Crown of Frost & shadows

Chapter 15 -Kin of Kings

The group had been on the move for two days, making steady progress through the demon realm. At one point during the journey, Malrek had grown tired and asked to ride with Ravareth, who readily obliged. Now, on the third morning, they had broken camp early, resuming their journey at the edge of the Light Forest, where they had spent the night.

As they rode, the surrounding trees began to thin, the light filtering through the branches creating a soft, dappled pattern on the ground. Ravareth had explained that they would need to cross another forest before reaching the next village—a place known as the Night Forest. Unlike the peaceful and serene Light Forest, the Night Forest was notorious for its dangers, filled with nocturnal creatures that were best avoided.

Today, Malrek was nestled up against Zār, fast asleep on his chest. It was an unusual sight, one that had surprised everyone. Zār had offered to take Malrek with him, a gesture that had left Malrek staring at his older brother as if he'd sprouted an extra head. Ravareth's reaction wasn't much different; he had raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback.

"Zār doesn't do that," Ravareth had said quietly to Alarielle, glancing over at his brother and the sleeping Malrek. "Not for anyone. Not in a long time."

Alarielle had noticed the way Ravareth's expression softened, a mix of confusion and maybe a little hope. It was as if he was seeing a glimpse of something he thought he'd lost a long time ago. She hadn't asked, but she could sense that there was more to it—more to the way Zār was behaving, and more to the way Ravareth and Malrek were responding.

Now, as they approached the edge of the Light Forest, the mood felt different. The air was cooler, the shadows longer, and there was a quiet tension that seemed to settle over the group as they prepared to enter the Night Forest.

Alarielle couldn't help but feel a shiver run down her spine, and she glanced over at Zār, wondering what had prompted this sudden change in him. She couldn't quite place it, but there was something about seeing him with Malrek that felt different, almost out of character. For someone who had always been distant and composed, Zār seemed... softer, more present.

As if sensing her gaze, Zār glanced down at her, his silver eyes meeting hers briefly before shifting back to the path ahead. He didn't say anything, but there was a slight nod, a silent acknowledgment that he was aware of her scrutiny. Alarielle quickly looked away, not wanting to intrude on whatever unspoken emotions were threading through the group.

As they neared the edge of the Light Forest, the path ahead darkened, the trees growing denser, their branches intertwining to form a canopy that blocked out the morning sun. The Night Forest loomed in front of them, its entrance a yawning maw that seemed to swallow the light, leaving only shadows. The air grew colder, and the distant calls of unseen creatures echoed through the trees, a reminder of the dangers that lay ahead.

Zār gently adjusted Malrek's position, making sure the boy was secure before glancing at the others. "Stay close," he instructed, his voice calm but commanding. "The Night Forest is different from what we've seen so far. Keep your eyes and ears open, and don't stray from the path."

The group nodded, a sense of readiness settling over them. Alarielle tightened her grip on the reins, her heart beating a little faster. As they crossed the threshold into the Night Forest, she couldn't help but steal one last glance at Zār and Malrek.

The group nodded, a sense of readiness settling over them. Alarielle tightened her grip on the reins, her heart beating a little faster. As they crossed the threshold into the Night Forest, she couldn't help but steal one last glance at Zār and Malrek.

Riding beside Ravareth, she finally voiced a question that had been gnawing at her for some time. "Why did you guys bring Malrek along? And what were you doing when you found me?" she asked, her voice low but insistent, hoping he would give her a straight answer.

Ravareth glanced over at her, his expression thoughtful, as if weighing how much to say. "Malrek came because… well, it's complicated," he began, his tone more serious than she was used to hearing from him. "He's young, yeah, but he's not just any kid. He's... important. More than most realize."

Alarielle frowned, confusion flickering across her face. "Important? How?"

Ravareth hesitated, then sighed. "Let's just say he's ...valuable. And not in a way we can just leave him behind. We brought him because it's safer to keep him close than to leave him where someone else could find him or harm him."

Alarielle's mind spun with the implications, but she held back more questions for now. "And when you found me?" she pressed, hoping he would offer more clarity.

Ravareth's eyes darkened slightly, his usual carefree demeanor fading as he recalled the events. "We were tracking a lead," he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Zār and I were investigating some... disturbances. Reports of Drakyrid activity near the veil. That's when we found you, in that cave. Your energy was basically wafting out of it, like it was calling us."

Alarielle's eyes widened slightly, her mind flashing back to that moment, the fear, the confusion. "Calling you?" she repeated, trying to grasp what he was saying.

Ravareth nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah. It was weird. Like, we could feel it before we even reached the cave, and it wasn't subtle. I think that's what put Thal and Zār so on edge when we found you. They didn't know what to make of it, and Zār… well, he was especially pissed because Mal had run into the cave without listening. Just dashed in, like he was being pulled there too."

Alarielle's breath hitched. She remembered Malrek being there, but she hadn't known why he had come so close, or why Zār had seemed so stern and cold. Now it made more sense—her presence, or rather, whatever energy she was giving off, had drawn them in, and Malrek running ahead into potential danger had only added to the chaos.

"So... you think it was my magic?" she asked, her voice uncertain. "That's what they were reacting to?"

"Could be," Ravareth said, his tone thoughtful. "But it wasn't just your magic. It was like there was something else, something layered on top of it. That's why Zār was on edge. It was like trying to read a language he didn't understand. And trust me, he doesn't like not knowing."

Alarielle absorbed this, trying to make sense of it. She had always known there was something different about her magic, something unpredictable, but she hadn't realized it had affected others this way. "I didn't mean to... I wasn't trying to draw anyone in," she said softly, almost to herself.

Ravareth's expression softened, the earlier tension in his face easing slightly as he gave her a small smile. "I know, Ellie. But whatever happened, it's got Zār thinking, and it's got all of us thinking—wondering if you were sent to us, if this was all some kind of trap. We had to question if we could believe anything you said."

Alarielle c****d her head, her brow furrowing slightly. "But you believe me?"

Ravareth's smile grew a little sad, but he nodded. "Mal convinced me. And then… your reaction to the chains told me you weren't a spy. Spies don't react like that to being bound. They'd fight, sure, but your reaction was different—genuine. Like those chains were made of hot coal. Whatever it is about your magic, whatever it is that makes you react like that..." He paused, his jaw tightening as a flicker of something passed through his eyes. "And when Magra—" Ravareth clenched his jaw, struggling to finish the thought. "We're not people like that. Demons, yeah, but not mindless."

He took a breath, steadying himself. "I'm sorry, Ellie. We were just…"

"Doing what anyone else would have done too," Alarielle said, mustering a small, understanding smile.

Ravareth looked at her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, and then he nodded, grateful for her understanding.

As they ventured deeper into the forest, Alarielle began to notice something unsettling. The usual sounds of the wild—the chirping of crickets, the rustle of leaves, even the occasional call of a bird—were absent. The Night Forest was eerily quiet, an unnatural stillness hanging in the air. It was as if the very life of the place had been swallowed up, leaving only a suffocating silence.

She glanced over at Ravareth, who had also noticed. His usual playful demeanor was gone, replaced by a cautious, alert expression. His eyes scanned the darkened woods, and one of his hands had instinctively moved to the hilt of his sword, fingers wrapped tightly around it.

Ahead of them, Zār had come to a stop, his posture tense, and the rest of the group followed suit, their eyes darting around, searching the shadows for any sign of movement. The deeper they looked, the darker the forest seemed to grow, as if something was lurking just out of sight, hidden by the gloom.

"Something is not right," Ralkov said, his voice low but steady, breaking the silence. He was a few paces ahead of Alarielle, his broad frame silhouetted against the faint light filtering through the trees. There was a note of warning in his tone, a sign that whatever they were facing wasn't to be taken lightly.

"It's as if the forest is dead," Thalorin added, his eyes wide and wary as he turned slowly, trying to catch a glimpse of anything that might explain the unnerving quiet.

"Even the dead aren't this quiet," Zār murmured, his voice barely more than a whisper. There was a heaviness to his words, an edge that made Alarielle's skin prickle. It was rare to see him unnerved, and the fact that he was only added to the growing sense of dread.

Alarielle's heart began to race, and she could feel her pulse thrumming in her ears. She tightened her grip on the reins, her eyes scanning the shadows, searching for any sign of danger. The silence was oppressive, as if the forest itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen.

"What do you think it is?" she asked, her voice quiet, not wanting to disturb the fragile stillness around them.

Ravareth didn't answer right away, his eyes still fixed on the darkness ahead. "I don't know," he finally said, his voice grim. "But I don't like it."

Zār's eyes flicked toward Ravareth, and then to the rest of the group, silently gauging their readiness. "Stay close," he ordered, his tone firm, brooking no argument. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it. But we don't separate, understand?"

The group nodded, their expressions serious, and Alarielle could feel the tension settling over them like a heavy shroud. As they continued forward, every creak of a branch, every crunch of a leaf underfoot felt magnified, echoing through the silent forest. The deeper they went, the darker it grew, and Alarielle couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched, that something unseen was following their every move, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A sudden gust of cold wind swept through the forest, chilling Alarielle to the bone. She shivered, her breath misting in the air, and realized with a jolt that the temperature had dropped sharply, the forest now freezing. She glanced around, and for a brief moment, she could see her breath swirling in the cold, white mist.

"Wraiths," Ralkov's voice broke through the silence, low and tense, his breath visible as well. The single word sent a shiver down Alarielle's spine, and she instinctively tightened her grip on the reins, her eyes darting around the darkened woods.

From the shadows, black-cloaked figures began to materialize, emerging from the dark like wisps of smoke. They moved with an eerie grace, their feet not touching the ground, gliding silently across the forest floor. Their forms were indistinct, shifting like shadows, and their faces were hidden beneath deep, dark hoods.

The air around them grew colder still, the presence of the wraiths pulling all warmth from the forest. Alarielle's pulse quickened, and she could feel her heart hammering in her chest. She had heard stories of wraiths—spirits bound to the dark, creatures that fed on fear and despair—but she had never seen them before, and now they were everywhere, surrounding them.

Zār's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing as he quickly assessed the situation. "Don't let them touch you," he ordered, his voice calm but urgent. "They drain life—steal warmth. Stay back, keep your distance."

Ravareth unsheathed his sword, the blade gleaming faintly in the dim light. "Great," he muttered, his usual humor replaced by a grim determination. "Just what we needed."

The wraiths hovered around them, their cloaks billowing as if caught in an invisible breeze. There was no sound, no whispers, no rustling—just an oppressive, suffocating silence that seemed to press in from all sides. Alarielle felt a chill creep down her spine, and she fought to keep her hands steady, even as she reached for the dagger at her belt.

One of the wraiths drifted closer, its hooded head tilting slightly, as if observing them. Alarielle caught a glimpse of what lay beneath the hood—an empty void, dark and endless, like staring into the abyss. She felt a wave of cold sweep over her, and her vision blurred for a moment, as if the wraith's presence was sapping the very strength from her body.

"Ellie, focus," Ravareth's voice snapped her back, pulling her out of the creeping numbness. "Remember what Zār said. Don't let them near you."

Alarielle's grip tightened around her dagger, her breath coming in shallow, misty puffs. The cold seemed to seep into her bones, but she forced herself to stay focused. "What do we do?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the oppressive silence.

Zār's eyes remained fixed on the wraiths as they closed in, his hand lifting slowly. A dark mist began to swirl around his fingers, curling and shifting like smoke. "We clear a path," he said, his voice low and resolute. "Stay close, and don't let your guard down."

"What are wraiths doing here?" Ralkov demanded, his voice sharp with confusion and a hint of anger.

One of the wraiths turned its head toward Ralkov, its movement smooth and eerie, like a shadow sliding across the ground. When it spoke, its voice was a cacophony—layered, murky, and filled with a dissonant, echoing quality that made the words almost painful to hear. "The shadows rise again," it said, its voice a mix of many, distorted and chilling. "Our lands destroyed… we have no home… so we take land… yours."

The words sent a chill through Alarielle, and she glanced at Zār, searching for any sign of recognition or understanding. But his expression remained hard, his eyes narrowed. "Their lands…" she murmured, trying to make sense of it. "They lost their home?"

Ralkov's brow furrowed, his grip tightening on his sword. "That doesn't give them the right to take ours."

The wraith's hooded head tilted, as if considering his words, but the eerie, echoing voice responded without hesitation. "The shadows rise… your lands will fall… as ours did. The cycle continues."

Zār's eyes darkened, and he stepped forward, the mist around his hand thickening, coiling like a serpent. "Enough," he said, his voice sharp, cutting through the wraith's murky chorus. "If you have no home, find another. But you will not take what is ours."

The wraiths hissed, a sound that reverberated through the air, like a thousand whispers all at once. "The darkness welcomes all… you will join it… or be consumed by it."

Alarielle's heart raced, and she felt the cold seeping deeper, the wraiths' presence making her skin crawl. But she could see Zār standing firm, his power coiling around him, and she knew he would not back down. Whatever these wraiths were, whatever they wanted, they would not find it easy to take from him.

"What happened to your lands?" Zār asked, his voice sharp and demanding, cutting through the wraith's eerie whispers. "I have not heard any reports of this."

The wraith's head tilted again, and its dark, hollow voice replied, echoing through the forest. "Born of demons… born of Fae… they rise… they haunt… they destroy. They have powers. They have taken our kin."

Alarielle's pulse quickened as she listened, trying to make sense of the fragmented, cryptic words. "Born of demons and Fae?" she repeated softly, glancing at Zār. "What does that mean?"

Zār's expression remained unreadable, but his eyes narrowed, a flicker of understanding—or perhaps realization—crossing his face. "Drakydrids," he said quietly, almost to himself. "But that doesn't explain why they're attacking the wraiths."

The wraith's murky voice interrupted, its tone rising, as if agitated. "They have taken our kin… devoured our lands… we seek refuge… we seek vengeance. The darkness consumes, and so we consume… until there is nothing left."

The words sent a chill through Alarielle, and she realized with a sense of dread that the wraiths were not just lost spirits—they were beings displaced by something far more sinister, something powerful enough to destroy their homes and force them into the shadows, turning them into what they had become now.

Zār's jaw tightened, and he took a step forward, his eyes locked on the wraith. "If what you say is true, then you should know better than to turn on us. We are not your enemy. But if you force this, if you threaten my people, I will make sure you understand the cost."

The wraiths hissed, a collective sound that seemed to echo from all around them, like a chilling wind passing through the trees. "No refuge… no peace… only shadows… only the end."

"Are they still on your lands? Why did you flee? Why didn't you attack them?" Ralkov asked, his voice sharp, cutting through the chill of the night.

The wraiths' heads turned in unison, their movements slow and unsettling, and when they spoke, their voices seemed to echo with a hollow, eerie cadence. "The stone of gods… the stone of Drakon… they possess," the wraiths said, their voices blending into a dark, unsettling chorus. "Our true king's possession… in their filth. Their power stronger… many taken."

Zār's eyes narrowed, and Alarielle could see the flicker of understanding, of recognition, in his gaze. "The stone of Drakon…" he murmured, almost to himself. "That's how they've been gaining strength."

The wraith's words had sent a shiver down Alarielle's spine, but she struggled to piece together what they meant. "The stone… it gives them power?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, but the question was clear.

"Yes," the wraiths replied, their tones cold and distant. "An ancient power… stolen… wielded by those who should not possess it. They take… they conquer… and we are left with nothing."

Alarielle's mind raced, trying to make sense of it all.

The wraith's words sent a chill through Alarielle, her mind whirling as she tried to piece together the puzzle. Drakon—Illiana had told her that name before, calling him her ancestor. He had been the emperor of the demon realm, the leader who once commanded all its beings, including the wraiths. Even after all this time, they still saw him as their true king.

Her heart raced as she processed this, realizing the depth of the connection. The wraiths were not just spirits; they were subjects of an ancient ruler, one who was tied to her by blood. Whatever this stone was, it had once belonged to Drakon, and now it was in the hands of the Drakyrids, granting them a power that did not rightfully belong to them.

She turned to Zār, her gaze fixed on his back, her voice breaking the tense silence. "What is this stone?" she asked, her words carrying a mix of curiosity and urgency. "How did it fall into their hands?"

Zār's shoulders stiffened slightly, and he glanced over his shoulder at her, his silver eyes reflecting a flicker of light, "The stone of Drakon," he said slowly, "was an ancient relic—a key to a greater power, one that was believed to hold immense strength. It was said to be the source of Drakon's authority over the realm, a symbol of his rule."

Alarielle's eyes widened, and she felt a strange mix of awe and fear. If the Drakyrids had taken it, if they were using it to strengthen themselves, then they had seized a power that could shift the balance of the entire realm. "But how did they get it?" she pressed, needing to understand how something so significant had fallen into enemy hands.

Zār's gaze darkened, and his lips pressed into a thin line. "That, I do not know," he admitted. "The relic was thought to be lost after the fall of Drakon's empire, hidden away to prevent it from being misused. But if the Drakyrids have it now, it means they've uncovered something that should have remained buried."

The wraiths hissed, their voices carrying a tone of bitterness and sorrow. "They stole it… from the dark places, the ruins… they have corrupted its power, twisted it… and now it fuels their conquest, their dominion. Our kin have been taken, our lands devoured… all because of their stolen might."

"what will make you let us pass" Ralkov's eyes narrowed at the wraiths', a chill settling over the group. "Hungry we are," they hissed, their voices like a thousand whispers merging into one. "Not enough to feed... give us one, and we let the rest pass."

The words hung in the air, and Alarielle felt a sickening drop in her stomach. She glanced around, trying to make sense of what they were asking, but the answer was clear, and it filled her with dread. The wraiths wanted a sacrifice—a life in exchange for their safe passage.

Before she could process it, she felt eyes on her. Thalorin and Magra had both turned, their gazes fixed on her with an unsettling intensity. Magra's lips curled into a sneer, her voice cold and sharp. "We can leave the spare," she said, her words cutting through the tension like a knife.

Alarielle's heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, everything seemed to go silent around her. The meaning was clear—Magra was suggesting that they give her to the wraiths. After all, she was the outsider, the one who didn't quite belong, the "spare" they could afford to lose.

"No," Ravareth's voice cut through the silence, sharp and immediate. He stepped forward, his expression fierce, a mix of anger and disbelief as he glared at Magra. "We're not doing that."

Magra's eyes flickered with annoyance, and she turned to Ravareth, her posture defensive. "It's the logical choice," she said, her tone devoid of empathy. "She's not one of us. She doesn't belong here. If it means the rest of us can get through, then it's the only option."

Alarielle's hands trembled, her mind reeling. She couldn't believe what she was hearing—how easily Magra had decided she was expendable, just like that. She glanced at Zār, searching his face for any sign of what he was thinking, but his expression was unreadable, his eyes dark and calculating.

But before anyone could say more, Zār's voice rang out, cold and commanding. "No one is being given to the wraiths," he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I am not in business of taking Threats"

Magra opened her mouth to protest, but Zār's gaze snapped to her, sharp and unyielding. "Suggest that again, Magrath," he said, his voice low and dangerous, "and you'll find yourself facing more than just wraiths."

Magra's mouth closed, and she stiffened, clearly taken aback. She glanced around, but no one spoke up to support her, and Alarielle felt a rush of relief mixed with lingering fear.

The wraiths shifted, their dark forms flickering, as if considering Zār's words. "Then you will give us nothing?" they hissed, their voices cold and echoing, like a chill wind passing through the trees.

"No," Zār said firmly. "We will give you nothing. But if you seek more than just to feed, then perhaps we can find another way. Tell us where the stone is, where they hold your kin, and we will deal with the Drakyrids."

For a moment, the wraiths were silent, their forms wavering, and Alarielle could almost feel them weighing the decision. She held her breath, hoping, praying that Zār's words would reach them, that they could avoid a fight they weren't prepared for.

Finally, one of the wraiths drifted closer, its head tilting, the dark void beneath its hood shifting as if it were studying Zār. "You offer more than most," it said, its voice quieter, almost contemplative. "But beware... promises made in darkness have a way of consuming those who make them."

Zār didn't flinch, his eyes steady and unyielding. "I know what I'm offering," he said. "Now decide. Will you let us pass?"

The wraith drifted closer, its dark, hollow eyes seeming to pierce through the gloom as it studied Zār. "You offer more than most," it said, its voice quieter, almost contemplative. "But beware... promises made in darkness have a way of consuming those who make them."

Zār didn't flinch, his eyes steady and unyielding. "I know what I'm offering," he said. "Now decide. Will you let us pass?"

The wraith's head tilted, and its voice became more cryptic, layered with a strange, unsettling tone. "A kin of kings, a link of the true blood… you seek more. Sense, we can. You hold power… death, the kin of death you are… smell, we can." Its dark form flickered, and then the voice sharpened, almost as if striking a deal. "Offer an ounce of blood… an oath. A place, in the court the queen shall make."

"What queen…" Ravareth whispered, confused, glancing at Zār, seeking any kind of explanation.

Zār's expression remained stoic, but there was a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. "I cannot give you a blood oath for a place in a court of a queen I do not know," he replied, his voice firm.

The wraiths stirred, a faint, dissonant chuckle echoing around them. "You not… the kin of two bloods… and the queen to make... her." A bony, skeletal finger extended from beneath the dark cloak, pointing directly at Alarielle.