. Or, in a chilling twist, the feared inquisitor, whose presence sends an icy dread seeping into her bones.
She retreats into the woods, the cool, damp earth giving way slightly under her boots as the girl moves on without looking back. The air is thick with the scent of pine needles and decaying leaves. Her mind races, devising a new strategy, a silent plan to flank the disturbance and approach the border from another direction. A prickle of unease runs across her skin, but the girl feels no genuine fear. The entity's immense power still resonates in the air, and that means it's preoccupied. This creates a tangible vibration against her senses, following the tremor it created. The idea of drawing the attention of that raw, untamed force sends a shiver down her spine, a silent warning she obeys.
Lensa bolts from the heart of the bizarre disturbance, plunging into the woods. The soft, rosy light of dawn washes over her trek, a welcome quiet settling her nerves, yet her senses remain sharp. The Triune Night has just concluded, and the air hums with the unnerving possibility of lingering, unseen creatures. Only when the imposing hill finally shrinks behind her does a breath of relief escape her lips. Aelyra, Veyr, and Thalos. The sapphire, amethyst, and ruby moons dip towards the horizon, their celestial glow yielding to the ascending sun.
Lensa sits down on the cold ground and leans her back against the bark of a tree in the middle of the forest. All around her, there is complete silence; not a single bird is singing, nor is there any sound from other creatures. It is as though nature itself has held its breath, knowing what the girl is going through.
The adrenaline fades in an instant. She sits quietly, and for a moment, she feels no pain. The moons seem lower in the sky. The blood on her sleeve is dark and stiff.
Then she remembers the village.
She recalls how they looked at her in the square. The rocks. The little boy she once carried on her shoulders, and how he threw the first stone.
'Uncle Mares.' She doesn't say it aloud. Thinking it is enough.
A scream escapes her before she can stop it.
"I've lost everything!"
"Me, a witch? Have you gone mad?! I can't even use magic!" she goes on, turning around and pounding her fists against the tree Lensa had been leaning against.
A wizard visited the village years ago. He was researching magic and took it upon himself to test the residents. None could use magic. So, the accusations are meaningless.
She continues to strike the tree, paying no heed to her bleeding hands or the pain she feels. Miraculously, despite the movement, the freshly scabbed wound on her arm has not reopened.
Tears stream down her face, blurring her vision. She has lost her home and her purpose, and the people she considered family have betrayed her.
"It's the village head's fault," she says, coming to that conclusion. It has to be him. He repeatedly clarified that he didn't like how popular she was. And certainly has something against elves.
"Uncle Mares! Even you, Darel. Why do you all…" Her voice turns into sobs as she remembers the small child she used to play with. But this time he throws rocks at her.
Her fist comes down again, but hits only air. She stumbles forward, both hands slamming against cold stone. Only then does she notice the flash of silver at her wrist. Her bracelet. Her breath stops.
A door. She has been beating her fists against a door.
The abrupt absence throws her off balance, and she crashes full-body onto the unyielding ground, the impact jarring her. A groan escapes her lips, a mix of sharp pain and startled surprise, leaving her stunned and unable to move.
Lifting her head, with a growing bump on the forehead, right before her eyes appear smooth stone tiles. It's... a floor. Certain that she's hallucinating from exhaustion or having lost too much blood, she gets up and takes a few steps back to see what's going on.
She steps back, her pupils dilating with each movement. It is an immense tower, dilapidated and overgrown with moss and vegetation, yet it still emanates charm and a sense of power. The material, resembling granite, is unknown, though it reflects light far more than any stone would.
"What in the name of thrones is that?" Mouth agape, she steps back for a better look, but the tower vanishes. It is as if it had never been there. Not a single trace of such a massive structure remains. No shadow, no indentation in the ground, nothing. Unbelievable.