Night descended upon the elven glade like a heavy veil, its stillness broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves and the faint hum of orb-lamps suspended in the trees. Lieutenant Jason "Grim" Cooper stood at the perimeter, his M4 rifle cradled in his arms as he peered into the shifting shadows beyond. Twin moons provided a faint glow through towering pines and twisted roots that seemed almost to writhe in the corner of his vision.
For hours, Jason had felt an unsettling sensation—like a static charge prickling at the back of his neck. The tripwires Derek "Hawk" Hawkins had rigged around camp remained undisturbed, and elven scouts perched silently in high branches had reported no sightings. Yet Jason couldn't shake the sense they were being watched, possibly studied.
Derek approached from his patrol route, boots silent on the mossy ground. "Boss," he murmured, voice so low it barely carried. "You feel it too? Like eyes on us?"
Jason nodded grimly, keeping his gaze on the dark treeline. "Yeah. No alarms tripped, but I've seen flickers—shapes moving out there, like someone testing how close they can get."
Derek frowned, fingers tightening on his rifle. "Could be orcs. Or something worse."
Jason glanced toward the center of the glade, where Marcus "Saint" Miller was finishing up a bandage on a limping knight. Nearby, a handful of elves sat around a small fire, bows lying across their knees. Refugees—battered peasants and soldiers—huddled closer to the flames, eyes darting at every crackle in the underbrush.
"Whatever it is," Jason said quietly, "it's testing us."
A sudden twig snap—faint but distinct—echoed from the northern edge of the perimeter. Jason raised a clenched fist; Derek froze beside him, rifle aimed at the sound.
Silence followed, as if the forest were mocking their tension.
Derek whispered, "Want me to check it out?"
Jason gave a curt nod. "Make it quick. I'll flank around for cover."
They separated without further words, moving in practiced tandem. Derek crept through the dense underbrush, M4 angled forward, each step deliberate and silent. The glow of orb-lamps faded behind him as he sank into deeper shadow.
Ahead, Derek caught a glimpse of movement—something tall and cloaked slipping behind a massive oak. His heart thumped. It wasn't an orc; the shape and movements were too fluid, too calculated.
Switching on his weapon-mounted flashlight for a second, Derek swept the beam across a tangle of roots and moss. Nothing. He killed the light quickly, unwilling to become a target.
"Who's out there?" he muttered under his breath, receiving only rustling leaves in reply.
Meanwhile, Jason angled around the opposite flank, scanning for any sign of the trespasser. Crickets and distant night birds formed a low symphony in the background. Then he heard soft footsteps to his right.
He pivoted toward the sound, catching a fleeting glimpse of a figure darting behind another tree—a tall silhouette draped in tattered cloth or possibly a cloak. Jason's pulse surged as he rushed forward to investigate.
Two faintly glowing eyes locked onto him for just an instant before vanishing into deeper darkness. When Jason reached the spot, he found only undisturbed moss. No footprints, no bent twigs—nothing.
Tapping his comm mic, Jason spoke in a hushed tone, knowing magical interference often cut him off mid-sentence. "Hawk, anything?"
Derek's voice crackled faintly in his earpiece. "Saw something cloaked—lost it."
"Same here," Jason replied. "Circle back."
They regrouped near the central fire pit where Marcus waited, tension etched into his face.
"You see who it was?" Marcus asked sharply.
Jason shook his head. "Not an elf, and definitely not an orc."
Derek spoke up, voice laced with unease. "It moved too smoothly for an orc scout—no heavy footfalls, no growling."
Marcus glanced at the refugees huddled under makeshift lean-tos. "Think it's working alone? A rogue mage, or some other faction we don't know about?"
Jason scanned the treeline one last time, frustration gnawing at him. "Could be a spy, or just a drifter with some sort of stealth ability. In a world like this, it could be anything."
Despite their unease, no further disturbances followed that night. The patrolling elves reported only normal forest activity, and dawn came with pale light filtering through the high boughs overhead.
The next morning brought little clarity. Jason led Derek and Marcus on a daylight sweep of the perimeter; they found no footprints or disturbed foliage near the places they'd encountered the figure. One elf scout claimed to spot a "shadowy presence" at dawn, but it vanished almost instantly when approached. Rumors buzzed among the refugees—whispers of shadow-walkers, Malachar's spies, or wraith-like creatures that roamed Avalion's forests.
Marcus exhaled heavily after another fruitless search. "Feels like they're playing with us," he said bitterly. "Coming close enough for us to notice, then slipping away the second we react."
Jason nodded grimly. "They're gathering intel—probing for weaknesses."
Tension settled over the glade like a storm cloud waiting to break. Refugees worked quietly alongside the elves, reinforcing shelter walls and preparing midday rations. Scouts ventured deeper into the woods, combing for any sign of an encroaching army or that mysterious lone watcher.
Jason met Derek and Marcus near a makeshift command post—a sturdy log serving as a table. He kept his voice low so as not to alarm the nearby knights. "We can't ignore this. Whatever's out there knows our position now, and next time it might bring friends."
Marcus set down his rifle, popping the magazine to confirm his dwindling ammo. "Then we tighten security—more tripwires, layered patrols, better alliances with the elves. And we keep watch on the robed mage," he added, nodding to a far corner of the camp where the wizard was resting. "If that figure's connected to him somehow, we need to know."
Jason exhaled, glancing at the robed man in the distance. He hadn't stirred much overnight, only brief, feverish mumblings. "We stay ready," he agreed. "Whatever shows up next, we meet it head-on."
Though no second intruder appeared that day or night, the uneasy sense of being observed never fully left the camp. The forest's ancient trees loomed overhead, and Avalion's twin moons rose each evening with quiet, watchful brilliance—reminding them that in this realm, danger could come from anywhere, seen or unseen.