Chapter 78: A Nightmare Unfolds

Levan stepped out of the tent, the chill of the night biting at his face. Lanterns swung gently in the breeze, casting long, wavering shadows across the encampment. His mind, stubbornly clinging to the memory of Ilaria’s flushed face refused to stay focused, but he snapped himself back because command came first.

The scouts were already gathered, their faces tight with tension that Levan could feel as a familiar weight pressing against his chest. One of them stepped forward, holding a worn, wet bag that looked as though it had been dragged through a dozen storms.

“We found traces of the Blithe along the clearings,” the scout reported. “Dead trees, wilted grass and shadows of darkness lingered along its path. They were scattered.”

Levan took the bag without a word and shook it. Its contents rattled as they fell on the ground. Empty bottles, crushed herbs, and remnants of something that once had purpose. “And this?” he asked.

“It belonged to a merchant, perhaps searching for herbs in the forest,” the scout murmured.

Levan crouched, letting the lantern catch the remnants in his hands. He recognized the herbs immediately. It was a rare, heart-of-the-forest remedies for ailments like asthma. Someone had come here seeking life. And now… nothing remained but evidence of violence.

“Where’s the body?” His voice was quieter than intended, but carried the same edge of command.

“Unretrievable,” the scout admitted, eyes downcast. “The body was shredded and scattered across the path… it’s impossible to piece it back together.”

Levan’s jaw tightened as grim silence fell among the knights gathered. He felt the old ache of the ghost of helplessness from years ago resurfacing with a sting sharper than any blade.

The smell of blood, the chaos of death in his mother’s bedchamber… It was not just horror, it was memory. And it stoked the fire of something he refused to feel yet could not deny.

The forest had taken a life today. And he would make sure that it did not take another.

Huffing, he gave the bag to one of the knights standing on his side. “Secure it. We’ll return it to his family once the expedition is over.”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

Without wasting any more time, Levan stood up and move among the knights with precise gestures, issuing orders and strategies, his tone clipped but steady as he calculated every instructios.

As he reminded them to flank the perimeter, part of him was watching the sleeping tents, counting each lanterns, remembering how the the wards were set up and checking the placement of the Hallowbloom.

Everything was orderly until his pulse flickered.

Something in the dark… a faint scent and almost imperceptible sound that was eerie enough to make his instincts coil like a spring reached him. He felt his muscles tensing all at once. His ears perked up, and his gaze alerted.

The knights could see his eyes slit into danger, golden and sharp in the lantern light. The wards and incense were in place, Hallowbloom scattered, the lanterns were lit. Technically, this camp should have been safe. And yet… the beasts had stepped inside anyway.

“Beasts…” he gritted his teeth.

They’re close. Too close. And he knew he has little time to lose.

But the first instinct he felt that had always driven him into the heart of danger faltered. Instead of charging into the darkness like he always did, he found himself pivoting toward the sleeping tent. He did not even realized it until his boots stopped mid-step.

Every nerve in his body screamed at him to turn back, to stay by her side. He did not want to leave her, not like this, not with the air thick with something wrong, something he could sense curling in the shadows. And yet, the east flank… it needed him. He could not gamble on scouts alone.

His chest tightened, every heartbeat a drum of indecision. His gaze flicked between the safety of the tents and the dark threat beyond. Leaving her gnawed at him, yet hesitation could cost lives.

So, he calculated fast: the Hydra Knights would stay surrounding the tents. The wards were already strong, he oversaw it himself earlier. The Hallowbloom incense dangled and its powder scattered. The lanterns were up. He had to put his trust on them and she would be safe — she had to be.

“Quick,” he ordered the knights, checking his blade, the hilt cool under his gloved fingers. He tightened his cloak, eyes scanning the darkness ahead.

He hated leaving her. Hated the thought of her vulnerable while he faced whatever waited in the shadows. But action required speed, and hesitation could mean death.

SCREECH—

A sudden noise made his pulse leap again. His eyes slitted instinctively, nostrils flaring as he identified the movement somewhere deep inside the forest. Something tall and unnatural. Shadows seemed to coil around it while it moved with a silent, liquid menace.

He briskly signaled two of his knights to follow, leaving Harken and the rest to guard the tents as he mount up his horse. “Stay sharp,” he commanded, voice low but unwavering. “Protect the perimeter. No one leaves these lines.”

Harken nodded. He turned to the others and immediately ordered them to protect the camp.

As the sound of horses galloping towards the east echoed and the wind carrying the faintest hum of danger, he glanced back once, toward the softly lit tents where Ilaria slept, or at least he hoped she did. His stomach clenched. She would not be able to defend herself if the worst came.

The instinct inside him hissed, coiling in anticipation as he kept moving, forcing himself to focus, but the thought of her lingered stubbornly in his head: Please be safe. Please… nothing finds her before I return.

And then, in the stillness of the night, something low and guttural stirred from the shadows ahead. The men behind him tensed, but Levan did not stop even for a fraction. He could feel the eyes of the beast upon them.

The night had teeth now.

Meanwhile…

Ilaria was curled into the edge of the bed, pulling the blanket up to her chin as if it could shield her from the memory of what had just happened in the mess tent. Her cheeks still burned, heat lingering like embers long after a fire had died down.

She pressed her hands against her face, trying to chase away the imagined moment that had never truly happened. The crumb. The brush of his thumb. Oh, Saints… Her pulse still hammered in her ears, loud enough that she was certain he could have heard it even now.

And yet… she could not stop replaying it. The warmth of him so close. The faint scent of smoke and steel that clung to him. The way his eyes had caught hers, steady and unnerving yet softer than anything she had imagined possible.

Her lips parted slightly as she whispered into the stillness of the tent, “Please… be safe.”

Even though she knew he would hear none of it, it was as though speaking it aloud somehow tethered him to her thoughts and would kept him from wandering too far into danger. She buried her face deeper into the blanket, shivering slightly, not from cold, but from the memory of their proximity.

Sleep was slow to come. Her mind refused to quiet, racing over each subtle gesture, every flicker of expression, every unspoken word of what had transpired. She imagined him moving through the camp now, alert, commanding, and cautious. The thought both comforted and terrified her.

And then, as the night crept on and her body finally surrendered to exhaustion, her eyelids fluttered closed. She pictured him returning whole and steady, his voice soft and certain. That image, fragile and impossible as it was, carried her across the edge between wakefulness and sleep.

Her last conscious thought before the darkness claimed her was a prayer she could not say out loud, but felt with every fiber of herself: Come back to me, husband.

Everything was peaceful for a while.

~×~

CLANK.

A sudden loud clatter jerked Ilaria awake. Her eyes shot open, heart leaping into her throat. The soft shadows of the tent were broken by flickering lantern light, swaying with the sudden movement outside.

The first thing Ilaria heard were the sharp, urgent voices of the knights outside the tent, shouting orders over the night. Her heart jolted at every shout and clang of metal that cut through the darkness.

Then, a grotesque, inhuman shriek ripped through the air, jagged and raw, reverberating across the camp. It was the kind of sound no living thing should make, a twisting, guttural scream that made her blood run cold.

Panicked, she gripped the blanket tightly. “W-what—” she began, but froze as the familiar yell cut through the night, sharp and commanding.

“Stay inside, Your Highness! Do not come out!”

Ilaria’s stomach twisted. It was Captain Harken’s voice. And judging from the sound of it, it seemed like he was out there fighting… something.

Ilaria pressed herself against the blanket, trying to peer through the folds of the tent without making a sound. Every instinct screamed at her to stay hidden, to obey, but her pulse hammered too fast, her breath caught in her chest when more voices joined.

Ilaria’s hands flew to her ears, pressing hard against the sides of her head as if she could block out the world. The shrieks tore through her anyway, rattling her bones and making her heart hammer like a drum. She buried her face into the blanket, trembling violently, willing herself not to hear or see.

But even under the weight of terror, her thoughts clawed their way through. Where is Levan? she thought, panic twisting her stomach into knots. He said he would be careful… he has to be safe… he has to.

She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could vanish entirely, wishing the darkness would swallow her whole. Every scream outside made her flinch, every shout of the knights pulled her further into helplessness. She could barely breathe, barely think, but she could not stop imagining the worst.

The sounds of struggle moved closer and a dark, sickly energy seemed to press against the thin fabric of the tent. It made her skin crawl, her chest tighten. She wanted to scream and run, but the words of the knights rang in her ears: Do not come out.

Ilaria swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay still, pressing every inch of her body into the bed as if she could disappear entirely. She clamped her eyes shut, hands trembling while whispering frantic prayers to herself.

And she would have stayed still… Had the lanterns not suddenly went out. All of them. In an instant, the warm glow that had anchored her disappeared, leaving the tent in suffocating darkness.

Her breath caught in her throat as she felt the sudden surging of the marks on her arms, the dark veins crawling back over her skin, twisting and pulsing like living things. Panic seized her chest.

No. No. Not here.

A sudden gust of wind flared through the tent, whipping at the thin fabric walls and the shadows danced and twisted in impossible shapes. She could barely think as the fear clawed at her mind that she could not stay, that something would happen if she stayed.

Before she even realized what she was doing, she bolted from the bed, heart hammering so violently she thought it would burst from her chest. Every instinct screamed at her to run toward the chaos outside, not to see what had happened, but to save herself from whatever it is that was occupying the tent now.

Darkness swallowed her and all she could hear were the screams of men, the shrieks of some terrible, unseen creature, and the ragged, terrified sound of her own breathing as she stumbled forward into the night.

Wet earth sucked at her feet. Ash and cold and the smell of iron hit her face, and the creature before her unfolded like a nightmare made flesh. Its limbs bent at impossible angles, fingers curling into black talons that scraped the earth, shadows clinging to it like smoke.

Its eyes, glowing coals set in a face she could not quite call human, was fixed on her.

Ilaria sucked in a sharp breath. Her feet slipped on the wet earth as a knight was flung aside like a ragdoll. She fell on the ground, heart pounding, and the beast’s roar cut through the night as it charged straight at her.

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