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The healer and Milindor fell silent, unable to find the right words to express what was swirling in their minds. For a long moment, they stared lost in thought at the dancing flames of the fire, listening to the endless silence. Over time, a growing drowsiness began to take over them; the half-elf was to stand guard first. True, until now, both had slept alone and had not worried about potential dangers, but now they could no longer afford such freedom. The ruins of Alfirithorn were less than a day's journey from their camp, and Eliana had been right when she spoke of the wandering emissaries of darkness. Milindor added some wood the healer had gathered to the fire, then, wrapping his cloak more tightly around himself, sat down by the fire. Elina lay a few steps away, falling asleep almost immediately after settling into her bed. In the silence of the forest, one could even hear her deep, even breathing. Somewhere above the treetops, a full moon and hundreds of stars shone, while below the yellowing leaves there were only shadows.

The watch dragged on mercilessly, drowsiness repeatedly attacked with tremendous force, trying to break the half-elf's will. At one point, he felt an overwhelming urge to wake his companion, to have her change him, but ultimately, pride overcame him, and he managed to stave off the weariness that was creeping up on him. He felt as if nature had deliberately frozen to lull his vigilance, only to plunge a black dagger into his back at the most unexpected moment. Time passed slowly. The darkness seemed to thicken, and the fire flames seemed to fade. Milindor added a few more logs, the flames flickering for a few moments, only to fade even further. The half-elf looked around carefully. The clearing and the surrounding forest lay silently still, a threat hanging in the air, a final warning. But nothing happened, nothing changed, only his heart pounded faster in his chest, and some invisible force tightened his throat. Time passed slowly. The flames of the campfire flickered slightly, and the rustle of leaves replaced the silence. "Finally, some movement," flashed through his mind. The rustle grew louder. Red, yellow, and brownish leaves tumbled to the ground, swirling through the air. The fire intensified, pale as the moon's disc, casting eerie shadows. The clearing swarmed with gray shapes, constantly flitting from one end to the other. Illusory creations of fire and frightened imagination danced a mad dance across the clearing. Milindor felt as if leaves were rustling beneath their feet. As one of them vanished into the forest, the dull crack of a breaking branch echoed. Cold sweat broke out on the half-elf. He touched the hilt of his sword with a trembling hand. Instead of the cold steel, he was struck by the hellish heat of smelted iron. His face contorted in pain, and his hand instinctively released the sword. There wasn't even the slightest trace of a burn. Several more crackling sounds reached him from the north. He turned, watching the forest intently. From the opposite end of the clearing, the faint hooting of an owl echoed, echoing as if answered by the long, frenzied howl of wolves. If wolves could utter such a haunting howl.

Milindor stood up, unable to bear his stillness. He knew it was time to wake Eliana, but something told him he shouldn't. He simply looked at her; wrapped in a woolen blanket, she was sleeping peacefully, the rhythmic rise of her chest and deep breathing suggesting her mind was wandering through a land of blissful sleep. Meanwhile, the forest twisted under the blows of a furious wind, leaves showered the clearing, a fire blazed, showering sparks all around him. Milindor spun in circles as if under the influence of some demonic spell, unable to gather his thoughts; his mind was filled only with the murmur of stealing shadows, the rustle of leaves, the crack of crushing branches. For a moment, the sound of hoofbeats echoing through the forest roused him from his stupor. A rider was racing along the road; he was close now, the clatter of shod hooves on the cobblestones of the road growing steadily louder. A prolonged howl cut through the air, the wind continued to gather strength, the clatter of hooves, snapping branches, rustling leaves—all blended together to create a ghastly symphony of hell. At the cue of lightning streaking across the sky, a dull boom of thunder rang out, magnified by the echo, vibrating in his ears with a numbing melody. When it finally passed, Milindor realized the mysterious rider was already several hundred paces from the clearing; he could even hear the neighing of a horse driven into a frenzied run. He stared down the road, waiting for the inevitable. After a few moments of waiting, a hooded, black figure rode into the clearing on a foaming horse. The rider's face was impossible to see, but a grave chill drifted from him, filling the air with the stench of decay. The rider paused for a moment, staring into the flames of the fire. Before Milindor could do anything, a commanding yet desperate scream echoed in his ears, or perhaps his mind. "KILL!" The word pierced the forest like a sword's blade. The rider, spotting Milindor, lunged at him with unbridled fury. The scream was an order from his master. "KILL!" The echo echoed. The distance between them was rapidly closing, and at the last moment, the half-elf managed to jump back, wrenching his sword free. The hooded figure charged at him again. Under its powerful blows, he retreated with difficulty, parrying the violent blows. He repeatedly tripped over his own feet, the sword's hilt burning his hands with a hellish heat. Pain radiated through all his limbs, breathing became labored, and each subsequent blow intensified the agony. Yet he continued to fight, fiercely responding to the blows. Despite his desperate will to fight, he weakened with each movement; his enemy seemed to drain his strength while gaining strength. The sword gleamed with a pale light, each parried blow a new shower of sparks. Men fought, blades fought. The half-elf's gaze fell on his sleeping companion; somehow, all the commotion hadn't woken her. ELIANA! He screamed desperately at the top of his lungs, but his voice was lost amid the thunder and crashes. ELIANA! WAKE UP! The blows rained down on him like thunder,But he too was not left in vain. He met each fatal blow on the blade of his own weapon, occasionally landing a few skillful cuts. His efforts were in vain. The demonic envoy had the advantage over him in every respect, his grave breath sapping his strength. He kept retreating toward the forest without even realizing it, his enemy pushing him back, knowing he would never emerge from the trees alive. Milindor, however, was unable to seize the initiative. He prolonged this hopeless fight, driven even by a desire for life that astonished even him. For so many years, it had been indifferent to him; now something had changed, but it could end just as quickly. Only a few more steps separated him from the tree line, only a few more steps separated him from the realm no living man should have ventured into. Another sword strike, another attack of horse hooves, one step closer to the trees. A quick thrust, a lunge backward to avoid the gleaming red blade. Milindor could already feel the chill of the forest on his back, so different from the blazing glade. A cold shiver ran through his body, leaving icy traces in its wake. "ELIANA!" He screamed, recognizing the feeling. This time, even the howling of wolves couldn't drown it out. The wind died down for a moment, and for a brief moment, the rider held his hand, turning uncertainly. As his voice faded into the darkness of the forest, the wind rose again, and the sword once again pierced the night air. Milindor felt the hard touch of a tree on his back; there was no room to retreat, unless he fled into the forest. What was more madness? He would never find out. The moment the rider raised his hand, preparing for the final battle with his opponent, the healer was already on her feet. As the ghostly blade descended with great force, something gleaming with a bluish light whizzed from Eliana's small hand. Milindor struggled to raise his sword, realizing he was doing so a fraction of a second too late. His facial muscles contracted, waiting for the red-and-black blade to strike them with its power. But instead of a cry of triumph announcing his death, he heard a terrifying groan fill the dark forest. The rider jerked violently, then with a hiss, fell sideways, face first into a thick carpet of withered leaves. The half-elf's vacant gaze followed the falling body. Before he sank to the ground, he saw a silver dagger, shimmering with a bluish glow, protruding from the rider's back. A figure approached him from the direction of the fire, striding softly across the clearing...Milindor, however, was unable to take the initiative. He prolonged this hopeless struggle, driven by a thirst for life that astonished even himself. For so many years, it had been indifferent to him. Now something had changed, but it could end just as quickly. Only a few more steps separated him from the tree line, only a few more steps separated him from the kingdom no living man should have ventured into. Another sword strike, another attack of horse hooves, one step closer to the trees. A quick thrust, a lunge backward to avoid the gleaming red blade. Milindor could already feel the chill of the forest on his back, so different from the fiery glade. A cold shiver ran through his body, leaving icy trails in its wake. ELIANA! He screamed, recognizing the feeling; this time, even the howling of wolves couldn't drown it out. The wind died down for a moment, and for a brief moment, the rider held his hand, turning uncertainly. As his voice faded into the darkness of the forest, the wind rose again, the sword once again piercing the night air. Milindor felt the hard touch of the tree on his back; there was no room for retreat, unless he fled into the forest. What was more madness? He would never find out. The moment the rider raised his hand, preparing for the final battle with his opponent, the healer was already on her feet. As the ghostly blade descended with great force, something gleaming with a bluish light whizzed from Eliana's small hand. Milindor struggled to raise his sword, seeing it a fraction too late. His facial muscles contracted, waiting for the red-and-black blade to strike them down with its power. But instead of a cry of triumph announcing his death, he heard a terrifying groan fill the dark forest. The rider jerked violently, then with a hiss, fell sideways, facedown in a thick carpet of dead leaves. The half-elf's vacant gaze followed the falling body. Before he collapsed to the ground, he saw a silver dagger, shimmering with a bluish glow, protruding from the rider's back. A figure approached him from the direction of the fire, striding softly across the clearing...Milindor, however, was unable to take the initiative. He prolonged this hopeless struggle, driven by a thirst for life that astonished even himself. For so many years, it had been indifferent to him. Now something had changed, but it could end just as quickly. Only a few more steps separated him from the tree line, only a few more steps separated him from the kingdom no living man should have ventured into. Another sword strike, another attack of horse hooves, one step closer to the trees. A quick thrust, a lunge backward to avoid the gleaming red blade. Milindor could already feel the chill of the forest on his back, so different from the fiery glade. A cold shiver ran through his body, leaving icy trails in its wake. ELIANA! He screamed, recognizing the feeling; this time, even the howling of wolves couldn't drown it out. The wind died down for a moment, and for a brief moment, the rider held his hand, turning uncertainly. As his voice faded into the darkness of the forest, the wind rose again, the sword once again piercing the night air. Milindor felt the hard touch of the tree on his back; there was no room for retreat, unless he fled into the forest. What was more madness? He would never find out. The moment the rider raised his hand, preparing for the final battle with his opponent, the healer was already on her feet. As the ghostly blade descended with great force, something gleaming with a bluish light whizzed from Eliana's small hand. Milindor struggled to raise his sword, seeing it a fraction too late. His facial muscles contracted, waiting for the red-and-black blade to strike them down with its power. But instead of a cry of triumph announcing his death, he heard a terrifying groan fill the dark forest. The rider jerked violently, then with a hiss, fell sideways, facedown in a thick carpet of dead leaves. The half-elf's vacant gaze followed the falling body. Before he collapsed to the ground, he saw a silver dagger, shimmering with a bluish glow, protruding from the rider's back. A figure approached him from the direction of the fire, striding softly across the clearing...As his voice faded into the darkness of the forest, the wind rose again, and the sword once again pierced the night air. Milindor felt the hard touch of a tree on his back; there was no turning back, unless he fled into the forest. What was the greater madness? He would never find out. The moment the rider raised his hand, preparing for a final showdown with his opponent, the healer was already on her feet. As the ghostly blade descended with great force, something gleaming with a bluish light whizzed from Eliana's small hand. Milindor struggled to raise his sword, realizing he was doing so a fraction of a second too late. The muscles in his face contracted, waiting for the red-and-black blade to strike them down with its power. But instead of a cry of triumph announcing his death, he heard a terrifying groan fill the entire darkened forest. The rider jerked violently, then hissed, falling sideways, facedown in a thick carpet of dead leaves. The half-elf's vacant gaze followed the falling body. Before he sank to the ground, he saw a silver dagger, shimmering with a bluish glow, protruding from the rider's back. A figure approached him from the direction of the fire, striding softly across the clearing...As his voice faded into the darkness of the forest, the wind rose again, and the sword once again pierced the night air. Milindor felt the hard touch of a tree on his back; there was no turning back, unless he fled into the forest. What was the greater madness? He would never find out. The moment the rider raised his hand, preparing for a final showdown with his opponent, the healer was already on her feet. As the ghostly blade descended with great force, something gleaming with a bluish light whizzed from Eliana's small hand. Milindor struggled to raise his sword, realizing he was doing so a fraction of a second too late. The muscles in his face contracted, waiting for the red-and-black blade to strike them down with its power. But instead of a cry of triumph announcing his death, he heard a terrifying groan fill the entire darkened forest. The rider jerked violently, then hissed, falling sideways, facedown in a thick carpet of dead leaves. The half-elf's vacant gaze followed the falling body. Before he sank to the ground, he saw a silver dagger, shimmering with a bluish glow, protruding from the rider's back. A figure approached him from the direction of the fire, striding softly across the clearing...