Since Carion Iron-Forge swore an oath of vengeance and protection in that ruined relic with the solemnity unique to dwarves, their small band seemed to be enveloped in a more resolute determination. Yet, resolve cannot dispel the inherent gloom of the Corrupted Forest, nor can it lessen its constant erosion upon living beings. Leaving that brief shelter behind, they stepped once more into this twisted, malevolent land.
The deeper they went, the more bizarre the forest became. The trees were no longer merely twisted; they seemed to possess a consciousness of pain. From the cracked bark, a viscous, black-purple sap flowed, exuding a sickeningly sweet, rotting stench. The ground was covered with thick, moss resembling decaying flesh, soft underfoot and occasionally emitting an acid-tasting, squelching sound. The air was as sticky as congealed syrup, and every breath felt heavy with burden as if they were inhaling not oxygen but a slow-acting toxin.
Lain walked at the end of the group, his hand tightly gripping his sword hilt, his eyes warily scanning the surroundings. Carion led the way, swinging his heavy battle axe with such force that it cut through the strange vines and drooping branches obstructing their path. The dwarf seemed to invest all his energy in moving forward and staying alert; his trademark crude humor had vanished, replaced only by heavy breathing and occasional murmured comments on the terrain.
And Selya, walking in the middle, appeared the most changed, despite her best efforts to conceal it.
At first, it was only that she frequently pulled down her hood as if trying to completely isolate herself from the filthy air. Then, Lain noticed that her step had begun to show a barely perceptible irregularity. In this land, where constant vigilance was required, even the slightest misstep stood out starkly. On one occasion, she stepped on a loose stone covered with slick moss, causing her body to lurch and nearly stumble. Had she not reacted quickly to brace herself with her staff, she might have fallen into a nearby clump of bizarre, trap-like plants emitting a ghostly glow.
"Careful," Lain instinctively reminded her, extending his hand to help.
Selya, however, like an owl startled in the night, swiftly sidestepped his hand, her movement even carrying a trace of stiffness. "I'm fine," her voice came through her hood, deliberately steady, though Lain still detected a faint, almost imperceptible gasp, "the ground here is too slippery."
Lain frowned and said nothing further, yet the doubts in his heart rippled outward like stones tossed into a lake. He remembered Selya's agility—swift and precise, like a cat weaving through shadows. Such a simple mistake was exceedingly uncharacteristic of her.
As time passed, Selya's odd condition became more evident. Even under the shadow of her hood, her complexion revealed an unhealthy pallor, her lips had lost their color. Her breathing grew increasingly rapid—not the panting of exertion but the labored, gasping struggles of one drowning. On several occasions, Lain saw her quietly raise a hand to press against her chest, her fingertips applying a subtle pressure as if there were immense pain there.
"Selya, are you alright?" This time, Lain's voice was laden with undeniable concern as he stopped and looked directly into the shadow beneath her hood, "You look very pale."
Carion, who had been leading, also heard the commotion and stopped to glance back at them, his thick brows knitted together. "What's wrong? Is the miasma here too heavy?" The dwarf asked in his gruff tone; though he too felt discomfort, his hardy dwarf constitution enabled him to resist the environment's corrosive effects better.
"...I'm just a bit tired," Selya replied, still trying to keep her voice calm, yet the weakness in her tone could not be completely masked, "the air here... is extremely unpleasant. We should find a place to rest as soon as possible."
She avoided Lain's probing gaze, slightly turning aside as if even enduring his attention was too burdensome.
Lain watched her in silence. Environmental effects? Perhaps partially, but that could not be the whole reason. He recalled clearly how, outside the Iron Anvil Tavern, her blood had reacted peculiarly when it touched his wound, and Carion's later remarks about the Starborne Blood containing the purest power to combat shadows. These clues swirled in his mind, weaving a vague yet disturbing conjecture. What secret lay hidden within Selya's body? Was her present pain connected to the corruption of this land, or even to himself?
He did not press the matter further; instead, he silently quickened his pace to position himself just behind and to the side of Selya, keeping a distance that would allow him to assist at any moment without making her feel surveilled. The stench and whispers of corruption in the air had grown denser, coiling around them like invisible vipers.
Nightfall rapidly inked the sky like spilled ink; nights in the Corrupted Forest were darker and longer than anywhere else. Sickly green phosphorescence intermittently shimmered in the distant marshes, while twisted tree shadows under the faint light looked like clawed specters. The chill in the air seemed capable of penetrating bone, and the dancing flames of the campfire barely managed to ward off the cold for a few feet around.
They found a relatively dry spot backed by several massive black rocks to serve as a temporary camp. Carion carefully inspected the surroundings, sprinkling rune powder meant to repel low-level corrupted creatures and stacking a few stones to form makeshift defensive fortifications. It was as if the dwarf poured all his longing for his homeland and his determination for vengeance into these small, life-or-death details, with every motion executed with meticulous precision.
Lain took charge of the first part of the night watch. He sat by the campfire, wiping his longsword, while his thoughts involuntarily drifted toward Selya, who lay curled in the shadows of the rocks. She had tightened her cloak and, with her back turned to the fire, seemed to have fallen into a deep sleep. But Lain knew she was not truly asleep—he could feel the tension exuding from her body and the suppressed, painful fluctuations that lay beneath her calm exterior.
Time passed slowly, and the eerie sounds of the forest rose and fell. In the distance, unknown creatures howled mournfully, while nearby, an incessant, nail-on-glass scratching filled the air. These noises merged as though they were the dying moans of this land.
Around midnight, when Carion succeeded Lain on watch and Lain was about to rest against a rock, he saw Selya silently rise. Her movements were as light as a falling leaf, making almost no sound. She avoided the light of the campfire, as if merging into the very shadows of the night, and walked toward the outer edge of the camp, into deeper darkness.
Lain's heart suddenly skipped a beat. He said nothing, merely holding his breath as he quietly followed. It was not that he distrusted Selya; rather, the worry and doubt that clung to him compelled him to follow.
Selya did not stray far; she stopped under a relatively "normal" dead tree—one not oozing black-purple sap. Slowly, she sat down against the trunk, removed her hood, and revealed a face exceptionally pale under the moonlight (which, even in this forest, appeared dim and distorted like fragile porcelain).
She closed her eyes and clasped her hands on her knees as if attempting to enter a meditative state. However, the calm did not descend. Her brows soon furrowed tightly, and fine beads of cold sweat formed on her forehead. Her breathing became rapid and erratic, and her body began to tremble, as though enduring immense pain.
Lain crouched behind a rock, his heart tightening. He saw that beneath Selya's closed eyelids, her eyes darted rapidly. Her lips moved silently as if reciting some incantation or struggling against an invisible agony.
Suddenly, a transformation occurred.
At the spot over Selya's chest, through the layer of black fabric, a faint glow emerged—extremely weak yet reminiscent of fireflies. The light was dim and exhibited a strange hue, a blend of starlight and shadowed blue, flickering intermittently like a dying candle in the wind.
With each flash of the light, Selya's body convulsed violently, and a stifled, pained groan escaped from her throat. The sound was faint—almost drowned out by the forest's ambient noises—but Lain heard it clearly as if a cold lance had pierced his heart.
He saw Selya abruptly raise her hand and clutch her chest, her knuckles whitening from the pressure. Her body curled up like an injured creature silently enduring unimaginable torment.
Lain's heart sank. That faint glow, the pained groan, the gesture of clutching her chest… everything pointed to a dreadful suspicion. Inside Selya's body, in the area of her heart, something was hidden. Something related to the stars but now corrupted by shadows—something that was now raging wildly within her.
He could sense that the corruptive force permeating the forest was being drawn toward Selya. Those invisible, malevolent energies, like ravenous hyenas, had caught the scent of prey and were racing to engulf and devour the faint glow at her chest.
It was as if Selya was engaged in a silent tug-of-war. Her body was the battleground, that faint glow her last barrier, while the enemy was the ever-present, cold, and greedy corruptive will of this forest.
At that moment, Lain realized with stark clarity that Selya's earlier excuses of "environmental effects" and "fatigue" were nothing but lies. She had been silently enduring terrible pain, and that pain seemed to intensify with every step they took deeper into the Corrupted Forest.
He wished to rush to her aid, to help, but he did not know how. His starlight magic was weak and unstable, and would likely be insufficient against an enemy of such caliber. What troubled him more was the fear that his hasty intervention might disturb her delicate resistance and cause it to collapse altogether.
All he could do was stand by, powerless in the shadows, watching as the normally calm, mysterious, and even somewhat aloof Shadow Witch struggled like a leaf battered in a storm—so fragile that it might shatter at any moment.
Time passed—perhaps only a quarter of an hour, perhaps an eternity. Finally, the glow at Selya's chest stabilized; though still faint, it no longer flickered as wildly. Her breathing gradually eased, and her body no longer trembled so violently.
She slowly released her grasp on her chest, leaned against the tree trunk with exhaustion, and panted heavily. Moonlight bathed her pallid face, and sweat dampened her temples, lending her a heart-wrenching, fragile beauty.
After a moment, she donned her hood once more, concealing her face, and with unsteady steps, made her way back to the camp. She did not look in the direction where Lain hid, as if nothing had happened.
Lain watched her silhouette vanish into the shadows cast by the campfire, his heart a tumult of conflicting emotions—worry, confusion, and indescribable anger, not against Selya, but against the darkness that had caused all this, and his powerlessness.
He knew that he must uncover the truth. Selya's secret not only affected her safety; it might also be linked to the purpose of their journey, and perhaps… even to his fate.
The night was still long, and the dangers of the Corrupted Forest did not merely stem from the visible monsters.
Crisis always struck at the most unexpected moments.
Later that night, Carion was on watch. The dwarf sat by the fire, dozing while keeping his ears alert. Lain tried to sleep while leaning against a rock, but the memory of Selya's pained groans and the faint blue glow haunted him, leaving him restless. Selya remained curled up in the shadows, motionless as if she were sound asleep.
Suddenly, a nearly imperceptible sound—like a venomous snake sliding over sandy ground—broke the relative calm of the night. The sound was so slight that it was almost covered by the wind and insects, but Carion's eyes snapped open; dwarves are innately sensitive to disturbances in the ground and shadows.
"Something's coming!" Carion roared, swiftly seizing his battle-axe and leaping to his feet, his sharp gaze fixed on the direction from which the sound came—a dense cluster of tangled, tentacle-like black bushes at the camp's rear.
Lain was immediately roused, drawing his longsword as he quickly joined Carion. Selya also stirred; her movements remained as light as ever, yet Lain sensed a momentary hesitation as she rose.
The bushes shook violently, and then a dark figure burst forth like an arrow loosed from a bow!
It was a corrupted creature Lain had never seen before. Its size was not enormous—about that of a cheetah—but its form was extremely bizarre. Its body was covered in an oily, jet-black exoskeleton as if solidified from shadows; its limbs were long and seemingly jointed backward, ending in bone claws as sharp as razors. Most horrifying of all was its head: devoid of eyes, it possessed only a gigantic, cleft maw, filled with layers upon layers of writhing, pallid fangs. It moved with astonishing speed, silently sliding across the ground, its presence betrayed only by a faint friction sound.
"Shadow Stalker!" Carion roared, clearly recognizing the creature, "Watch out for its ambush and venomous fangs!"
Before he could finish, the Shadow Stalker transformed into a streak of black lightning and lunged at the nearest target—Carion!
Carion reacted instantly, roaring as his heavy battle axe swung through the air with a whoosh. Yet the Stalker was far too fast; it deftly twisted its body to evade the blade, and its slender limbs coiled like springs around Carion's axe-gripping arm, while its enormous maw opened wide, exuding a putrid drool as it bit viciously into the dwarf's neck!
"Damn it!" Carion cursed, his arm ensnared, unable to fully wield his axe, forcing him to fight with his other hand as he struggled to break free. The dwarf's strength was formidable, but the Stalker's limbs were as tough as leathery hide, clinging tightly.
Seeing this, Lain immediately charged forward for assistance. Infusing his longsword with a faint starlight glow, he thrust toward the creature's side. However, the sword's tip struck the Stalker's glossy black exoskeleton with only a "ting" sound, leaving a shallow white mark that failed to penetrate!
"Its shell is too hard!" Lain exclaimed desperately, swinging his sword again to strike at the point where the Stalker's limbs entwined around Carion, but the agile creature twisted continuously, evading his attacks.
As Carion was increasingly entangled and his neck was nearly exposed to the venomous fangs, Lain grew frantic yet helpless. His starlight magic was too weak to inflict meaningful damage on a corrupted creature of this rank, and his swordsmanship proved ineffective in such close combat.
At that critical moment, a sudden chill descended.
Selya intervened.
Somehow, she had reached the edge of the fight. Her face, pale as paper beneath her hood, now shone with an intimidating glimmer in her ice-blue eyes. She raised one hand, fingers spread out, and aimed directly at the frenzied Shadow Stalker.
Without chanting or displaying elaborate visual effects, a surge of pure, icy shadow energy emanated from her palm, transforming into several invisible black chains that immediately coiled around the Stalker's body and limbs.
"Sss—!" The Shadow Stalker emitted a sharp, pained hiss, its movements halting abruptly as if frozen in place. The black chains, although not physical, carried a binding force that attacked the soul and energy level, nullifying its renowned speed and power.
Immediately thereafter, Selya's other hand moved gently forward.
A concentrated orb of darkness, as if capable of devouring light, silently shot forth and struck precisely at the eyeless head of the Shadow Stalker.
There was no explosion—only a dull, tearing sound like a rag being ripped apart.
The creature convulsed violently; cracks resembling spiderwebs rapidly spread across its rigid black shell, from which oozed black, foul-smelling smoke. In the next second, its body collapsed like a sandcastle that had lost its foundation, slamming heavily onto the ground and twitching a few times before becoming motionless. Its enormous maw hung limply open, revealing fangs that had now curled into charred, ruined shapes.
A killing blow!
Carion finally broke free, panting with lingering fear as he looked at the corpse of the Stalker, then glanced at Selya with a mix of astonishment and complexity. "Impressive... that shadow magic is formidable," the dwarf murmured, rubbing his arm where red marks were left from the creature's claws.
Lain exhaled in relief, but his gaze immediately turned to Selya.
She stood rooted in place, her body swaying slightly as if a gust of wind might topple her. After casting her spell, her face appeared even paler than before, nearly devoid of color. Her breathing was rapid and feeble, and cold sweat dripped from her forehead like raindrops. Although she tried to maintain her stance, the deep-seated weakness emanating from her was palpable and impossible to hide.
The power she had just employed was undoubtedly great—even lethal. Yet it had taken an enormous toll on her.
Lain's heart sank further. He looked upon Selya's trembling form, at her hand pressed against her chest and quivering slightly, and one thought crystallized within him: her power, her pain, her secret… all were likely tied to a certain "price" she was paying. And that price seemed to be increasing sharply with each use of her power.
The haze of battle had not yet fully dissipated, and the stench of burnt decay from the Shadow Stalker's corpse mingled with the inherent sickly sweetness of the Corrupted Forest. Carion cursed as he checked his equipment, ensuring nothing had been damaged in the struggle. Lain approached the Stalker's corpse and prodded its shattered shell with the tip of his sword, trying to scrutinize the creature's structure while silently calming the palpitations brought on by the fight.
Selya, meanwhile, leaned against a nearby rock with her head lowered, seemingly adjusting her breathing. Her figure, illuminated by the flickering campfire, appeared exceptionally fragile—a wisp on the verge of merging with the surrounding darkness.
"Damn, those damn claws are bloody sharp," Carion muttered after inspecting his axe, then rolled up his sleeve to reveal several shallow cuts on his arm made by the Stalker's claws. Though minor, the blood trickling from them carried an abnormal dark red hue. "Good thing I wasn't bitten by those venomous fangs, or it would have been trouble."
He said this while pulling a small ceramic jar from his pack, which contained a pungent, moss-green ointment with a herbal scent, ready to treat his wound.
Lain's gaze also fell upon Carion's wound, then inadvertently drifted to his hand where, from the impact with the Stalker's shell, a small cut had begun to bleed.
At that moment, Selya moved.
She slowly straightened her body, her steps still unsteady, and gradually walked over toward Lain. Her actions appeared natural—as though she intended to inspect the Stalker's corpse or merely change her standing position.
"Your hand…" Her voice was soft, tinged with a barely detectable huskiness as her gaze rested on the wound on Lain's hand, "is injured too."
Lain paused, instinctively lifting his hand to examine it. "Just a small cut, nothing serious."
Selya came close, so near that Lain could even catch the distinct scent on her—a mixture of a cool herbal aroma and a faint shadowy essence. She slightly bent down, as if to inspect his wound more closely.
"In the Corrupted Forest, no wound should be taken lightly," she said, her voice remaining calm, yet Lain noticed that her gaze lingered a bit too intently on his small wound, and in her ice-blue eyes, a complex, inexpressible emotion flickered—was it longing? Pain? Or something else?
Just as Lain was about to speak, an unexpected event occurred.
Selya, perhaps due to another unsteady step, leaned forward slightly. Her hand "inadvertently" lifted, as if to steady herself against a nearby rock, and at that moment, her fingertip lightly brushed across the bleeding skin on Lain's hand.
That contact was extremely brief, almost imperceptible.
Had it not been for Lain's heightened vigilance—after witnessing her agonizing struggle in the dark, and with Carion's words about "Starborne Blood" still echoing in his ears—he might have assumed it was merely an accident.
But he noticed.
He noticed that at the very instant Selya's fingertip touched his blood, the tension in her body seemed to relax ever so slightly. Her rapid breathing appeared to steady for just a fraction of a second. On her ashen face, a trace of color seemed to return, nearly imperceptible.
This change was exceedingly subtle like water passing without a trace. Yet for Lain, who was acutely focused at that moment, it flashed as clearly as lightning in the dark!
Selya quickly withdrew her hand, stood upright as if nothing had happened, and even offered Lain a slight nod of apology. "Sorry, I lost my balance for a moment."
Her performance was flawless.
But in Lain's heart, a storm was raging.
He was almost certain that the act was no mere accident! Selya did it deliberately! She needed to come into contact with his blood! His blood, capable of alleviating her pain!
Why?
Is it because of his damned Starborne bloodline? Carion's words rang in his ears once more: "… Starborne Blood… contains the most primitive and pure starlight power to counteract the shadows."
Could it be that the pain Selya was enduring was related to the shadow corruption within her? And that his blood could neutralize or suppress this corruption?
Countless questions surged into Lain's mind like a tidal wave. Who exactly is Selya? Why does she wield such potent shadow magic, yet appear to be eroded by some force? What is that faint glow at her chest? What is her true purpose in coming close to him? Is it merely for the fallen star, or... for him, or rather—for the blood that flows within him?
He watched as Selya slipped back into the shadows and wrapped herself in her cloak once again as if nothing had occurred. Her profile, lit by the campfire, appeared as mysterious and distant as an unsolvable enigma.
Lain clenched his fist; the sting from the wound on his hand was minor, yet it paled in comparison to the tumult of shock and uncertainty raging within him.
He did not confront her on the spot, nor did he press further. He knew that the time was not yet right. But from that moment on, his view of Selya was irrevocably altered. The fragile veil of trust, already thin due to their temporary alliance, had been silently torn asunder.
He stared into the dancing flames of the campfire, which mirrored in his eyes with a complex, inscrutable light. The path ahead seemed far more perilous and enigmatic than he had imagined, and the heartbeat of his mysterious companion, hidden beneath the shadows, resounded faintly—yet possibly lethally.