The night was heavy, the fire in the hollow burning low. The shaman sat still as stone, her senses stretched into the forest. The warrior’s faint groans from the mat filled the silence—until another sound pierced the night.

A scream.

High, sharp, terrified—too young to belong anywhere on a battlefield. The girl.

The shaman rose instantly, staff in hand. She stepped to the doorway, clouded eyes narrowing. Beyond the trees, voices barked orders, rough laughter mixed with the girl’s cries. Soldiers. They had tracked the marks of the sled.

The shaman did not rush forward. Instead, she closed her eyes, sinking into the stillness of the earth. Her lips moved soundlessly as her staff pressed deep into the soil. The air around her shifted, darker, colder.

Out in the forest clearing, the girl struggled in the dirt, her wrists bound by coarse rope. Soldiers towered over her, jeering. One raised a torch, another his blade.

Then the shadows moved.

From between the trees stepped figures—black, jagged, and human only in outline. Armor cracked, swords rusted, eyes glowing faintly like embers in ash. The girl froze, breath caught in her throat as the night itself seemed to give birth to warriors.

The soldiers turned, startled, their laughter dying in their throats. One cursed. Another swung his sword wildly at the figures. Steel met nothing. And then, screams tore through the forest as the shadows struck back.

Men fell, their cries cut short, blood spilling on the earth. Those who raised their weapons were dragged into the dark. The one who had lifted his hand against the girl was seized by two shadowed warriors, his body ripped apart like cloth.

The girl screamed again, thrashing against her ropes, terror flooding her eyes. She did not understand. She could only watch as the forest became a nightmare.

Some soldiers fled, crashing through the undergrowth in panic. Others did not rise again.

Far behind, unseen among the trees, the shaman watched in silence. Her staff still pressed into the earth, her face pale in the torchlight’s distant flicker. She did not speak, she did not reveal herself. Only her eyes—dull, weary, and grim—witnessed what she had called.

When it was done, the shadows slipped back into the trees, dissolving like smoke. The forest grew quiet once more, leaving only corpses, blood, and a trembling child in the dirt.

The shaman turned away, vanishing into the black of the woods, her presence never revealed.