The clearing erupted in chaos as massive trolls—green-skinned, towering between three to five meters, their crude clubs raised high—charged toward the caravan.
"Trolls!" the merchants and guards screamed, scrambling for cover behind trees or diving under carriages, their faces drained of all color.
Camelia's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in terror as the creatures' deafening roars shook the forest. Trolls were feared across Calonia, even among seasoned warriors.
"Atherion!" she gasped, reaching blindly for him, but her hand closed on empty air.
He was gone.
Panic surged—until she spotted him, already sprinting toward the advancing trolls, his sword catching the dim light as he moved.
Atherion struck like a storm. He vaulted onto the nearest troll's knee, then its shoulder, his blade flashing as it sliced clean through the creature's thick neck.
The head tumbled, landing with a sickening thud, and the massive body collapsed a heartbeat later, shaking the earth beneath them.
Before the remaining trolls could react, Atherion was already upon the next, his sword carving through flesh and bone with deadly precision.
In mere minutes, all five trolls lay dead—heads severed, bodies split, their dark blood pooling across the dirt.
He wiped his blade with a cloth, barely sparing a glance at the stunned merchants and guards as he strode back toward Camelia.
As he passed the wide-eyed onlookers, he spoke evenly, without hesitation.
"Done."
Tossing the bloodstained cloth aside, he added, "We'll detour. Their bodies block the path."
The group hesitated before emerging from their hiding spots, their faces still frozen in disbelief.
Camelia, still atop Storm, clapped her hands, her fear momentarily overshadowed by awe.
"That was incredible, Atherion! You're amazing!"
Atherion paused at her words, his expression flickering between surprise and something quieter—almost warmth.
His ears reddened slightly, but he masked it quickly, adjusting his grip on Storm's reins.
"Let's move."
The merchants and guards, muttering gratitude and hushed admiration, followed his lead, guiding their carriages around the troll corpses.
Their whispers trailed after him—"Never seen anything like that," "Who is he?"—as the caravan pressed deeper into Darkmire Forest.
***
That night, the group camped in a small glade, the forest's dense canopy dimming the starlight. Atherion sat beside Camelia near the campfire, its glow casting flickering shadows on their faces.
The merchants—Ajol, Sherun, and Tamam, as Camelia had learned—lounged nearby, while the guards tended to a pot of stew. The air smelled of woodsmoke and herbs, offering a brief reprieve from the forest's damp chill.
Camelia watched the group, fascinated by their easy chatter and camaraderie. Ajol, a weathered man in his fifties with a kind smile, turned to her. "Miss, where do you hail from?"
Atherion answered before she could. "A distant land, across the sea." His tone was flat, dismissing further curiosity.
Ajol nodded sympathetically. "Must be hard, adapting to Calonia's ways."
Camelia offered a shy nod, unsure of how to respond.
Tamam, younger and sharp-eyed, grinned. "Are you two husband and wife?"
Her face flushed as the memory of the inn's kiss rushed back. She ducked her head, her heart racing.
Atherion's voice remained steady. "Yes. We're married."
Sherun, broad-shouldered and jovial, laughed. "Newlyweds, eh? Look at her blush!"
Ajol and Tamam joined in, their laughter warm but teasing. Camelia's cheeks burned hotter, and she stole a glance at Atherion.
His ears were red, but his face remained impassive, answering the merchants' follow-up questions with curt precision.
The teasing faded as dinner was served—a simple meal of stew and coarse bread, shared among the group. Afterward, the guards insisted on taking watch, refusing Atherion's offer to stand guard alone.
"You've done enough," one of the guards said, clapping him on the shoulder. "Rest. We owe you."
Camelia settled onto a makeshift bed of cloaks, waiting for Atherion, who had stepped away to gather dry leaves. She replayed the merchants' words in her mind. "Your husband is strong. Lucky you."
Her thoughts drifted to Atherion's feats—lifting her effortlessly, outrunning the serpent, felling the bear, and defeating the trolls. He's not like the others here, she thought. Like a hero from the action movies I watched back home.
Yet his coldness, the lingering tension of the inn's kiss, stirred a mix of gratitude and embarrassment within her. He's protected me, but why?
Atherion returned, spreading the leaves beneath her cloak to soften the ground. "Lie down," he said, draping a blanket over her. His care was quiet, deliberate, never forced.
Tamam, sprawled nearby, chuckled. "Look at you two, all sweet. Makes us miss our families."
***
Camelia's face reddened again, and she quickly pulled the blanket over her head, hoping to hide her reaction. Atherion said nothing, lying beside her, his gaze fixed on the dense canopy above.
The fire crackled softly, the air thick with the scent of smoke and damp earth.
A faint rustling stirred in the distance—not approaching, but persistent. His senses, sharp despite the day's strain, picked up the sound immediately.
Something had been trailing them since they entered Darkmire. It was faint, serpentine, like a slow hiss weaving through the trees, deliberately staying just out of reach.