The carriage creaked to a halt beneath the looming canopy of trees, sunlight filtering through in dappled patches that shrouded the mossy forest floor. The air was cool and quiet.
Darian was the first to move, pushing open the door before stepping out; his metal boots crunching softly against the dirt. He turned without a word and offered a hand toward Sylteena.
She hesitated for a moment then took it.
The knight helped her down with grace before stepping aside as Philip followed, blinking into the outdoor contrast as he let out a soft grunt.
The three stood silently, staring at the view before them.
And there it stood—or slouched, more accurately.
A rickety house of sun-bleached wood and sinking pillars, as though it was trying to melt into the earth out of sheer embarrassment.
One shutter hung off its hinge, swaying with the breeze. The steps were crooked, and the chimney coughed smoke sideways.
Philip stared at it with a squint. "…Someone lives here?"
"It looks worse than the inside," Darian said plainly, already stepping forward.
Philip's head cocked. "That's supposed to be reassuring?"
Sylteena chuckled as she followed Darian silently, her eyes trailing across the rotting beams and sagging porch, each one looking like it could crumble under a strong opinion.
Her attention sharpened immediately when she noticed Darian didn't head for the door.
Instead, he veered left—straight for a narrow window tucked between two skeletal bushes.
Without pause, he reached for the frame and lifted it open, hauling himself cleanly through the gap.
Sylteena blinked. "W- Wait—D- Did he just—?"
Philip took a defensive step in front of her. "He just broke into a house. A very unwelcoming house, nonetheless."
"This is the way in. The front is merely decorative." Darian's voice came out plain and calm.
Philip's mouth twitched. "How is anything you've said so far reassuring!?"
Sylteena stepped forward, peering into the dim space beyond the window where Darian now stood inside.
The room looked like a bedroom—at least, that was the closest assumption to make. The mattress was nothing but an exposed frame with mold-covered fabric.
A single chair leaned against the far wall, one leg too short, while the wallpaper—if one could still call it that—peeled into long, curling ribbons like burnt parchment.
She placed her hand on the sill, readying herself.
"My lady, don't," Philip said quickly, his hands reaching for hers. "We do not know what is inside. That knight may be loyal, but even loyalty can be compromised."
"I trust him, Philip," Sylteena whispered.
"That is exactly my problem," Philip whispered back.
Looking away despite his wary grimace and worry, she hoisted herself up anyway and slipped inside.
A second later, Philip cursed under his breath and followed, grunting as his boots hit the dusty floorboards.
The air within was musty and damp. Every surface looked like it was giving up on existence. With dark corners crawling with rodents and vermin, there was a strange, sweet-metallic tang in the air—not rot.
But something truly odd to place a finger on. Philip's expression turned far more sore.
Darian was already leading the way to what seemed like a door leading further into the skeleton of a home.
They passed through the bedroom and into the adjoining space, a crooked doorway opening into what might've once been a sitting room illuminated by candlelight.
Their pace slowed gradually until it came to a halt.
In the center of the room, surrounded by a half-moon of burning candles and glowing markings scratched into the wood, sat a figure.
Cloaked in an oversized, moth-bitten blanket, the person's face was hidden. They were hunched over, drawing symbols into the floor with what looked suspiciously like a charred bone.
Their hand moved slowly in a rhythmic pattern.
Sylteena's breath caught—Philip looked ready to run, his fingers clutching Sylteena's.
Darian stepped forward, his voice low but firm beneath his helmet.
"Vanya."
The figure stilled.
The bone stopped mid-curve.
The air turned mute—the type of silence that felt like the room was listening.
Then the blanket shifted to reveal a pair of gleaming hazel eyes peering out from the shadows.
Sylteena's eyes widened.
The figure of a teenage boy turned around sharply, his eyes lighting up like lanterns at the sight of Darian.
"Darian!" He shouted, pushing off the floor to dart forward; his arms spread wide as he collided into the knight with a thud that nearly knocked Darian backward.
"Well, someone's been feeding you," Darian grunted softly, grinning as he caught the boy in a firm hug.
"I missed you, Darian!" the boy—Vanya—replied cheekily. Darian chuckled.
Standing behind them, Sylteena and Philip exchanged a look with their brows slightly raised.
Philip stepped forward, clearing his throat with a subtle ahem. "Pardon me, but… Who is this child?" He had more than fifteen questions to ask, but it was best to start with the genesis of confusion here…
Darian turned to face them, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Ah. This is Vanya."
The boy grinned broadly, his freckled cheeks raised high as his white strands framed the side of his temple.
He offered a small wave with inky-stained fingers. "You must be the ones Darian wrote about in the letter!"
Philip blinked. "Letter?"
"I sent a letter before our departure from the palace," Darian said matter-of-factly.
Before Philip could even finish scoffing, the boy clapped his hands once—sharp and quick.
A sudden flutter filled the air as a pigeon swooped in through the cracked window and landed on the boy's shoulder. He gently patted its head.
"Oh…" Sylteena arched a brow. "Trained pigeons... In a black witch's house."
Vanya tittered, "This is Quivo. He's working extra shift because his wife is busy nursing the kids."
Sylteena bit her lip as her head nodded in mechanical reflex. "I—Interesting…" Her lips twitched.
Philip let out a chuckle that strained from the last clog of sanity in his mind. "Well… Unrelated though, but… Where is the black witch we are here to see?"
Darian gave a little pat on Vanya's shoulder. "He is standing in front of you."
Philip nearly choked. "Excuse me?!"
Sylteena was already past her shock.
The boy beamed wider. "Vanya Nightfeather, at your service."
Darian nudged the back of his head. "Bow."
Vanya pouted. "I was going to—"
"Bow properly, Vanya."
With a dramatic sigh and a visible roll of his eyes, the boy bent forward. Darian placed a firm hand on the back of his neck, pushing him lower.
Vanya snarled. "Oh stars, alright, alright! My forehead shall kiss the floor if it pleases thee!"
"Vanya…" Darian warned. "You will not display your prominent attitude toward the heir to the crown."
Sylteena hesitated in confusion as she raised her head slightly. "P- Please, there is no need for that. D- Do not be so hard on him, Sir Darian. He is only a child."
"Child or not, he holds power most grown men do not understand. He must learn respect." He gave a slight squeeze to Vanya's neck, earning a yelp.
"Please, Sir Darian…"
Darian let go.
Vanya straightened his back, fixing his tunic and flicking imaginary dust off his shoulder.
"Ehem!… Your Highness," he said with exaggerated flair, "How may I be of service to you?"
The air shifted rather quickly.
The princess inhaled deeply, a flicker of hesitation in her gaze. She glanced once at Darian—who stood static next to the boy—then back, steeling herself for the words she was about to speak. Her chin lifted.
"I…"
They waited in attention.
"I need you to make me a potion," she said, clearing her throat softly. "The one used to attract the Sliqruki."
And in that very moment, the air felt static.
Even the pigeon stopped blinking.
The warmth drained from the room within seconds.
Darian stepped forward slowly, his voice low but looming. "I beg your pardon, Your Highness?"
She did not flinch—at least she tried not to—from his towering figure. "Y- You heard me, Sir Darian."
She could feel his eyes narrow between the helmet gaps. "For what purpose do you request such a potion?… Your Highness…"
Before she could answer, Vanya raised his hand. "That potion," he said in a more serious tone, "Is not merely to attract the Sliqruki. It is a lure used in ancient trials. A sentence. Where the condemned would be drenched in the fluid and given to the forest, to be judged… Devoured."
He stepped closer. "That potion is only ever brewed when someone is to be punished"
Darian's gaze cut sharply to the princess. "Who do you intend to persecute, Your Highness?"
Silence again.
Sylteena's knuckles tightened. "I intend to offer myself."
The words, cold and determined, fell like a blade upon stone.
Darian's tone wavered. "Y- You what?"
"I intend to offer myself as the sacrifice so to meet the Sliqruki."
"Oh I see, Your Highness… Y- You wish to… Speak to it…" Darian repeated, his voice obviously reeked of sarcasm and distain. "You want to invite yourself into the presence of the Sliqruki."
"I need to," she replied boldly . "There is something I must know. Something it must tell me."
"You seriously plan to converse with such a creature!? The ancient Forest Feeder!?" He couldn't believe it the very words he spat.
Despite Philip's awareness of the situation, he still gave Darian a supportive nod antagonizing Sylteena's proposal.
At least he wasn't the only one thinking straight…
Darian looked like he was halfway between falling to his knees or shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Your Highness," he said through clenched teeth, straining to uphold his respect and tone, "Why— Why would you endanger yourself for a creature that devours men and drinks the screams of the dying?"
Vanya let out a quiet "yikes," as he slowly inched behind Darian.
Sylteena did not back down. Her arms were stiff by her side, her fingers clutched and her mismatched eyes sharp and glaring.
She spoke in a deeper pitch. "Because the truth it has to offer is worth my life."
Darian crooked his head.
She continued, "And it is a fate I must face even if it is of what the heavens abandoned."
Darian glared at her, a storm of devotion, fear, and frustration churning underneath his head wear. He dared not part his lips to voice his intrusive thought. But the heavens help him, he wanted to shake the royal resolve out of her bones.
The knuckles of his armour creaked from the strength of his clenched fists.
Vanya then peeked out from behind him. "Sooo… Should I start chopping the antelope gallbladder or…?"
Darian raised a hand toward him without looking. "Don't."
Sylteena's gaze remained locked on Darian's — frowning. And yet, in the shadows of her eyes, the weight of fear did not go unnoticed.
Not under Darien's gaze.