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“I think we’ll be safe here,” Villid whispered. He heard an odd noise behind him and looked; Aya had collapsed, exhausted.
“Are you all right?” he asked. No answer. Quickly he turned her over; she had fainted, her eyes were closed and her lips were slightly parted, her cheeks pink and tear-streaked. Guilt stabbing at him, Villid carefully picked her up in his arms and carried her to the hollowed out tree. He gently placed her inside as comfortably as he could. As he laid her down, Aya’s eyes flickered open. Villid noticed what a piercing green they were.
“I’m…” she murmured. She was clutching her side. Villid gently removed her hand from her robes, and Aya winced. Blood soaked her side. Her eyes closed again and she fainted, her breathing raspy.
Villid quickly examined her wound – it was a deep scratch, but not fatal. He sighed with relief and dressed it as best he could, using dark purple leaves growing nearby that he knew to be Night Vein, a strong healing herb.
He settled himself outside the tree and lay his weapons next to him, listening for any sign of Tyrans. But all was quiet. The trees seemed to be watching him, their swaying branches accusing and judgemental. This forest clearing reminded him a little of the place they had hidden before attacking the village. The thought did not help.
The odd forest felt strange and unsafe. He wondered where the Tyrans were now, and whether Swift would remain loyal to him for much longer. He felt a stabbing guilt for letting the Seer die so easily, and silently wished he had buried his own axe into Shade’s chest whilst he’d still had the chance. The Seer was gone now, and the truth had died with him. Villid clenched his fists; on his right, Shade’s blood still caked his knuckles. He would get his revenge.
Aya suffered nightmares worse than she had ever experienced. She dreamt of fire, blood, smoke and earth. Helpless people being slaughtered, desperate screams as their homes burned, huge terrifying monsters laughing and brandishing huge, heavy weapons…
Every part of her trembled as she slept. Villid watched helplessly as Aya thrashed around and cried out every few seconds, for her father, for Neecrid, for Flint, for her village and her people. As he watched her, guilt ripped at
him and he hated everything he and his tribe had done. He wished he had never set foot into the forest. He wished the Seer was still alive, to guide him and tell him what he should do. What could he do, except
fulfil the Seer’s last wish, which was to keep the desperate Elf girl in front of him alive, so that the Tyrans wouldn’t be doomed to the wrath of the Darkma, their sworn blood enemies. Aya’s terrified sobs echoed round the forest clearing as she slipped from nightmare to nightmare, screaming aloud that she wished she was dead. “Quiet, Aya,” Villid whispered desperately. “Please calm down. I’m here. I’ll protect you.”
He placed a hand on her forehead and clutched her trembling shoulder. “Shh, now,” he whispered, not sure of what he was doing, but knowing that it was slowly calming her. Eventually Aya’s cries dissolved into silent tears and
short, scared gasps, and he sighed slowly. Never again did he want to kill an
Elf, or anyone who was helpless against him. No more killing, no more merciless slaughter.

It was early evening when Aya jolted awake, dreaming that monsters were chasing her. Every inch of her body was covered in sweat, she could feel tears on her face and the blood on her robes was dry and crusty. “Where am I?” she asked shakily.
“Are you all right?” asked Villid gently. “You’re safe. You were just sleeping.”
Aya pressed her lips together, her fright conflicting with an insane desire not to show fear to the Tyran. She crept out
of the hollowed tree, hugging herself protectively.
She took a look at the wound on her side, which Villid had wrapped with some of his own robes. “It doesn’t hurt anymore,” she said in surprise. “What did you use?”
“Night Vein,” he replied, not looking at her. “It grows all over Theldiniya. Luckily enough, there’s a patch over there. Your scratch should heal within the hour.”
Aya said nothing, but looked down at the Tyran. She twisted her dress in her fingers uncomfortably. “Thank…” she began, and swallowed. “Thank you, Villid.”
There was a moment of awkward silence. “I...” Villid said sheepishly. He shifted uncomfortably. “Is there a river nearby? I thought I could hear water earlier,”
Aya swallowed, momentarily revelling in the blissful normalness of the question. Now Villid had mentioned it, there was a low gushing sound a bit away. Villid got to his feet.
The sun had almost set; it seemed like a thousand years ago that she had been getting ready for the festival like any other Elf, laughing and joking and worrying about something so small as a dance routine.
They walked in silence, now calmly, for there was no one following them. Birds chirped quietly as they prepared their nests for the night. The leaves above them swayed gently in the warm evening breeze as they cautiously approached the thicket. It could have been almost peaceful if it weren’t for the dull pain that clenched at Aya’s heart.
They entered the trees once more. It was dim, the sunset casting a warm orange glow on the ground. With each step they took, the gurgling grew louder, and in a few moments they had found the river. It was large and flowing, its waters clean and fresh. Villid bent down thankfully and scooped up the water in his hands, rubbing it over his face, then his arms, where the old wounds had dried and cracked. He carefully cleaned his axe and his sword, and placed them on the bank next to him. Aya silently washed her face too, and then sat on the grass, dipping her feet into the water. They stung as the icy spring ran on her soles, and she winced quietly.
Villid looked at her. Sympathy overwhelmed him. He had never cared much for anyone’s feelings before, least of all a non-Tyran, but empathy was getting the better of him. The Seer girl had lost everything in just a few short hours, had no home, no family, no protection.
Aya glanced up and their gaze locked for a moment. She hesitated. “I am not the Seer, you know,” she murmured, barely more than a whisper, her heart starting to pound as the words escaped her lips.
Villid paused for a moment, staring at the crystal clear water in his hand. He could see his own shimmering reflection inside it, his own dark eyes staring back at him, his face unusually pale. He thought of the Seer, and fear suddenly stabbed at his heart. It had never occurred to him that Aya may not be the girl he had to save.
“Not the Seer?” he repeated.
“That’s right,” said Aya. “That’s what the old man said, isn’t it? That you couldn’t harm the
Elf Seer. Our youngest Seer is Llyliana. I am just one of her servants. Llyliana comes from a long line of Seers. My father was a farmer and my brother and I gathered wheat,” as she spoke, dark fear rose inside her. She forced herself to meet the Tyran’s gaze. Should this Tyran, Villid, decide to kill her, she wouldn’t fight. What did she have to lose, now, after everything? “Death would be a blessing,” she whispered.
Villid stayed silent for a moment, then took a long drink from the river. Slowly he picked up his weapons and got to his feet, casting his huge shadow on Aya. She sat on the bank and looked up at him, unflinching, staring straight into his eyes, ready to accept whatever fate he decided to give her. Eventually, Villid half-smiled, and hung his axe and sword onto his back.
“You’re not going to kill me,” said Aya. It was a statement, not a question.
“It seems that way,” Villid nodded. He had decided. There was to be no more killing, no more slaughtering of the innocent. He would, once again, let Aya live, and protect her until they found the real
Elf Seer, this Llyliana that Aya spoke of. This he could at least do for the Seer.

Villid usually slept soundly, for afterthought and regret was not normal for a Tyran, but Villid found himself lying awake in the humid cave they had found a few hours earlier, muddled thoughts running into each other, wishing for the hundredth time that he could have saved the Seer. Anger crept over him as he imagined Shade telling the tribe how the Seer’s death was from Villid’s sword, not Shade’s. Sighing heavily, he turned to his side. Aya was curled up in the corner, but Villid could see the reflection of the moonlight in her open eyes. Saying nothing, he turned over again, and struggled into an uneasy sleep.
When Villid woke uncomfortably the next morning in the narrow cave, Aya was nowhere to be seen. Instinctively he reached for his weapons. His belt was laid out on the ground. One of his knives was missing.
He sat bolt upright, his heart pounding for a moment. The morning sun was bright, and he squinted at the cave entrance, where he saw the silhouette of a sitting woman.
“Good morning,” said Aya, turning to face him. She nodded towards a crudely made wooden bowl placed at Villid’s feet. “I carved that this morning. I thought you might be hungry,” she held up Villid’s knife. “I hope you don’t mind me using it,” she added gingerly.
“No,” he relaxed. “What is that?”
“Breakfast,” Aya replied simply, before turning again. At first, Villid thought she was just sitting, but then he saw her carving some wood with a stone.
“Bow and arrows,” she explained, seeing his frown. “I’m no use without a weapon, am I?”
Villid looked down at the herbs and what looked like grass
inside the simple bowl. Aya was still wearing the flowing, torn green robes from the night of the attack. He couldn’t help but stare at her. He had never really seen an
E
lf before, except Tyran drawings of small, skinny creatures with huge ears and weak-looking weapons. Now he appreciated how inaccurate Tyran knowledge of the
Elves really was.
“Thank you,” he muttered, and began to eat.
Aya stopped carving, stood up and examined her work. “It will do,” she smiled sadly. How ironic that she was making a weapon now, after everything. She glanced at the Tyran, who had refused to kill her. She may not like it, but she was in his debt, tenfold.
The herbs were spicier than Villid had expected and seemed to melt in his mouth; he nodded in approval as he ate. Within a few moments the carved bowl was empty.
“We can’t stay here,” Aya said, looking serious. “The forest isn’t safe for us.”
“What do you propose?” Villid asked, sitting back and stretching. “You and I? Do we split here?”
Aya’s gaze followed up the cave wall and to the low ceiling. “Do you see these?” she asked, gesturing to some carvings etched into the stone, barely noticeable in the shadows of the cave. Odd symbols had been scratched into the cave wall. “I noticed them last night. This is traditional
E
lven script,” she ran her hand over the odd symbols. “’Still alive, still heading to the old temple, meet us there’. I think it’s a
message to me from Llyliana,”
Villid said nothing, but stared at the carvings scratched into the wall. Aya watched him.
“I’m going to find her,” she said quietly. “It’s my duty as her servant to protect her. Now, listen to me. I trust you. You’ve had the opportunity to kill me twice now and you haven’t. I owe you my life, so I couldn’t kill you even if I wanted to.”
She was looking straight into his eyes, and he saw no deceit there, no sign of deception.
“Just before my mother disappeared,” said Aya, “she told me that she had prayed to the Dragons. She asked for them to send her daughter a Protector to watch over her,”
“A Protector?” Villid said. “And you think...?”
They looked at each other. “I don’t know what to think,” Aya said finally. “But so far, we have been protecting each other, haven’t we?”
Villid knew she was right. “So you are saying,” he said, “We should...”
“Travel together,” Aya nodded. “For now. Think about it. You can’t go back to your people – they think you killed that man, and even I know Tyrans can’t do that to each other. I can’t go back to my village. I need to find Llyliana and you need somewhere to go.”
Villid hesitated. After a lifetime of serving the tribe, fighting the Darkma in the wars, everything had gone in just one night. He had been framed, outcast, doomed to
nothing. He had lost everything.
Aya’s desperate eyes watched him, and he was hit with realisation. It was the same for Aya. She had lost everything too – everything she had ever known. They were both the same. All they had was each other.
Villid nodded. “Just before my tribe attacked the village, our Seer spoke to me,” he said. “He warned that your Seer needed to be protected. I have to find her too.”
“Then it’s decided,” Aya said. “We’ll travel together,”
Aya felt surprised at herself, and guilt pained her heart. She was putting her trust in a Tyran, the very same that had helped destroy the village. But it was a risk she had to take. She needed his protection – without him, she wouldn’t survive. And there really wasn’t much more she could lose.

Leaving the cave free of any evidence they had stayed the night should they be followed, Aya and Villid made their way together through the forest, which was becoming thinner and thinner. The trees grew taller and wider apart; it was now easier to walk and Villid was able to walk without crouching to avoid low-hanging branches.
It was becoming easier to appreciate the beauty around them. Villid looked up at the tall trees in fascination, filled with lush green leaves that would surely die and fall in the colder months. His Tyran home deep in the north had few trees, and no forests for miles. But here, the sun shined on the forest earth, the gentle breeze blew twigs and leaves around them, and a faint smell of oak and flowers lingered
in the air. It was a pleasant place – it would be hard to guess that several miles behind them there was a dead village.
When the sun hung highest in the sky, Villid’s stomach started to rumble. The meal of spiced herbs had not satisfied him. He was about to suggest they find something to eat, when he saw something ahead of them.
“Down,” he muttered. Aya saw it too, and ducked behind a nearby tree. They both crouched to the ground, sensing danger, their eyes fixed straight ahead.
Several yards away was what looked like a wolf, only deathly thin. Its skin looked oddly as if it were made of smoke. Its head was bent low, its yellowish eyes fixed on the ground ahead of it. Two more of the strange creatures suddenly appeared, larger, smoky-skinned, wolf-like. For a moment they shuffled along as if wounded. Then one of the creatures suddenly threw back its head and made a blood-curdling screech that echoed through the wood. Villid felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as they watched the odd creatures amble along. Aya felt afraid. She had never seen creatures like those before.
Another screech, and the creatures suddenly darted between the trees at lightning speed, leaving momentary trails of smoke behind them. They circled round trees, leapt over leaves, and were suddenly galloping towards Villid and Aya.
Villid reached to his belt for a dagger, but Aya was faster.
She pulled the carved bow from her back, took careful aim with a wooden arrow, and shot. The arrow pierced through the air with a whistle and hit one of the creatures as it flitted between the bushes. The arrow flew straight through its eye. It gave an odd, strangled cry and fell heavily onto the floor, twitching horribly.
The other two creatures gave out loud screeching sounds and bounded away. Villid threw a dagger cleanly through the air and beheaded one – it collapsed onto the ground. The third creature bounded away through the trees.
Villid and Aya got to their feet and approached the creatures. “What are they?” Aya asked, recoiling as they reached the first, which lay on its back. Its mouth was open, showing long, yellowed teeth. Its dark fur was like smoke.
“What is it?” Aya whispered again.
“A night prowler,” Villid replied. He’d seen them in western Theldiniya, and on the Red Lands where he and his Tyran brethren had fought the Darkma so many times. They were cursed wolves, inflicted with the same plagued magic as the Darkma themselves were. They had the same blackened, smoke-like skin and yellowed eyes. That didn’t explain, though, why they were here in this eastern forest, miles away from the Red Lands and even further from the wars.
Villid bent and pulled Aya’s arrow from the creature’s eye, which squelched horribly as he pulled. The wolf’s blood
was a startling, shimmering gold.
“Be careful,” said Villid grimly. “Watch,”
He held out the arrow and laid it over a leaf on the ground. He let a single drop of the bright gold liquid fall onto it. The leaf instantly shrivelled up, browning and curling into itself with a faint hissing sound.
“Their blood is poisonous,” Aya breathed.
Villid nodded slowly. “In the west, the war between Tyrans and Darkma has been raging for two hundred years,” he said. “They say the Darkma were made by a mixture of dark magic, curses, and lust for power and destruction. When they’re injured, their blood poisons everything.” He looked down at the dead night prowler. “The curse spread to the animals too.”
There was a silence. Neither Villid nor Aya wanted to try and eat the creature they had managed to slaughter. They didn’t know how long they had gazed down
at it before Villid muttered, “Let’s go”, and they made their way farther towards the edge of the forest.