The night had passed in uneasy silence, save for the occasional rustle of leaves or the distant call of a nocturnal creature. Captain Zylar and his fifteen Maelyss soldiers had made camp in the shelter of a grove, the flickering flames of their small fire casting shadows on their faces. The fire had kept the worst of the cold at bay, but nothing could chase away the weariness that clung to them after a day of hard riding and a skirmish with a small band of Haltuers.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, turning the sky from black to a deep, bruised purple, Zylar stirred from his place by the fire. The others were already awake, their faces drawn and tired, but there was a grim determination in their eyes. They had survived the night, and in the world they lived in, that was something to be thankful for.

“Good morning, Captain,” one of the younger soldiers, a boy barely out of his teens named Edric, greeted him with a weary grin. “Didn’t think we’d be seeing this sunrise, not after last night.”

Zylar gave him a curt nod, his expression unreadable. “You fought well, Edric. You all did,” he added, raising his voice slightly so that the others could hear. “But we’ve still got a long ride ahead of us. No time to rest on our laurels.”

Another soldier, an older man with a thick beard named Harwyn, chuckled as he tightened the straps on his horse’s saddle. “Aye, and no time to clean up the mess some of you made in your breeches last night either.”

Laughter broke out among the troops, a welcome relief from the tension that had gripped them since the previous evening. Even Zylar allowed himself a small smile, though it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Better a soiled pair of breeches than a slit throat,” Harwyn continued, his grin widening as he clapped Edric on the back. “You did well, boy. Just remember, next time, keep the piss in until after the fight.”

“Shut up, Harwyn,” Edric retorted, though there was no malice in his voice. “At least I didn’t scream like a girl when that Haltuer lunged at you.”

The laughter grew louder, the camaraderie among the men easing the burden of the horrors they had faced. But Zylar’s mind was elsewhere, his thoughts drifting back to the skirmish. It had been a small group of Haltuers, no more than five or six, but even that had been enough to test their mettle. The creatures had appeared out of nowhere, their pale, twisted forms emerging from the darkness like wraiths. The fight had been brutal and swift, but by some stroke of luck, they had come through it without any casualties.

“Enough,” Zylar said, his tone brooking no argument as he mounted his horse. “We ride. Redhills is still a day’s journey, and I’d rather not meet any more of those things before we get there.”

The men quickly followed his lead, the horses snorting and stamping as they prepared to set off. The first rays of the sun were breaking through the treetops as they rode out of the grove, casting long shadows on the ground. The vast, rolling hills of the Redhills region spread out before them, the rich green of the landscape a stark contrast to the dark memories of the previous night.

As they rode, the conversation among the soldiers turned to lighter matters, though the tension of the previous evening still lingered in the back of their minds. They spoke of home, of family, and of the mundane matters that occupied their thoughts when they weren’t facing death in the form of Haltuers.

“Did you see the way that one Haltuer’s head just… exploded?” one of the soldiers, a burly man named Roderick, asked with a grin. “Harwyn’s swing was so hard, I swear it flew ten feet in the air.”

Harwyn grunted in response, though there was a hint of pride in his voice. “They’re not as tough as they look, not if you know where to hit them.”

“They don’t seem so scary now,” Edric said, though his voice wavered slightly. “Not when the sun’s up.”

“But it’s a different story when the dark falls,” Harwyn replied, his tone turning serious. “They’re not afraid of much, but the daylight… that’s what keeps them in check.”

Zylar listened to the conversation in silence, his eyes scanning the horizon. The Redhills were known for their beauty, a place where the earth seemed to come alive with every shade of green imaginable. The land was fertile and rich, dotted with small farms and clusters of trees that provided shade and shelter for the travelers who passed through. But as beautiful as it was, there was a darkness here as well, lurking beneath the surface.

The landscape began to change as they rode further, the hills growing steeper and more rugged, the trees thicker and closer together. It was then that they spotted the cave, a dark, yawning mouth in the side of one of the hills, its depths obscured by shadow.

The soldiers fell silent as they passed, their eyes drawn to the cave’s entrance. There was something about it, something that made their skin crawl and their hearts beat a little faster. The horses seemed to sense it too, their ears flicking nervously as they passed by.

“Do you think…?” Edric began, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Aye,” Harwyn replied, his gaze fixed on the cave. “That’s where they stay during the day. Hiding from the light.”

Zylar’s thoughts drifted back to his time at the Maelyss Training Camp, to the lessons they had been taught about the Haltuers. He remembered the grim face of their professor, a man who had seen too much of the world’s horrors, as he stood before them in the dimly lit classroom.

“The Haltuers,” the professor had said, his voice heavy with the weight of knowledge, “are creatures of the night. They fear the daylight, though we do not know why. Perhaps it is the purity of the sun’s light, something they cannot abide. Or perhaps it is simply that they are creatures of darkness, and the light reveals them for what they truly are.”

He had paused then, his gaze sweeping over the room, meeting each of their eyes in turn. “But remember this—though they fear the light, it does not kill them. It only weakens them. And if you ever find yourself facing one, even in daylight, do not be fooled. They are still dangerous. They are always dangerous.”

Back in the present, Zylar’s grip tightened on the reins as he gazed at the cave. The memory of the professor’s words echoed in his mind, a reminder of the ever-present danger that lurked in the shadows.

A low growl broke the silence, and Zylar’s eyes snapped to the cave’s entrance. There, in the darkness, he saw them—pale, twisted forms with eyes that glowed faintly in the dim light. The Haltuers watched them, their bodies tense, their growls a warning that sent a chill down Zylar’s spine.

“Keep moving,” Zylar ordered, his voice steady despite the unease that gnawed at him. “We’re close to the barracks. We don’t need another fight.”

The soldiers obeyed, their horses picking up the pace as they moved past the cave. The Haltuers did not follow, but Zylar could feel their eyes on him, a malevolent presence that lingered long after they were out of sight.

The Redhills Barracks was less than an hour’s ride away now, and Zylar could already see the faint outline of the fortifications in the distance. But as they drew closer, the memory of those glowing eyes stayed with him, a reminder that the darkness was never far behind.