1.2 — Forest of Beasts

The journey through the forest full of Forest Beasts has already lasted a full week. During this time, the landscape has barely changed — endless trees, moss, ferns, and a silence that with each passing day begins to resemble a soundless prison.
Lyttia never strays more than three steps away from her companion. Instinctively, she stays close behind him, dependent on his strength and abilities, because she herself remains completely defenseless — only a shadow of her own past, which she has yet to recover.
Suddenly, among the dense trees, she notices a narrow sliver of light slipping between the trunks. A warm golden streak cuts through the greenery and catches her gaze like a promise of something more.
— Hey, look — she says excitedly, pointing toward the space between the trees. — Is that… a meadow?
The black-haired boy stops walking and turns his head. His gaze is calm, almost absent, but he carefully analyzes the place she has pointed to.
— No — he replies coldly. — It’s a cliff overlooking the sea.
At the word “sea,” Lyttia’s eyes widen with wonder.
The sea?
It seems she has never seen anything like it before. The glow of the light hypnotizes her, making her almost forget the weight of the past few days.
— I want to see it… — she whispers, unaware that she has said it aloud.
Her companion glances at her from the corner of his eye. He quickly recognizes the spark in her gaze and pretends that it was his decision.
— We can take a break there — he says indifferently, then adds — if you want.
Without waiting, Lyttia moves forward — slipping between the trees as if the light itself were guiding her. She passes blueberry bushes, nearly tripping over one of them, but does not slow down. When she emerges from behind the last trees, the air becomes brighter… and colder.
She does not notice that the spruces are growing right at the very edge of the cliff.
The ground slips from beneath her feet — she loses her balance, tipping toward the abyss. In an instant, a shadow emerges from her waist — a black streak that wraps tightly around her and pulls her back onto solid ground.
— That was close — he says, emerging from behind the trees. Leaves slide from his shoulders, while the shadow that saved her disappears just as quickly as it appeared.
Lyttia turns toward him, embarrassed and slightly shaken. — I’m sorry… — she whispers, scratching the back of her neck.
He does not answer. His gaze shifts toward the horizon, where the sky meets the endless blue of the sea. Waves crash against the cliffs some fifty meters below. In the distance, an island can be seen, and beyond it — the outline of a vast continent. Something gleams on the island — a building, almost imperial in the daylight.
— What is that place? — Lyttia asks, gently pointing a finger.
— The old emperor’s empire. The palace has been empty for a long time — he replies coldly.
The wind blows through his coat and hair. He does not look at her — as if the sight before them were reason enough to sink into silence.
— Former? — she asks quietly.
— He’s dead — he says simply.
Why does he always look as though nothing matters to him anymore?
The boy falls into thought.
Suddenly I have the feeling… that someone is watching us.
The boy freezes.
Not one… three people.
Closing his eyes, he reaches his awareness deep into the forest.
One archer. Two with swords.
Meanwhile, Lyttia turns toward the ocean, ignoring everything except the fresh, salty air. She wants to remember every moment — every gust of wind — before they plunge back into the dense, gloomy forest.
— Actually… — she begins, gazing at the waves — what’s your name?
The boy steps in front of her, one step forward, shielding her with his body. A black streak emerges from his hand, rapidly taking the shape of a sword.
An arrow whistles from the forest — aimed straight at Lyttia’s head.
At the last second, the blade deflects the projectile with a metallic screech.
— We’re surrounded — he says calmly, though his voice sounds like a cold blade.
Lyttia immediately gets up and turns around, still staying close to him. The black-haired boy stands one step in front of her, shielding her entire body from the threat.
— We have no way to escape — he continues. — Judging by where the arrow was aimed… I believe you’re their target.
He grips the sword with both hands. It begins to pulse with streaks of black smoke. The blade lengthens and thickens, gaining weight — becoming a weapon meant for real combat.
Rustling sounds come from the bushes on both the left and right. Two figures step out of the shadows — men dressed in black, church-like robes. Their faces are covered with black fabric, their hoods pulled low over their foreheads. Their eyes cannot be seen, nor their emotions. Everything is hidden — their identities, their purpose, their allegiance.
There’s no third… — the black-haired boy analyzes.
Which means the archer is still hiding. Somewhere in the treetops… ready to fire another shot.
Lyttia crouches down, trembling all over, and covers her head with her hands.
What’s happening?
Her breathing quickens, her thoughts wander chaotically, and her body freezes in a defensive curl.
The two swordsmen charge toward them. The black-haired boy reacts instantly — sending a streak of smoke that coils around one attacker’s neck, lifts him into the air, and pulls him toward himself. The man struggles, but his hands pass helplessly through the mist-like substance. He chokes, unable to free himself.
The second opponent stops — his steps falter, and his hands begin to tremble. He sees his companion completely stripped of control and instinctively steps back. Fear sinks into his knees.
The black-haired boy presses the blade against the captive’s neck. The edge lightly cuts the skin, and a thin stream of blood appears.
— Who are you, and what do you want? — he asks in a whisper, his tone inhumanly calm. He is not asking. He is provoking.
Silence.
Both attackers remain silent. Their faces are lifeless. It looks as though… they cannot answer. As though something is preventing them from speaking.
— If you don’t answer, I’ll kill him slowly. He’ll suffer — he warns without hesitation, pressing the blade harder.
The captive opponent tries to speak, choking and wheezing.
— W-we… followed… her… — he says with difficulty. — B-because… our boss wants her…
— Who is your boss? — he presses the sword harder. More blood runs down the victim’s neck.
— You…! — the second attacker finally speaks, the one who still has freedom of movement. His eyes widen with fury as he grips the hilt of his sword. — IDIOT! YOU BETRAYED US! — he roars, charging toward them in a frenzy.
At that same moment, another arrow flies from the treetops — this time aimed not at Lyttia, but at the black-haired boy’s head.
The attacker swings his heavy, poorly balanced weapon. The black-haired boy effortlessly sidesteps, catches the arrow with his bare hand, and in one fluid motion drives it back — straight into the charging swordsman’s heart.
A scream of pain tears through the silence. The weapon falls to the ground, and the man drops to his knees, clutching his chest, from which thick, dark blood flows.
Lyttia dares to open one eye. She sees the dead body. She freezes. She closes her eye again. She trembles even more.
The archer is still out there… — the boy reminds himself.
He turns his gaze away from Lyttia. He speaks calmly, with icy certainty:
— I’ll ask again — he pauses. — Who is your boss?
— W-we… ourselves… — the opponent coughs, still being strangled by the smoke. — We don’t know him. We’re from the c-cult…
That word is enough. The black-haired boy cuts him off brutally — releasing the streak. The opponent’s body falls from the cliff. A few seconds later, a dull impact can be heard, followed by the wet sound of bones breaking against the rocks.
A noise comes from deep within the forest — rustling, cracking, panicked footsteps. The archer is fleeing.
There is no time for a chase. But the black-haired boy does not need to get closer. He releases a streak of shadow that flies through the undergrowth at terrifying speed. A moment later, a scream tears through the forest — arms and legs severed. The archer falls and begins bleeding out alone.
No… not the cult… Why are they following her? Is it possible they were watching her while she was still asleep? That they know her value? If I could sense her from far away, then they could have too…
He turns toward Lyttia. Her body is still curled into a defensive position.
— It’s over — he says, though his voice does not sound reassuring.
Lyttia does not believe him. In her eyes, the image of the mutilated body and the sound of whistling arrows still remain.
The black-haired boy understands. Without a word, he approaches the dead swordsman and kicks his body. The corpse falls from the cliff, and moments later the sound of breaking bones can be heard again.
There is no tenderness. No compassion.
— While you were sleeping… someone must have spotted you — his voice sounds firm. — They will hunt you. Not to help you.
Lyttia does not answer, only stares at the ground.
— You have something inside you… an energy that attracts people. That’s how I found you myself.
She raises her gaze. Concern can be seen in her eyes.
— There’s no way to know who else sensed it. Or how they might use it.
— So what am I supposed to do about it? — she asks quietly.
— Maybe start by learning how to fight for self-defense. Then find the source of that power… and get rid of it. There’s no greater philosophy to it.
— And what if… it’s something good? Or something that keeps me alive? Getting rid of it would be the same as killing myself.
He pauses. For the first time, he seems uncertain.
— …Who knows — he hands her the sword. — But you can’t keep walking around empty-handed.
She takes the weapon, which lightly emits dark smoke. She feels that it is alive.
Then the boy suddenly grabs his head. An uneasy streak of shadow spreads from his feet. He says nothing. He turns and walks deeper into the forest.
— D-don’t follow me — he throws over his shoulder, his voice full of tension.
Lyttia watches him, worried, but does not move from her place.
He’s earned my trust. I just hope… nothing happens to him.
His figure disappears behind the bushes.