The Sleeping Goddess

The God Witch Awaits
The rhythmic thud of hooves pounded against the earth. Alexander gripped the reins of his steed tighter as the treeline broke into view, the thick canopy giving way to the open stretch that marked the edges of Bellaflor’s borders. The forest here was quieter, the air sharp with the scent of pine and damp earth, but beneath the peace, there was tension—too much open ground, too little cover.

He pulled the horse to a halt beneath a copse of trees, scanning the ridge ahead. The ancient perimeter wall of Bellaflor loomed in the distance, broken in places where nature had reclaimed its territory, and reinforced in others with glowing barrier stones. But that wasn’t what made him pause.

The sentries.

A pair moved in slow, practiced formation across a ruined stone path that curved through the trees. Both were armored in Bellaflor’s signature silver uniforms, their faces obscured beneath helmets designed with owl-like features. Their crossbows were loaded, their strides cautious, measured, experienced. Another figure lingered behind them, likely a scout judging by the way he crouched near a tree, examining something on the ground. Alexander could tell by the man's sharp movements that he was no novice.

Dismounting quickly, Alexander guided his horse behind the thickest tree he could find and whispered in Old Faerian, "El—bis Iv'ni."

His body shimmered faintly, then vanished entirely from view. The world dimmed slightly from his perspective, colors dulling, as his physical form phased out of reality.

He stepped away from the horse, careful not to disturb the underbrush, and moved like a ghost across the forest floor.

CRACK.

A twig snapped beneath his boot.

He froze.

The sound wasn’t loud—but it was sharp. One of the sentries ahead stiffened.

“Did you hear that?” one said, their voice muffled beneath the mask.

The scout raised a clenched fist, signaling the others to stop. Silence fell, heavy and suffocating.

Alexander held his breath. The wind stirred faintly, rustling the leaves overhead. The scout moved toward the source of the sound—toward Alexander—his crossbow raised, every step deliberate.

The scout was close now. Too close. Alexander could see the slight glow of runes engraved into the man’s bracer—a detection charm.

Damn it.

He slid a hand slowly toward the hilt of his sword, but didn’t draw. That would make noise. He had one shot at avoiding discovery.

The scout took one more step forward and tilted his head, staring directly at the space Alexander occupied.

The seconds stretched.

Then, a shriek—somewhere to the west. A crow, startled from its perch, burst from a low-hanging branch and soared away into the sky.

The scout flinched and whipped his head toward the sound.

"Just a bird," the second sentry muttered.

“Still… we’ll do another sweep later,” the scout said, lowering his weapon but not his guard. He slowly turned and rejoined the others. “Let's move. The perimeter’s clear—for now.”

Alexander didn’t move until they were gone.

Only when their footsteps faded did he exhale, the sound quiet and controlled. He pressed a hand to his chest. His heart was racing, even beneath the spell. A second slower, a step louder, and it would've been over.

With painstaking care, he continued forward—silent, invisible and relentless.

The love of his life was waiting just beyond those walls

—

The Silent Forest was a place where time seemed to unravel, where light was swallowed by shadow, and the air pulsed with ancient magic. But now, it stood still in grief.

Maelis, Selene, Morgan, and Idris were frozen in place.

Darius’s sword was still in Morgan's hand.

The steel was unmistakable—dark, worn from countless battles, with a leather-wrapped hilt and a single, faint etching of an eclipsed sun. No other carried a blade quite like it.

Maelis’s lips parted, but the words trembled, caught in her throat. Her hands, smudged with blood and soil, twitched at her sides. A single tear welled in her eye before slipping down her cheek.

"Darius didn’t make it," she finally said, her voice a mere breath.

Idris's head whipped around to her, his brows pinched. "No. Don’t say that! You don’t know. Maybe he—maybe he dropped it. You know how chaotic things can be in this place. Maybe it just slipped."

Selene remained silent, her usually unreadable face stricken, lips pressed tightly together. Morgan, who had always found the right thing to say in tense moments, stared blankly at the blade, fingers tightening around it like it might give him answers.

Maelis looked at Idris, and for once, her sarcasm was gone, stripped bare by sorrow.

"He never drops this sword, Idris. Never. He sleeps with it. Eats with it. Fights like a demon with it. He’d sooner lose an arm than let this thing go."

Idris shook his head violently, his voice rising. "You don’t know! He could’ve been forced to drop it. Or—or maybe it accidentally fell and he didn't notice.”

Maelis walked over, gently taking the sword from Morgan’s grasp. She held it to her chest for a moment, as if by holding it, she could feel Darius’s presence, his heat still lingering in the hilt.

"We already have the Varae Bloom," she murmured. "There’s nothing more we can do here. We need to go back. Aurora’s waiting."

Idris didn’t move.

He looked from one face to the next—Selene, who met his gaze with a quiet sadness; Morgan, who reached out to touch his arm, his mouth opening but unable to speak; and Maelis, who looked suddenly so tired, so much older than he was.

"When we get to Bellaflor," Idris said, his voice breaking, "He’ll be there. You’ll see. He’ll be waiting for us at the gates. Smirking, arms crossed, calling us idiots for taking so long."

No one replied.

Maelis gave a nod and turned to the forest gate. As the group stepped through, they left behind the cold, damp breath of the Silent Forest and emerged into the late afternoon warmth of the outer woods.

Sunlight streamed through the canopy in golden shafts. The birds chirped in easy harmony. A cool breeze rustled through the leaves, brushing against their skin like a gentle goodbye.

But none of them smiled.

The weight of Nixie’s death still haunted them. Now, Darius’s fate hung heavily between them, unspoken but felt in every dragging footstep.

For a time, they walked in silence. The world around them continued as if nothing had changed—as if two of their own hadn’t been swallowed by death.

It was Idris who finally broke the silence.

"He always told me not to get too emotional. Said it made you weak," he said, eyes on the path. "He had this way of pretending like he didn’t care, but he did. He was just scared."

Maelis gave a tired chuckle. "He was the most emotionally constipated bastard I ever met."

Morgan smiled faintly. "Remember when he and Nixie argued for two days straight about which wild berries were safe to eat? He knew she was right but refused to admit it."

Selene’s voice was soft. "She tricked him into eating the sour ones just to prove a point."

Idris finally smiled, though it was a broken thing. "He didn’t even spit it out. Just chewed with that same grumpy expression. He swore revenge."

"He did get revenge," Maelis added, lifting her brows. "Poisoned her tea with a harmless herb that turned her tongue blue for a week."

Laughter bubbled up then—small, choked, but real.

For a moment, the weight lifted.

Then it fell again, heavier, crueler.

Because these were memories now. Stories of people who would never return.

Still, they kept walking.

Bellaflor was waiting.

Aurora was waiting.