The forest loomed behind them, its presence hanging heavy like a breath on the nape of their necks. The horrors that had once seemed to claw at the edges of their vision had retreated into silence, but it was a silence that felt pregnant with menace, as if something unseen still watched, waiting. The air was thick—damp, heavy with the scent of old earth, of decay, and of something far more alien, an essence that didn't belong to this world. The trees whispered with unseen movements, their twisted limbs stretching like fingers toward the sky, reaching out, but never touching. Erasmus felt it deep in his bones—a presence not immediately perceptible but constant, lurking just beneath the surface of his awareness. It wasn't a voice, nor a tangible entity. No, it was something more insidious. A weight, hanging in the air like the promise of a storm yet to come. Not now. Not yet.
They moved forward, stepping cautiously through the thinning trees, where the once-damp soil beneath their feet gave way to patches of frost-bitten grass that crunched faintly with every step. The distant glow of firelight bled through the branches, casting long, flickering shadows across the forest floor. Figures moved in the distance—men clad in steel, their whispers mingling with the soft rustle of the trees, the occasional clink of armor a reminder of the danger lurking in this forsaken place. There was no comfort to be found here, no warmth. Erasmus adjusted his posture slightly, a subtle shift that ensured he wasn't too rigid, but not too relaxed either. He was a survivor, a boy who had seen too much, and yet, in some way, he wasn't broken. Not yet. Not fully.
Rei moved ahead of him, ever vigilant, his fingers twitching against the hilt of his sword, a habit borne not of fear, but of readiness. Erasmus noticed the movement, the way his fingers flexed just enough to suggest he was prepared for anything. A knight through and through, always on guard, always poised to strike. It wasn't fear that drove him—it was something far colder, far more methodical. It was survival.
Then, with that practiced calm that only someone like Rei could muster, the question came. "You never answered me."
Erasmus allowed a moment to pass before lifting his gaze, slow and deliberate, as though pulling himself from the depths of thought. His eyes met Rei's, unwavering. He hadn't expected the question, but he didn't flinch. Not this time. "I didn't realize you asked a question," he responded, his tone light, as though the conversation were nothing more than a casual exchange.
Rei's eyes flicked to him, sharp and unyielding, before he exhaled, the sound barely audible. "Why were you in the forest?"
It was a reasonable question, one that required more than a simple answer. The eldritch world was no place for strays, and those who wandered into its heart without a purpose were usually never seen again. To walk alone through its maw, to face the unknown with nothing but the hope of survival—such folly could only lead to madness or worse.
Erasmus felt the weight of the moment settle between them, the delicate dance of truth and deceit that had become second nature to him. A lie too intricate could easily tangle and strangle him, yet a truth too plain could invite suspicion, an invitation to prying eyes. He took a breath, choosing his words with care. "I was searching for something."
Rei's gaze never wavered. "For what?"
"A way to survive," Erasmus answered, his voice steady, though the words were but a fraction of the truth. They were true, in a way. But Rei, sharp as he was, would know there was more—there always was.
Rei's expression remained unreadable, but his footsteps slowed as he studied Erasmus, the tension in the air growing thick with unasked questions. "You don't seem desperate enough for someone who's been starving."
The words cut through the silence with precision, sharp and probing. Erasmus allowed a brief pause, not out of hesitation, but calculation, weighing the moment. He felt his fingers curl slightly at the edge of his sleeves, a small, unconscious movement. Just enough to be noticed. Just enough to be mistaken for vulnerability. It was a trick, a subtle show of imperfection.
"I didn't say I was starving," he replied, his voice measured, but tinged with something sharper beneath the surface.
Rei's brow furrowed, and for a moment, Erasmus saw the shift—the slight tightening of his jaw, the subtle edge to his stance. "Most who wander alone don't last long."
Erasmus exhaled, a breath that caught in his chest, his shoulders tensing imperceptibly as if weighing whether to speak further. Then, softly, he allowed his voice to slip out, a confession, but not quite. "I don't feel fear the same way anymore."
Rei's posture shifted ever so slightly, a muscle twitching in his neck, a soft intake of breath as though he had heard something that didn't quite fit. "What?"
The question hung in the air for a long, suspended moment, before Erasmus let his gaze dip downward, as though the weight of his words were too much to bear. "My ability… It changed me." His voice faltered, uncertain for the first time since they met, as though it was from all the collective stress. "I still react. My heart still pounds. But my mind doesn't panic."
There was a quiet stillness between them, Rei's eyes flickering with something—not doubt, but recognition. He understood. The recognition was not in the words, but in the way they both knew what it meant to lose control. To lose something vital in the face of terror. "That's lucky," Rei murmured. "Most people lose themselves to fear out here."
A hollow laugh escaped Erasmus' lips, half amusement, half exhaustion. "Lucky? Maybe. But it also means I don't know when to run until it's too late." A weakness, hidden beneath layers of calculated calm. A flaw Rei could understand. Rei was no stranger to the horrors of the eldritch world, and he knew all too well the cost of losing oneself to fear.
Rei didn't respond immediately, but his gaze softened, the tension that had held his frame loosening, just a little. The silence between them wasn't uncomfortable now—it was understanding. Erasmus had given him something to believe in, a flicker of trust, fragile though it might be.
"Come on," Rei said, his voice softer now, less guarded. "Stay close. The others won't be as welcoming."
They moved forward, the firelight growing brighter as they approached the heart of the camp. The air shifted, and as they crossed the final line of trees, the trappings of survival came into view—tents pitched haphazardly, makeshift barriers cobbled together with whatever could be scavenged. Soldiers leaned against sharpened stakes, their eyes flicking to them as they approached, their voices falling to hushed murmurs. The camp had noticed him. Erasmus felt it instantly—the weight of their gaze, the judgment that was never spoken but always felt. He shrank slightly, not out of fear, but out of instinct. He wasn't part of this world, not yet. He was still an outsider.
A soldier stood, his dagger glinting in the firelight, his gaze cold as it flicked over Erasmus, then to Rei. "You're bringing in strays now?"
Rei's expression was as impassive as ever, his voice flat. "He's with us."
The soldier's grip on his dagger tightened imperceptibly, but he didn't move, the tension in the air thickening. An unspoken rule had just been broken, and it was clear that Rei had just drawn a line that many would not cross.
Erasmus allowed his gaze to flicker downward, playing the part of the lost boy. He wasn't a threat. Not yet.
The soldier exhaled sharply, his voice low. "He's your problem, then."
Interesting. Erasmus had already learned a small but valuable lesson—those who made the rules were the ones who were most reluctant to break them. Rei had broken that rule for him. The question was, would it matter?
Rei led him further into the camp, the warmth of the fire seeping into his skin. But it wasn't the warmth of the fire that lingered—it was the coldness of the knights' gazes, their judgment, their watchfulness. They were testing him. Waiting for something. Waiting for a crack.
And then, a man sitting by the fire raised his head.
Riven had been sharpening his blade when he first saw them—Rei, always stoic, and the boy, who seemed too frail, too pale for someone who had survived the eldritch world. The whetstone in his hand stilled. The firelight fell across the boy's features, cutting shadows into his face, making him appear even thinner, even more… wrong. Not unnatural, but measured. Too measured.
Riven's fingers tightened slightly around the hilt of his sword, his instincts sharpening as he observed. A stray in the den. The whispers that had died down only moments ago seemed to shift, as though the air itself was thick with doubt.
Rei motioned to the squires. "Get him supplies. Set up a tent."
One of them hesitated. "Should we really be—"
Rei's gaze cut through the hesitation, sharp and final. The squire swallowed, nodding quickly.
Erasmus allowed his eyes to widen, a small gesture of surprise—not too much, but just enough to be noticed. "You don't have to—"
"You won't last long if you don't rest," Rei interrupted, his tone matter-of-fact, as though the matter was already settled.
Another kindness. Another thread of trust being woven. Erasmus lowered his head slightly, his voice soft. "Thank you."
The squire moved off, but Riven didn't budge. Not yet.
His gaze never left the boy, watching the way he moved—careful, controlled, adjusting his posture with deliberate grace. There was something about the way he carried himself, something… off. The way his fingers curled just slightly, like someone adjusting their grip, but not in fear. No, it wasn't fear. Riven had spent enough years in the company of liars to know when a reflection was true.
This boy—Veridion, was it? His reflection didn't waver. Not even a little.
No, he wasn't just surviving. He was playing.