Chapter Two: Hunter in the Dark

In the heart of the mysterious and gloomy wilderness, where the trees stood tall and ancient, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers against the dim light filtering through the dense canopy, there moved a man. Clad in attire that spoke of both stealth and strength, his form was a shadow amidst the shadows, blending seamlessly with the eerie landscape around him.

Elian, for that was his name, moved with the grace of a predator, his every step calculated and silent. A bow rested comfortably in his calloused hands, its sinew drawn tight, ready to loose an arrow at a moment's notice. His keen eyes scanned the forest floor, searching for any sign of movement, any hint of his elusive prey.

Whispers danced upon the wind, their soft voices carrying secrets and shadows that seemed to coil around Elian's senses. At times, they murmured his name, a faint echo that sent shivers down his spine. "Elian," they whispered, their words like ghostly fingers brushing against his skin, teasing and tantalizing.

He paused, his heart pounding in his chest as the whispers seemed to grow louder, more insistent. "Closer," they beckoned, their voices twisting and weaving through the air like tendrils of mist. Elian's grip tightened on his bow, his muscles tensing as he spun around, searching for the source of the eerie voices.

But there was nothing, only the silent expanse of the forest, its secrets hidden in the shifting shadows. With a steadying breath, Elian forced himself to push aside the unsettling feeling that gnawed at the edges of his mind. He was a hunter, a master of his craft, and he would not be swayed by mere whispers on the wind.

Resuming his hunt, Elian ventured deeper into the heart of the forest, the gloom thickening around him like a heavy cloak. The fog rolled in, its tendrils curling around the ancient trees like spectral fingers, obscuring his vision and heightening his senses.

Yet still, he pressed on, his instincts guiding him through the maze of twisted roots and gnarled branches. The whispers persisted, their voices growing more urgent, more insistent with each passing moment. "Elian," they called, their words a haunting refrain that echoed through the shadows.

As Elian ventured further into the forest's heart, the whispers grew more insistent, swirling around him like a thick mist. Their urgent calls of his name echoed through the dense canopy, guiding him deeper into the unknown.

Despite the growing unease in his gut, Elian pressed on, his resolve unwavering. With each step, he felt the forest's grip tighten around him, pulling him deeper into its enigmatic embrace. Whatever lay ahead, he knew he must face it head-on, for his journey had only just begun.

As Elian followed the whispers deeper into the heart of the forest, his senses heightened, alert for any sign of his elusive prey. His keen eyes scanned the ground, searching for the unique tracks of the Lensa. After what seemed like hours of relentless pursuit, he finally stumbled upon a set of prints that matched the description: cloven, yet resembling the pads and toes of a wolf.

Excitement surged through him as he followed the tracks, his bow at the ready, anticipation coursing through his veins. But just as he drew closer to his quarry, another whisper on the wind sent a chill down his spine – "beware."

Elian froze, his instincts on high alert as he scanned his surroundings. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the silence heavy and foreboding. Then, with a swift and silent movement, a hand slammed onto his shoulder, knocking him off balance. Before he could react, another hand pressed against his mouth, stifling any outcry.

Panicked, Elian struggled against the unseen assailant, but a hushing motion against his lips silenced him. Slowly, the pressure on his mouth eased, and he turned to face his would-be attacker, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion.

Before him stood a figure cloaked in shadows, their features obscured by the dim light filtering through the dense foliage. A shared moment of understanding passed between them as the stranger pointed silently towards a small clearing ahead.

Elian followed the stranger's gaze, his breath catching in his throat as he beheld the majestic form of the Lensa grazing peacefully. But his awe was short-lived as a sudden movement caught his eye – a hulking shape emerging from the shadows, its presence ominous and threatening.

The Bransul, a creature of legend and terror, prowled into the clearing with a predatory grace that belied its massive size. With a deafening snarl, it lunged towards the unsuspecting Lensa, its jaws closing around the deer in a single, brutal bite.

Elian's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the gruesome spectacle unfold before him, his muscles tensed and ready for action. Beside him, the stranger remained eerily silent, their presence a comforting yet enigmatic presence in the midst of chaos.

Together, they stood as silent witnesses to the brutal display of nature's cruelty, hoping against hope that the Bransul would soon lose interest and disappear back into the depths of the forest.

Minutes passed like an eternity as they held their breath, every nerve in their bodies straining against the oppressive silence. And then, as suddenly as it had appeared, the Bransul turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving behind only the echoes of its savage roar.

As they emerged from their hiding place, Elian's eyes scanned the forest floor, searching for the lost arrow that had slipped from his grasp during the encounter with the Bransul. His frustration mounted as he realized the futility of his search, the undergrowth seemingly swallowing the projectile whole.

"You could have done something other than slam my shoulder," Elian grumbled, shooting an accusatory glare at the stranger. "I've lost a perfectly good arrow because of you."

The stranger stood nearby, their gaze unwavering as they observed Elian's futile efforts. "And let you get mauled by the Bransul?" they retorted calmly. "Surely you can see that I have saved your life."

Elian's grimace deepened at the reminder of the peril he had narrowly escaped. He begrudgingly acknowledged the truth in the stranger's words, though his pride bristled at the thought of being indebted to anyone, especially a mysterious figure he barely knew.

"Who are you?" Elian demanded, his tone edged with suspicion. "How did you find me?"

The stranger let out a soft chuckle, their voice carrying a hint of amusement. "I've no name, well, no real name," they replied cryptically. "Yet I am known as Windtongue."

Elian's eyebrows furrowed in confusion at the enigmatic response. "Windtongue?" he echoed, the name rolling off his tongue uncertainly. "What kind of name is that?"

"It is the name bestowed upon me by those who have crossed paths with me," Windtongue explained, their tone serene. "As for how I found you, well, it certainly wasn't hard. After all, you smell of rose and basil. Hardly the scent of these mysterious woods. You do know where you are, yes?"

Elian paused, a flicker of doubt crossing his features as he processed Windtongue's words. He surreptitiously sniffed at his clothes, surprised to detect the faint aroma of herbs mingling with the earthy scent of the forest.

"Rose and basil? Hardly... do I?" he muttered to himself, momentarily distracted from the conversation.

Windtongue's gaze remained fixed on Elian, their expression unreadable. "Should I know where we are?" Elian asked, directing his attention back to the stranger. "Surely it can't be that important... unless..."

"We are in the Forests of Dolmarduath," Windtongue interjected, their voice grave.

Elian felt a chill run down his spine at the mention of the name. Dolmarduath – a place spoken of in hushed whispers, a realm shrouded in darkness and mystery. Surely he couldn't have wandered so far west? The realization hit him like a blow to the chest, the implications of his predicament sinking in with a sinking feeling of dread.

"I would have been walking for days," Elian muttered, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the events that had led him to this unfamiliar place.

Windtongue's eyes softened with understanding as they regarded Elian's troubled expression. "Fear not, Elian," they said reassuringly. "I will guide you back to the Forest of Angrad, the familiar woods to the northeast of our current position. But first, we must make haste."

With a sense of relief flooding through him, Elian nodded gratefully, silently acknowledging the debt he owed to his mysterious companion. Together, they set off through the shadowed depths of Dolmarduath, their footsteps echoing like whispers against the ancient trees as they embarked on their journey home.

The journey through Dolmarduath was fraught with tension. Elian and Windtongue moved cautiously, every rustle in the underbrush and whisper of the wind keeping them on high alert. The gloom of the forest seemed to deepen as they ventured further, the fog swirling around them like tendrils of some unseen creature. Yet, despite the eerie atmosphere, Elian felt a strange sense of camaraderie with Windtongue.

As they walked, Windtongue broke the silence. "Tell me, Elian," they began, their voice soft but clear, "what has transpired in Ouroboros during these past ten years?"

Elian glanced at Windtongue, noting the genuine curiosity in their eyes. "The Masters have been at each other's throats," he replied, his tone weary. "The political landscape has been a battlefield of its own. Alliances shift like the wind, and trust is a commodity no one can afford."

Windtongue nodded, urging him to continue. "The Masters," Elian elaborated, "have been vying for power, each one seeking to outmaneuver the others. It's been a delicate dance of deceit and manipulation. Betrayals are common, and loyalty is rare. The city of Ouroboros stands, but it feels like it's on the brink of tearing itself apart."

"Tell me more about the capital," Windtongue urged, their interest piqued. "What of its people? Its rulers?"

"Ouroboros," Elian began, his voice tinged with both pride and bitterness, "is a city unlike any other. It is a place of grandeur and decay, where the old and new intertwine in a chaotic symphony. The streets are alive with merchants and beggars, nobles and thieves. The Citadel stands at its heart, a silent sentinel over the ever-shifting tides of power."

Windtongue's eyes sparkled with intrigue. "And the King? What of Nathaniel?"

Elian sighed, his thoughts turning to the ruler he had once sworn to protect. "King Nathaniel has been a beacon of stability in a sea of chaos. His cunning and wisdom have kept the kingdom from falling apart, but even he is not immune to the machinations of the Masters. They plot in the shadows, each one seeking to undermine his rule. It is a constant struggle, and I fear for the future of Ouroboros."

The path ahead began to brighten, the oppressive darkness of Dolmarduath slowly giving way to the more familiar landscape of Angrad. The trees here were less foreboding, their leaves a vibrant green that contrasted sharply with the gloomy hues of Dolmarduath.

As they walked, Elian continued to recount the endless political strife that had consumed the realm of Oblivion. "The Masters' ambitions know no bounds," he said, his voice heavy with frustration. "They manipulate the people, playing on their fears and desires to further their own agendas. The common folk suffer the most, caught in the crossfire of power-hungry elites. It's a vicious cycle, one that seems impossible to break."

Windtongue listened intently, their expression thoughtful. "And you, Elian?" they asked. "What role have you played in this tumultuous world?"

Elian hesitated, his gaze fixed on the ground ahead. "I have tried to stay true to my principles," he replied slowly. "But in a place like Ouroboros, it's difficult to remain untainted by the corruption around you. I've had to make compromises, decisions that weigh heavily on my conscience. Yet, I believe there is still hope for our people, a chance to bring about real change."

They walked in silence for a few moments, the weight of Elian's words hanging between them. The forest of Angrad loomed ahead, a welcome sight after the oppressive darkness of Dolmarduath. The air here was fresher, the sounds of birds and other creatures a comforting reminder of the world beyond the shadows.

"I must depart," Windtongue suddenly announced, their voice breaking the silence.

Elian turned to respond, but before he could utter a word, Windtongue disappeared, melting into the shadows with a grace that seemed almost supernatural. Elian blinked, stunned by the abruptness of their departure. He scanned the area, but there was no sign of his enigmatic companion.

For a moment, Elian questioned his own senses, wondering if Windtongue had been a figment of his imagination. But the memory of their conversation, the feel of the hand that had pushed him against the tree, and the scent of rose and basil still clinging to his clothes were too real to dismiss.

Shaking his head, Elian turned and continued his journey into the forest of Angrad, the path ahead now clear. The encounter with Windtongue had left him with more questions than answers, but it had also given him a renewed sense of purpose. He would return to Ouroboros, not just as a hunter or a survivor, but as someone who could perhaps make a difference in the tangled web of politics and power that defined his homeland.

As Elian made his way through the familiar terrain of Angrad, his thoughts drifted back to the political turmoil of Ouroboros. He wondered how much had changed during his absence and how he would navigate the treacherous landscape of allegiances and betrayals that awaited him. The journey ahead was uncertain, but Elian felt a resolve building within him. He had faced the dangers of Dolmarduath and emerged stronger; now, he would face the challenges of his home with the same determination.

The forest seemed to welcome him back, the trees whispering their own secrets and the animals going about their lives undisturbed. It was a stark contrast to the oppressive gloom of Dolmarduath, and Elian found a sense of peace in the familiarity of his surroundings. He knew the paths here, the hidden trails and the best places to find game. As he walked, he began to plan his next steps, the events of the past hours gradually fading into the background as he focused on the future.

By the time he reached the edge of the forest, the sun was beginning to set, casting a golden glow over the landscape. Elian paused, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty of the scene before him. It was a reminder of what he was fighting for – not just survival, but a future where his homeland could thrive free from the shadows of corruption and deceit.

With a final glance back at the forest, Elian set off towards Ouroboros, his heart filled with determination and a newfound sense of purpose.

With a final glance back at the forest, Elian set off towards Ouroboros, his heart filled with determination and a newfound sense of purpose. The path home was familiar, yet the weight of his encounter with Windtongue hung over him, filling his mind with questions. The city of Ouroboros loomed ahead, its silhouette a blend of towering spires and crumbling ruins, a testament to both its glory and decay.

As Elian approached the city gates, he was greeted by the usual sight of merchants peddling their wares, beggars seeking alms, and nobles moving with an air of practiced indifference. The bustling streets, however, felt different tonight. The shadows seemed deeper, the air thicker with tension. He navigated through the throngs of people, making his way to the quieter part of the city where his modest home was located.

His home was small, just large enough for himself, with a bed in one corner and a chair in the other. It was dark by the time he returned, the moon casting a pale glow through the single window. As he approached his door, a chill ran down his spine. Something wasn't right. The door was slightly ajar, and an unsettling stillness hung in the air.

He hesitated, hand reaching for the bow slung over his shoulder. "Who's there?" Elian called out, his voice steady but edged with caution. "Show yourself!" He commanded, bow already in hand, an arrow nocked and ready.

From the shadows inside his home, a figure stepped forward, the dim light revealing a familiar face. "You know, boy, after I taught you the way of the sword, I would have thought you'd be smarter than to abandon it for the bow. A spear, a small axe, or even a throwing dagger would have been better. But the bow? Hardly an apt choice," the figure spoke with a commanding voice.

"Oh, it's you, Vilicus," Elian said, lowering his bow but not his guard. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him, and sat on the edge of his bed, merely a pace and a half from the Conqueror. "What can I do for you, Vilicus the Conqueror? Master of Oblivion, it would be my pleasure to serve one of the Masters." Disdain was heavy in his voice.

"Watch your tone, Elian. You'd be wise not to anger me, especially during the waxing of the Sun's Rest," Vilicus replied, his voice arrogant and filled with amusement.

"Just tell me, Vilicus. I'm tired and wish for rest. The trees of Dolmarduath are thick, gloomy, and block nearly all light." Elian spoke, his voice tired, giving no more effort to play into the guises of the man.

"Dolmarduath? So you went there. Interesting. I heard rumors of a Bransul there. Did you find it?" Vilicus mused momentarily, then dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Never mind, it's not important. Do you remember when you were younger, you asked me if you'd be by my side to see the day that I return to power?"

"What of it?" Elian grit out.

"Well, the day we seek approaches. You see, the King has forgotten his purpose. In the midst of navigating the political machinations we've provided him, his plans and efforts have stalled. The Solstice of Prignan approaches, it will be open long enough for three people to enter." Vilicus leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with intensity.

"The purpose of this visit is what, Vilicus? You and I both know our paths separated long ago." Elian spoke, trying to keep his voice steady despite the growing tension.

"Do you wish to still see that day? You don't have to travel with me, I wouldn't stop you from leaving, but I need your answer now." Vilicus asked, his voice unusually sincere.

"You would let me find my own path in Fearn?" Elian asked, stumbling over his words.

"Yes," Vilicus replied simply.

It was a simple answer, yet it held an impact far greater than Vilicus could ever know. The tides of fate would shift, and the Mordrer would begin to feel hope. Hope of salvation.

Elian sat in silence for a moment, contemplating Vilicus's words. The Conqueror's offer was tempting, but Elian's heart was torn between loyalty to his mentor and the desire to forge his own destiny. Finally, he looked up, meeting Vilicus's gaze with determination.

"I need time to think," Elian said, his voice firm. "I won't make a decision tonight."

Vilicus nodded, a slight smile playing on his lips. "Fair enough. But remember, the Solstice of Prignan waits for no one. Make your choice wisely."

With that, Vilicus turned and left, the door closing softly behind him. Elian sat on his bed, staring at the closed door, his mind racing with possibilities. The path ahead was uncertain, but he knew one thing for sure: whatever choice he made, it would shape the future of not just himself, but all of Fearn.

Elian lay down on his bed, exhaustion finally overtaking him. His dreams were filled with images of Ouroboros and the mysterious forest of Dolmarduath, blending into a tapestry of intrigue and danger. When he awoke, the sun was just beginning to rise, casting a pale light through his window.

Determined to clear his mind, Elian decided to take a walk through the city. Ouroboros was just beginning to stir, the streets slowly coming to life with the sounds of merchants setting up their stalls and people going about their morning routines. Elian moved through the familiar streets, his thoughts turning over Vilicus's offer.

As he wandered, he found himself drawn to the Citadel. Its towering spires loomed over the city, a symbol of both its strength and its divisions. Elian paused, looking up at the grand structure. He had once believed in the ideals it represented, but now those ideals seemed distant and tarnished.

His walk eventually led him to the edge of the city, where the forest of Angrad began. The trees here were less dense than in Dolmarduath, and the air was fresher. Elian took a deep breath, feeling the tension in his shoulders begin to ease. He knew he needed to make a decision soon, but for now, he just wanted a moment of peace. The gentle rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds provided a soothing soundtrack to his thoughts. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting dappled shadows on the forest floor, creating a serene, almost ethereal atmosphere.

As Elian wandered deeper into the forest, he was startled by a familiar voice. "Elian," called Windtongue, emerging from behind a tree with a faint smile. Their sudden appearance did not startle Elian as much as it might have a day before; he was growing accustomed to the mysterious ways of this enigmatic figure.

"I see you made it back safely," Windtongue said, their eyes sparkling with a mix of curiosity and concern.

Elian nodded, offering a weary smile in return. "I did. Thanks to you."

Windtongue shrugged, leaning against a nearby tree. "It was nothing. But you seem troubled, Elian. What's on your mind?"

Elian sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair. "Vilicus visited me last night. He wants me to join him in his quest to reclaim power. But I'm torn. I've followed him for so long, but I also crave a destiny of my own. I'm caught between loyalty to him and my desire to forge my own path."

Windtongue's expression softened with understanding. "It's not an easy decision to make. But remember, destiny is not a straight path. It's filled with trials, challenges, and tests. Every choice you make shapes it."

Elian looked up at Windtongue, his eyes reflecting the internal struggle. "But how do I know which choice is right? How do I balance loyalty with my own desires?"

Windtongue took a step closer, placing a reassuring hand on Elian's shoulder. "Only you can decide that. But know this: loyalty to yourself is just as important as loyalty to others. Your journey is yours to shape, and sometimes the hardest choices lead to the most rewarding paths."

They stood in silence for a moment, the forest around them alive with the sounds of nature. Elian took a deep breath, feeling a sense of clarity begin to settle over him. "You're right," he said finally. "I can't ignore my own path. I need to see this through with Vilicus, but on my terms."

Windtongue nodded, their expression one of approval. "Then let's go with him. We can face whatever lies ahead together."

The following day, the three of them—Vilicus, Elian, and Windtongue—set out for the site of Prignan. The journey was arduous, the terrain rugged and unforgiving, but the anticipation of the mystical event fueled their determination. As they approached the ancient site, a sense of awe and reverence settled over them. The site of Prignan was a place steeped in legend, a location where the veil between realms was said to thin, allowing passage between worlds during the Solstice.

The sky above was clear, the sun high and bright as they arrived. Guards stood at their posts, their expressions a mix of awe and trepidation. It was said that the portal only opened once every generation, and few had ever witnessed its activation. As the Solstice reached its peak, a shimmering portal began to materialize, its ethereal light casting an otherworldly glow over the landscape.

Vilicus stepped forward, his eyes filled with a mixture of relief and determination. This was his moment, his chance to reclaim what he had lost. He turned to Elian and Windtongue, a rare smile breaking across his stern features. "It's time."

With that, the three of them stepped through the portal, their surroundings shifting and changing in an instant. They emerged into a world that was starkly different from Oblivion. The air was fresh and clean, filled with the scents of spring flowers. The gentle rays of the sun warmed their skin, unfiltered by any clouds or shadows.

Elian looked around in wonder, taking in the vibrant beauty of Fearn. The landscape was lush and green, teeming with life. Birds sang in the trees, and a gentle breeze carried whispers of song on the wind. "Does the sun not get blocked by shrouds of darkness here?" he asked, his voice filled with awe.

"No," Vilicus replied, his tone somber. "Oblivion is a cursed land. The ancient sovereigns cursed it so."

Elian hummed thoughtfully, the realization of his decision settling in. "Then, this is where we part ways, Vilicus."

"Indeed," Vilicus said, his voice heavy with unspoken emotions.

Elian took a deep breath, feeling a mix of sadness and anticipation. He began his trek down the hill, sword at his belt, bow across his back, and nothing else to keep him company except a cloak. He didn't look back, knowing that his path lay ahead, not behind.

Vilicus watched him go, a flicker of emotion crossing his usually stoic face. Turning to Windtongue, he spoke softly, "Watch over him, Nornivin. Though I do not show it, I care for the lad."

"Aye, my lord," Windtongue replied, their voice filled with a solemn promise.