Slash.
Slash.
Crunch… crunch… swish—
Branches dragged across fabric as the brothers pushed deeper into the forest, boots grinding over uneven dirt and scattered stone. The path was there—but only just. A thin, worn trail carved by years of travellers, winding through the wilderness like something the forest was slowly trying to erase.
Above them, towering trees stretched high into the sky, their thick canopies swallowing most of the light. Only broken shafts of sunlight slipped through the leaves, scattering in shifting patterns across the ground. Bushes grew wild on either side of the path, thorned and untamed, brushing against their arms and snagging at their sleeves as if testing them with every step.
The air itself felt alive.
Insects hummed constantly around them, darting in and out of sight. Something moved in the underbrush more than once—never close enough to see, but close enough to feel. Every now and then, a twig snapped sharply, and both boys would instinctively glance toward the sound before continuing on.
This wasn't a path meant for comfort
.It was a a lane meant for endurance.
"Ahh—these mosquitoes are dreadful," Luke groaned, swatting at his neck again. "How much longer until Crisl?
"Damien slowed slightly, carefully pulling the map from his bag. The parchment was soft at the folds, worn from being opened and refolded too many times. He held it steady with both hands, eyes tracing the inked path.
A thin line marked their route. Along it were small, imperfect symbols—an oddly bent tree marking a fork, a rough sketch of a hill, a faint line crossing another that represented a bridge.
"We're getting closer," Damien said. "About three days, if nothing slows us down." He glanced up from the map, comparing it to the land ahead. "We passed a landmark earlier—a split rock near the hill. That confirms we're still on track."
Luke frowned, looking around at the endless repetition of trees. "Everything looks the same out here."
"That's why you don't rely on what you see at a glance," Damien replied.
"You read the land. The slope of the ground. The bends in the path. Even the way trees cluster together. Those are the real markers."
He folded the map carefully, tucking it away. "A few more hours and there should be a river. We can wash off there… maybe rest a bit."
Luke nodded, though exhaustion lingered in his eyes.
They kept moving.
The forest seemed to shift around them as they went. The path dipped into shallow valleys where damp earth clung to their boots, then rose into uneven hills that made every step feel heavier than the last. At one point, they crossed a narrow wooden bridge stretched over a rushing stream below. The planks creaked loudly under their weight, swaying slightly with each step, the water far beneath them churning over rocks.
Further ahead, the trail narrowed again, forcing them into dense brush. Thorned branches scratched at their arms, and low-hanging limbs brushed their faces, leaving faint stings in their wake.
Every step demanded effort.
Every step reminded them how far they still had to go.
But they didn't stop.
Damien led with quiet focus, eyes constantly scanning—reading the ground, the trees, the subtle changes in terrain. Luke followed closely behind, swatting away insects and muttering complaints under his breath, but never once falling behind.
The wilderness pressed in on all sides, vast and unyielding.
By the time they reached the river, the light had softened into late afternoon gold.
Clear water ran over smooth stones, cutting a gentle path through the forest. For the first time in hours, the air felt lighter. Luke let out a long breath and immediately crouched at the edge, splashing water onto his face and arms. As he did, he noticed the small red bumps scattered across his skin from the mosquitoes.
He frowned, scratching at them until the skin turned slightly irritated.
"Great," he muttered. "This place is trying to eat us alive."
Nearby, Damien was already rinsing their clothes in the river, wringing them out carefully before laying them across a flat rock to dry. Only after that did he step into the water himself, letting out a quiet breath as the cold washed over him.
Luke didn't bother washing his clothes.
Instead, he reached into their bag and pulled out a piece of bread, biting into it with slow satisfaction. It was slightly stale, but it was food.
A few minutes later, Damien returned, damp-haired and visibly relieved. Without a word, Luke broke the remaining bread in half and handed him a piece.
They ate in silence.
For a moment, the world felt almost calm.
Luke leaned back onto the grass, arms resting behind his head. Damien followed a moment later, both of them staring up at the sky as it shifted into warm shades of orange, gold, and soft pink. The river beside them flowed steadily, its sound strangely soothing after the long trek.
Just for a moment…It didn't feel like survival.
It felt like a pause.
Then—
Footsteps.
Not careful.
Not hesitant.
Steady.
Unbothered.
Approaching with complete confidence.
Both boys turned at the same time.
An middle aged man was walking toward them along the river path.
He moved as if he belonged there, like the wilderness itself had no authority over him. A sword rested at his waist, swaying slightly with each step. Up close, he looked weathered but far from weak. His beard was untrimmed, his long hair fell loosely around his shoulders, and his armour was battered—scratched and dented from countless battles—but it only made him look more grounded, more real. Beneath it all, his frame still held clear strength, the kind built through years of survival and fighting.
He didn't slow down.
Didn't tense.
His eyes flicked over the boys once.
Just once.
He saw their worn clothes. Their tired faces. The half-eaten bread in their hands.
And then—he looked away.
To him, they weren't threats.
They were just children sitting by a river.
The man passed them without a word and stepped into the river, as he had done a hundred times before. Armour pieces came off one by one—metal clinking softly as they were set aside with care. Within moments, he stood in simple shorts and waded into the water without hesitation.
And just like that, the tension dissolved into something lighter.
But neither of them stopped watching the "old" man.