25 - Demon Worshippers

The forest swallowed sound.

For hours Darren and Sarah’s footsteps had been the only rhythm breaking the quiet, their boots tapping against roots, their laughter sometimes slipping through the canopy.

The path was narrow and winding, a trail more shaped by deer hooves and wandering hunters than by merchants or travelers.

Each step took them deeper into a pocket of wilderness that felt untouched, as though the world had forgotten this place.

And trailing behind them, always just beyond sight, Luna walked like a phantom.

A soft shimmer clung to her, her body wrapped in a veil of pale mist. It curled around her like living smoke, dispersing and reforming with each breath of wind.

To anyone glancing back, the trees would seem ordinary, the air heavy only with humidity. But hidden within, Luna’s figure glided with ease.

Her spell—Mist—was a shield of invisibility in the way fairy tales described but…haaa. If only it were that easy. If someone knew exactly where to look, they might catch the haze of her mist or the faint crunch of a leaf.

But at the distance she kept, it was perfect. Darren’s sharp knightly eyes never flickered toward her, and Sarah was far too absorbed in her companion to notice the quiet third presence in their story.

It made Luna grin. “Knight boy really did it. He took her hand. Finally. What took him so long?”

From the shelter of her mist, Luna had witnessed everything—the way Darren insisted on carrying Sarah’s belongings despite her protests, the awkward pauses that melted into laughter, the teasing jabs that left both of them flushed red.

She couldn’t hear their words, not clearly, but the body language was more than enough.

Once, Sarah fidgeted with the strap of her satchel until Darren gently brushed her hand aside and carried it himself.

“Smooth. Knight boy, are you sure you’re not secretly a prince in disguise?”

Another time, Sarah whispered something that made Darren’s face flame, his ears glowing red through his hair.

The sight was so comical Luna had to bury her laughter in her sleeve. “Oh, this is priceless. If only I had popcorn…”

Then came the flower.

Darren had spotted it on the ground, a small wild bloom with violet petals shaped like stars. Without hesitation he picked it, brushed Sarah’s hair behind her ear, and nestled the flower there as though it belonged.

Sarah froze, her cheeks igniting. Darren, too, looked ready to combust.

Watching from afar, Luna had nearly squealed. Instead, she whispered into the mist, “Not bad, knight boy. Not bad at all.”

The hours passed in this slow dance of blushes and silences, and by the time the afternoon sun began to lean westward, the sound of rushing water greeted them.

The waterfall revealed itself with sudden grandeur.

A wide curtain of water spilled from the cliffs above, cascading into a clear lake that shimmered like glass.

Mist drifted into the air, refracting sunlight into broken rainbows. Moss clung to the rocks in emerald tufts, and the scent of wet stone mixed with pine needles.

Sarah’s breath caught audibly from across the clearing. Darren’s chest swelled, as if he had been waiting to see her expression more than the view itself.

Luna stopped quite a distance back, releasing her spell with a quiet sigh. The veil of mist dissolved around her body, leaving her once more just a girl with bright eyes and dirt-smudged boots.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly—to the pair, to the scene, to no one in particular. “That was a performance worth watching.”

Her lips quirked in disappointment, though. She had been denied the details, the words spoken too far ahead. For someone who lived on stories, not hearing was torture.

Still, their gestures were loud enough. The nervous handholding, the flower, the shy glances—they told the tale even without words.

Luna knelt by a tree trunk and began setting up her own small camp. She conjured a thin dome of ice to serve as shelter, its surface catching the last rays of sunlight, and laid out her sleeping bag inside.

With a small sigh, she pulled water from the humid air, spun it into threads, and swept away the grime of travel from her skin and clothes.

“Convenient,” she murmured to herself, drying her hair with a flick of fingers. “And clean.”

Her gaze drifted back toward the lake, where Darren and Sarah were moving about their own preparations. They were more modest, of course.

Rather than diving into the crystalline waters, they filled a bucket, scooping and pouring, washing the sweat of the journey from their arms and faces. Always careful, always reserved.

Luna grumbled under her breath. “If it were me, I’d be in that lake by now. Splashing until my fingers wrinkled.”

Still, she respected them for it. Privacy mattered, especially for a girl like Sarah.

Luna leaned against her icy dome, hugging her knees, content to simply watch from afar.

The forest deepened into twilight. Crickets began their chorus, and the air cooled pleasantly.

Luna yawned, stretching her arms overhead. She was preparing to crawl into her sleeping bag when a prickle of awareness danced up her spine.

Her head snapped up.

Two figures moved in the distance, silent and purposeful, their steps cutting too directly toward her camp to be coincidence.

They kept to the shadows, but Luna’s senses were sharper than most. The rhythm of their breathing, the weight of their steps, the faint scrape of steel—it all sang to her.

She rose slowly, brushing dirt from her cloak. No alarm in her movements, only a steady readiness.

When the strangers reached the edge of her clearing, they halted, watching. Their silence was thick, their intent unreadable.

Luna tilted her head, lips curling in a half-smile. “Come out. I know you’re there.”

The two stiffened. For a moment they hesitated, as if considering retreat. Then, perhaps realizing the futility, they stepped forward into the fading light.

Both were wrapped head to toe in dark cloth, cloaks heavy and hooded. Their faces were hidden, but their weapons were not.

Blades glinted openly at their sides, and the way their hands hovered near hilts spoke of practiced violence.

Luna’s eyes narrowed. “Bandits?”

No answer.

She studied them carefully. The cloth wasn’t mismatched rags scavenged from raids. It was uniform.

Both figures wore the same design, the same cut, and on their left chest gleamed an emblem—subtle, yet deliberate. A sword, stitched in thread so dark it nearly vanished into the fabric.

Luna’s smile sharpened. “Not ordinary bandits, then.”

The two began to circle, their steps measured.

Luna flicked her finger.

In an instant, frost erupted outward. The temperature plunged, mist curling into biting shards of ice.

Before either figure could move, crystalline chains wrapped around their limbs, freezing them solid in grotesque stillness.

They stood like statues, locked mid-step, their cloaks stiff with frost.

Luna brushed her hands together, dusting invisible snow from her palms. “Trash, taken out.”

She stepped closer, studying them with a curious tilt of her head.

Their eyes, visible through narrow slits, glared at her with hatred even as ice crept along their lashes. The emblem on their chests gleamed in the dim light, catching her attention again.

“An organization?” she murmured. “Hm. Interesting.”

Her mind raced, searching through fragments of memory—names whispered in taverns, rumors overheard in markets.

Nothing solid yet, but something about the precision unsettled her. This wasn’t random.

Her stomach dropped as a realization struck.

If they found me here… then Darren and Sarah—

Luna spun on her heel. No time to waste. If these cloaked figures weren’t acting alone, then the pair at the waterfall could already be in danger.

She ran.

Her boots barely touched the earth as she sprinted through underbrush, branches whipping past.

The cool air bit her cheeks, but she welcomed it—it meant she was moving fast enough. Magic hummed under her skin, ready to be unleashed.

Within a minute, the sound of the waterfall reached her ears again. But now, another sound layered beneath it—the faint scrape of steel, the shuffle of many feet.

Luna’s heart clenched.

She broke through the last line of trees just in time to see Darren stepping out of the tent, sword drawn.

Sarah followed, clutching a short knife close to her chest. Her face was pale but her stance steady, and even in the dim firelight, Luna caught the glint of determination in her eyes.

Nine figures circled them, cloaked in the same black garments, each bearing the emblem of the single sword.

Darren’s jaw was tight, his shoulders tense. He muttered something to Sarah, keeping her partially shielded behind him.

The leader of the group stepped forward, his voice carrying clearly over the rush of the falls.

“Well, well. The son of Eldwin. Fancy meeting you here.”

Luna’s breath caught. She knew that name—Eldwin, Darren’s family. And judging by the venom in the leader’s tone, this was no coincidence.

The forest seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy with impending violence.

Luna crouched low in the shadows, her fingers twitching with magic, her mind racing.

Not yet, she told herself. Wait. Watch. Then strike.

And as the standoff tightened around the waterfall, the night grew colder.

The fire cracked softly inside the camp Darren had built, its glow painting shifting lines across his face. He stood rigid, sword in hand, as nine figures tightened their circle.

Their movements were deliberate, too smooth for mere highwaymen. Each one wore the same dark cloth Luna had seen earlier, marked with a single emblem on the chest, a single sword, stitched with thread.

Darren’s grip on his sword tightened the instant his eyes fell on it. He remembered it well—from the battlefield notes his father once showed him.

His jaw hardened. “Believers of Solitude,” he spat, his voice low with disgust. “Demon worshippers.”

Sarah rose beside him, knife gripped in white-knuckled hands. The night air wrapped cold around them, though the chill had little to do with the forest breeze.

“You… you know who they are?” she whispered.

Darren gave a short nod, eyes never leaving the encircling figures.

“My father has fought their kind at the front lines. He writes of them in his reports, warns me of their tactics whenever he return home. That emblem on their chests—it marks them as the Believers of Solitude, zealots who sell themselves to demons. They travel in groups. They stalk their prey in silence until the moment they close in.” His jaw clenched, fury flashing in his eyes. “I should have recognized them the instant they appeared.”

Sarah didn’t blame him. The guilt etched across his brow made her want to reach out, to steady him—but the moment allowed no such comfort.

The leader stepped forward, lowering his hood. His face was long, weathered, eyes glinting with a fanatic’s light.

“Well, well,” he said with a grin. “The son of Eldwin. What fortune, stumbling across you here. Your father’s sins echo long, don’t they?”

Darren stiffened at the sound of his family name spat like venom. His grip on the sword tightened. “You know my father?”

“Know him?” The man’s smile widened into a sneer. “I watched him cut down dozens of my brothers on the battlefield. He wore their blood like a cloak. Eldwin the Butcher, we called him. And now… here stands his son.”

Darren’s pulse thundered in his ears. Hatred radiated from the man like heat. There was no mistaking it—they were here for him.

“Then leave her out of this,” Darren said firmly, angling his body so Sarah remained half-hidden behind him. “She has nothing to do with your feud. I’m your target, not this girl.”

The leader’s gaze slid to Sarah, lingering too long, like oil on water. His smile soured into something darker.

“Leave her out? Why would we discard a gift placed so kindly before us? A face like hers… a shame to waste it. Villager girls,” he said, chuckling, “have always been our favorites.”

Sarah’s blood ran cold. Her knife trembled faintly, though her eyes narrowed with defiance.

Darren nearly lunged, every muscle begging to drive his blade into the man’s throat. Fury shook him, but he forced himself to hold, to think. Charging would expose Sarah. He couldn’t risk her.

His voice broke harshly instead. “If you lay a hand on her, I swear by my blood I’ll—”

“Swear all you like,” the leader interrupted with mockery. He raised his hand. “Brothers. Take them.”

The circle tightened. Nine blades hissed free of their sheaths, glinting in the firelight.

Sarah drew a sharp breath. Darren stepped forward, shoulders squared, sword raised high. His heart pounded with the certainty of death, but he refused to falter.

“Stay behind me,” he muttered to Sarah.

But Sarah shook her head, slipping to his side. Her knife looked pitiful against their opponents, yet she stood steady. “No, Darren. If this is the end, we face it together.”

He glanced at her, startled by the steel in her voice. And in that fleeting moment, something broke free inside him. Words that had weighed on his heart for years tumbled out unbidden.

“I love you, Sarah.”

The forest seemed to pause. Even with enemies closing in, Sarah’s eyes widened, her lips parting in shock.

“Darren…” Her voice trembled, but not from fear. Her chest ached with a truth long buried. She swallowed, then whispered fiercely, “I love you too.”

The confession rang louder in her heart than the rushing waterfall.

The demon worshippers charged.

Time fractured.

Darren tightened his grip, ready to meet death head-on. Sarah braced, knife raised though her hands shook. Both knew they stood no chance. But if they died, they would die together, truth laid bare at last.

Then—

A sound like a finger snapping cut through the chaos.

Flick.

“Cocytus.”

The word fell like a curse, soft yet heavy with power.

At once, the world shattered into frost.

Ice burst across the clearing, racing outward in a wave. Grass crystallized, fire froze mid-crackle, and the waterfall itself seemed to hang slower, each droplet touched by pale blue light.

The nine demon worshippers screamed—but only for a heartbeat. Ice climbed their limbs, swallowed their torsos, sealed their mouths in silence. In the span of a breath, they were statues, encased in jagged crystalline coffins.

The frost spread wider, covering every tree, every stone, until the entire clearing lay buried under a glittering tomb of ice.

Only the small patch beneath Darren and Sarah remained untouched, as though spared by deliberate design.

The sudden silence roared louder than battle.

Darren’s breath clouded in the freezing air. His sword hand trembled, not from fear but from disbelief. He recognized the chill, the precision. He had seen this power once before, just yesterday, when a little girl’s casual flick froze everything.

Sarah’s lips parted, eyes wide as she stared at the frozen world. Her hand brushed Darren’s arm, as if to anchor herself to reality.

And then—

“Finally!”

A voice, cheerful and bright, pierced the eerie quiet.

“Finally, the two of you confessed!”

Darren and Sarah turned toward the sound.

There, at the edge of the frost, stood Luna. Hands on her hips, a triumphant grin splitting her face, she looked more like a mischievous child showing off a prank than a mage who had just frozen an army in place. Her eyes sparkled, her cloak flaring slightly in the cold breeze.

The cheerfulness of her voice clashed violently with the frozen carnage around her. But somehow, it worked. The suffocating tension of death gave way to something absurd, almost comical.

Sarah blinked rapidly, stunned. “L-Luna…?”

Darren lowered his sword, his chest heaving. He had suspected, of course, but seeing her here, surrounded by frost of her own making—it felt surreal.

Luna skipped forward lightly, boots crunching against ice. She stopped a safe distance away, gesturing at the frozen demon worshippers with casual disdain.

“Trash, taken care of,” she said proudly, echoing the words she had spoken earlier when freezing the first pair.

Her grin widened as she looked back at them. “But really! Did you have to wait until death was breathing down your necks to finally say it? I mean, talk about dramatic timing!”

Darren flushed red, his composure cracking. “That’s—how could you possibly—this isn’t—”

Luna wagged a finger at him, cutting off his stammer. “No excuses, knight boy. I heard it. Clear as day. ‘I love you, Sarah.’ And then Sarah went and said it back!”

Sarah’s face flamed, hotter than any fire could burn in the icy clearing. She covered her mouth with her hand, torn between embarrassment and relief.

“You… you were watching us?”

Luna tilted her head innocently. “Of course! I couldn’t miss this. I told you, didn’t I? I’d help. And here you are, proving me right.”

The words carried no malice, but Sarah still groaned softly, hiding her face.

Darren, however, exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders easing at last. Against all reason, he laughed—just once, quietly. It wasn’t bitter or pained. It was… freeing.

Luna crossed her arms, her grin softening into something gentler. “You see? It wasn’t so hard. Scary, maybe, but not impossible. You said what you felt. And now the whole forest knows, too.”

She gestured dramatically at the frozen demon worshippers. “They make excellent witnesses, don’t you think?”

Darren shook his head in disbelief, still half-dazed. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” Luna replied cheerfully.

For the first time since the ambush began, Sarah laughed—a small, nervous sound, but laughter nonetheless.

She clutched Darren’s arm, leaning into him, her heart hammering. Despite everything, despite the ice and danger, she felt lighter than she had in years.

The nightmare had become something else entirely.

Around them, frost glimmered under the pale moonlight, a crystalline monument to both danger and confession.

And in the middle of it stood a mischievous little girl, grinning like a cupid who had just struck her arrows true.