(Sorry for the delay ,a lot has happened)
Dew clung to blades of grass like scattered stars, and the soft light turned the world pale and quiet. Our caravan moved slowly along the narrow ridge path that cut through rolling hills and sparse woodland, the children's chatter rising and falling like birdsong. For days now, the world beyond the forest had stretched wide—endless meadows, winding streams, wildflowers brushing against ankles. Freedom tasted new for all of us.
That peace lasted only until Nyx suddenly halted, muscles tense beneath his dark fur. His ears flicked forward, picking up something distant. A low growl rumbled in his chest.
"Shadow?" Kael murmured beside me, gripping the shaft of his stave. "He senses something."
"Someone," Elenya corrected gently, her silver eyes narrowing as she peered down the road.
I raised a hand, and the caravan stopped behind us. Dust curled up from the horizon—a lone wagon, horses steady but weary, wooden axles squeaking with each turn. A simple merchant's wagon… or one pretending to be.
The driver slowed when he spotted us, lifting one hand in greeting. His beard was grizzled, his clothes patched but cared for. His eyes darted between the children, Kael's imposing form, and the mask that hid my face.
"Well met," he called, voice friendly but cautious. "Didn't expect company this far from the riverlands. You folk traveling long?"
Some of the younger ones shrank behind Kael. Others clutched the edges of my cloak. The road had taught them to be wary.
"And you travel alone?" I asked.
He chuckled, patting the side of his wagon. "Alone, aye. Safer not to draw attention with too big a group. I've cloth, herbs, grain—and news, if that's worth a coin."
At the word news, several children perked up. Kael and Elenya exchanged a look—information was more precious than any supply.
We spoke in cautious tones. His name was Derren. A traveler by trade, he claimed—though the way his eyes flicked from face to face, cataloging weapons, supplies, and escape routes, spoke of a man who had seen enough danger to respect it. His gaze was quick, calculating, but I sensed no immediate malice—only a weary alertness learned from too many nights spent on lonely roads.
He bartered blankets and water skins with Kael while Elenya coaxed the latest word from the passing roads. The children watched him with guarded curiosity. Some hid behind Kael's legs; others peeked from behind my cloak, their eyes searching Derren's face for signs of threat.
"The lowlands stir with unrest," Derren said, lowering his voice until it blended with the whispers of wind through grass. His fingers fidgeted with the reins, betraying a nervousness he tried to mask. "The king's levies march south to push back raiders. But…"
His words thinned into silence. The breeze shifted, carrying the faint smell of dust and distant hearth smoke, but even the birds seemed to quiet. Derren's gaze flicked once more to the children—their thin frames, their watchful eyes—and something in his expression tightened. A flicker of guilt? Worry? Or simple fear at speaking truths better left unspoken on the road.
My hand drifted subtly toward my dagger, the weight familiar against my palm. That tiny motion did not go unnoticed; Derren's throat bobbed as he swallowed.
"But?" Elenya pressed, her voice soft as drifting leaves yet sharp with worry. She stepped slightly forward, placing herself between the children and Derren, protective by instinct.
Derren licked his lips, his voice dropping further until it was barely above a breath. "I've heard rumblings. Factions still trading in collars. Quietly. Off the main roads. They say caravans vanish into the hills—full wagons, never seen again."
The world stilled.
Magical collars.
The word dropped like a stone into a frozen lake. A quiet crack. A spreading numbness. Then the fracture split everything.
The children froze mid‑breath, faces draining of color. The smallest ones immediately reached for one another, seeking comfort through cold fingers. Corrin's small hands curled into trembling fists as he stared at the dirt, shoulders rigid. Rena hid behind Elenya's cloak, ears flattened so tightly they nearly disappeared into her hair, her breath hitching softly as old terror resurfaced.
Even the air thickened, heavy with the sour scent of fear. I could almost taste it—sharp, metallic, too familiar.
Kael's fur bristled, his striped shoulders rising as the beastfolk instincts in him surged to the surface. A low growl built in his chest, rumbling like distant thunder. "Where?" he snarled, barely holding back the fury simmering beneath his words, claws flexing against his stave.
Derren flinched beneath the intensity of Kael's stare. "North ridge road," he managed. "Four wagons, iron-bound. Guild-marked guards. Heading west. Looked like they weren't stopping anywhere with open gates."
A tremor rippled through our group. Memories pressed to the surface—chains that bit into skin, cages that smelled of rust and hopelessness, nights echoing with muffled sobs. The fear was thick; even the air seemed to tighten around us.
I stepped forward. "Kael."
He straightened immediately. "Shadow?"
"Lead the group ahead. Find safe ground and set a circle." I kept my tone calm, steady—to anchor them, even as anger surged beneath my ribs.
Elenya's breath hitched, her fingers tightening around the charm thread in her hands. "You mean to go alone?" There was fear in her voice, for me and for what my answer would demand.
"Alone?" I shook my head, though my eyes never left the horizon where those wagons had passed. "Nyx is with me."
Nyx bared his teeth in a silent promise, the fur along his spine rising like shadows stirred by wind.
Derren sputtered, eyes wide. "You'll face them? There were dozens! Armed! You—"
I walked past him, my cloak trailing like dusk, swallowing the rising light. "They will not pass.""
We followed the deep wagon ruts through thinning trees, each step sinking into the dirt where heavy wheels had carved their path. The air felt wrong—too still, too thick. The metallic tang of cold iron seeped into the wind, sharp enough to sting my nose. Not the iron of tools or honest work. The iron of cages.
My jaw clenched as the scent intensified. As twilight bled across the sky, the world dimmed into bruised hues of purple and gold. Torchlight flickered ahead, their flames swaying like watchful eyes in the rising dusk. Four wagons emerged through the haze—hulking, cruel silhouettes outlined by firelight.
Iron bars. Heavy locks reinforced with runes that glowed faintly.
Armed men marching alongside them in tight formation, boots thudding in unison.
And children—thin, tired, terrified—pressed against the bars. Their hollow eyes shimmered with tears they were too exhausted to shed. Dirt streaked their faces. Small fingers clung to the cages as if clinging to life itself.
My vision tunneled. A cold rush snapped through my veins—rage, hunger, something old and sharp. My fangs pressed against the inside of my lip.
Nyx sensed it. He slipped into the brush with silent, lethal grace, his massive form becoming no more than a ripple of shadow among the trees.
I stepped onto the road.
"Who commands here?" I called, voice steady though my heart thundered.
Weapons lifted. Eyes widened. The guards had expected prey, not a predator.
One guard sneered, brittle bravado cracking at the edges. "Who's asking, girl?"
Their mistake was thinking I was a girl.
I raised my hand.
"The one who ends this."
He lunged forward, spear thrusting toward my heart.
My barrier flared.
Black light erupted in a shockwave that rippled outward. Iron screamed. Wood exploded. The wagon nearest me shattered as if a giant's fist had crushed it, splinters flying through the air. The guard was hurled backward, his scream barely leaving his throat before it vanished in the ensuing chaos.
Then the earth answered me.
Thick vines erupted from the soil—alive, furious, and armed with hooked thorns. They cracked through the dirt like living whips, surging outward in a snarl of green fury. The first vine snapped around a guard's ankle with a sharp, wet tightening, yanking him off his feet so violently he hit the ground with a breath‑stealing thud.
Another vine shot forward, coiling up a man's leg. Thorns pierced flesh in neat, merciless rows as it dragged him screaming across the dirt. His nails tore into the ground, leaving frantic furrows, but the vines only tightened, pulling him inexorably toward the shattered wagon frame.
A third vine twisted around a spearman's torso, lifting him bodily into the air. For a heartbeat he dangled, kicking and choking on his own terror—then the vine snapped downward, slamming him into the wagon's iron bars. The impact shuddered through the entire frame. His spear slipped from limp fingers before the vine flung him aside like discarded cloth.
Panic exploded among the others. The guards stumbled back as the forest itself turned on them. More vines burst from every corner—writhing, snapping, coiling in vicious arcs. Some lashed out like enraged serpents, knocking weapons out of hands. Others wrapped around wagon wheels, squeezing until wood cracked and metal joints screamed.
One guard managed a single desperate cry before a vine swept his legs out from under him and dragged him across the ground, thorns carving deep lines into his skin as his scream dissolved into a choking gasp.
Nyx lunged from the undergrowth, a blur of teeth and fury. His jaws clamped down on a man's arm with a wet crunch—bone snapping like dry wood.
Arrows flew.
I swept my hand across the air. Barriers flared—sharp, angular, humming with cold light. Each arrow struck the glowing panes and rebounded, turning the sky into a deadly mirror. Screams rose as arrows found the ones who fired them.
A blade arced toward my neck, its edge catching the torchlight.
I slid beneath it, the world briefly slowing. My magic surged like a heartbeat. I summoned a lance of blue‑white light—pure creation—and thrust it upward. It pierced the man's chest with a sound like air cracking, his breath leaving him in a single, shocked gasp before he crumpled.
His blood steamed on the dirt. My fangs ached at the scent, but I swallowed the instinct down. There was no room for hunger here—only justice.
"Witch!" someone screamed.
Fear thickened the air. They broke formation. They tried to flee.
I did not let them.
Roots burst from the ground, slamming into wagon wheels, flipping cages. Chains clattered as the metal cracked under the pressure of my magic.
One man ran. I let him go. Let the world hear what happened on this road.
When silence fell, only the wind and the trembling breaths of the imprisoned children remained.
I approached the cages. Their wide eyes reflected my glowing blue ones.
"Stand back," I whispered.
Magic coiled around my fingertips. Locks dissolved into dust. The chains fell like broken rain.
"You are free."
A sob. Then another. Then dozens. Tears streamed down thin faces as they reached through the bars. Some touched my cloak with shaking hands. Others whispered thank yous beneath their breath.
I stepped away before they could cling to me. Nyx nudged a little boy gently, huffing warm air over his cold fingers.
By dawn, we guided them back to our camp. The moment Kael saw them—twice as many as before—his eyes shone with fierce pride and sorrow. His breath caught, a sharp inhale that revealed everything he didn't say aloud.
"You destroyed them?" he asked, voice low, steady, but trembling at the edges.
"They will not rise again," I said.
Elenya stepped closer, her soft hands gentle but firm on my arm. Her eyes glimmered—part grief, part gratitude, part fear for what it cost me. "Shadow… you carry too much alone."
"I carry what I must." The words tasted heavy, but they were the truth.
The freed children surged forward, their reactions a wave of raw humanity—tears, laughter, disbelief. Some fell to their knees as if their legs finally understood they were free. Others pressed hands to their hearts as if trying to steady the wild beat inside. A few simply stared at me, wide-eyed, as though trying to understand how someone like me could exist.
One small girl tugged my sleeve, her tiny fingers trembling. "Will the bad men come back?" Her voice was soft, cracked, barely a whisper—but it carried the weight of every nightmare she'd lived.
I knelt to meet her gaze. Her brown eyes were huge, swimming with fear and hope. "Not while I draw breath."
She collapsed into me, pressing her forehead against my cloak, sobbing with relief as though the promise alone had shattered a chain.
Around us, Kael moved with calm purpose—handing out food, wrapping blankets around shoulders, lifting smaller children with gentle strength. Elenya gathered the shivering ones into her lap, humming soft lullabies shaped from ancient elven melodies. The older children guided the newly freed ones to the fires, sharing warmth and stories and the fragile comfort of safety.
For a moment, I simply stood in the center of it all. Their hope pressed on me—warm and crushing in equal measure. Every small smile, every grateful glance, every trembling hand reaching for comfort tightened something in my chest.
Then came the harder moments.
Some of the older freed children stepped forward: teens with haunted eyes, beastfolk youths with trembling tails, elven boys and human girls who stood straighter than their shaking bodies allowed.
"We know the way," one beastfolk youth said, voice cracking. "To our home. Our families. We can lead the little ones from our clan."
"And I can guide mine," an elven girl added, placing a protective arm around two younger elves.
The realization sank in: some had homes close enough to reach with guidance.
Some did not.
Elenya placed a hand on my shoulder. "Shadow… they're choosing. Let them."
I nodded.
Kael stepped forward, addressing the group with quiet strength. "Those who know your way home—you'll travel with me and Elenya. We'll make sure you arrive safely."
A ripple of relief spread through the older ones.
Then Kael looked to me. "And the rest?"
"Will journey with me," I said.
The children who didn't know their homes—or who had lost them—shifted closer to me as though drawn by something they couldn't name. Fear and hope mingled in their eyes.
One small boy whispered, "If we stay with you… we won't be taken again, right?"
My throat tightened. "Never again."
They clung to that promise as though it were life itself.
The camp around us filled with voices—breaking, healing, breaking again. Laughter tangled with tears. The crackle of fire mixed with soft sniffles. The forest seemed to breathe with us, its quiet presence a witness to everything.
I stood among them, cloak brushing the dirt, Nyx pressing his massive head into my side. For the first time since waking in that strange forest months ago, I felt the fragile pull of belonging.
Inside, my vow tightened like the coil of a drawn bowstring: So long as chains remain, I will be their undoing.
The road ahead darkened. But my shadow stretched far—and I would not stop, not until the last chain shattered.