CHAPTER 4 #2
They reached the ruin just as the moon rose over the lake, casting a pale, ghostly light across the broken stone. Frost rimmed the grass beneath their boots, glittering faintly. Faelith dismounted and scanned the tree line, her breath clouding in the cold air. Nothing moved. Nothing breathed.
The silence was too complete, too absolute, as though the world had frozen in time. “Mae’r lle hwn yn teimlo’n anghywir,” one of her men murmured. She agreed. It did feel wrong.
Cian stood near the entrance, shackles glinting in the moonlight. His expression was guarded, yet his eyes remained alert, scanning the forest shadows for movement.
Faelith watched him and felt that same wariness crawl through her skin. Something in this forest was not at ease. Tonight, she needed to focus on keeping her people alive.
The group set up a small fire in the center of what had once been a great hall. The roof was long gone, leaving only jagged beams and open sky. Faelith and her men settled near the fire, laying out their bedrolls. They shared quiet conversation and rationed bread.
She had told her men to stay alert. They, too, felt the corrupted darkness creeping in. The knights clustered separately, polishing weapons and muttering about the cold.
Cian remained alone, leaning against a broken pillar, a blank expression set in stone on his face.Then the wind shifted.
A faint sound drifted through the ruin, so soft at first that Faelith thought she imagined it. A cry. Thin and warped. A child’s whimper stretched into something terrible. She froze, every muscle going taut. Her men stiffened. Even the knights fell silent.
Another cry followed, closer this time. Higher. Sharper. A sound that scraped along the bones and hollowed out the heart. It carried the faintest echo of elven cadence, twisted into something unrecognizable.
A Changeling’s call.
The captain stood abruptly and barked, “Men! Shields.” His voice sounded small against the rising wind that swept through the ruins, cold and violent and utterly supernatural.
It extinguished the fire in an instant, plunging them into darkness so complete that Faelith could barely see her own hand. It took several seconds for her eyes to adjust to the moon’s glow. She could see the knights fumbling, searching blindly in the dark.
“Torches!” someone shouted, but the wind howled louder, drowning the word.
Horses panicked outside. Metal clattered. Men cursed. Faelith drew her sword, the blade steady in her grip as she forced herself to breathe evenly. She and her men formed a tight circle, backs pressed together, eyes fixed on the shifting shadows.
The cries grew louder.
Closer.
Then the first one appeared.
It didn’t walk or glide. It simply existed in front of them, a blur of pale limbs and gnarled, long fingers.
It stopped so abruptly that reality seemed to lag behind it. Its body was solid yet corrupted, its frame stretched past natural limits, joints bending with predatory ease. Its eyes glowed with a sickly, unnatural light.
Humans had a legend that claimed Changelings were a byproduct of the elves.
Centuries ago, it was said elven clans sacrificed their young to evil spirits in exchange for magic and protection. Changelings were those infants, twisted and changed by darkness.
Whether the story was true or not, the creatures had stalked these woods with bloodthirsty vengeance for as long as anyone could remember. Like all legends, the truth had been buried long ago.
Faelith barely had time to raise her blade before it lunged.
Steel met claw with a ringing crack. The force of the impact shot through her arm. She pivoted and slashed across its ribs, but the Changeling twisted aside with lightning speed, her blade cutting only air. It retaliated with a swipe aimed at her throat.
She stepped back, the talon slicing past her skin by inches. She smacked its hand away with the blunt side of her sword and dropped into a guarded stance.
A knight charged from the side with his sword raised.
The Changeling moved.
One moment it stood before him. The next it was behind him. The shift was so fast that Faelith barely registered the blur. Its claws raked across his throat before he finished his swing.
He collapsed, his sword forgotten as he reached up to stop himself from choking on his own blood.
Terror erupted.
More Changelings burst into the ruin, five in total, rushing through the broken walls with impossible speed. The knights tried to form a shield wall, but the creatures were too fast. One darted low and swept a knight’s legs out from under him.
Another struck from above, claws sinking into armor seams. Steel clanged and shields splintered. Men shouted orders that dissolved into screams.
Faelith’s men fought with more precision. Trained for ambushes, they adapted quickly.
Ryn parried a swipe, sparks flying as his blade met talon. He countered with a thrust aimed at the creature’s heart, but it twisted aside, grabbed his wrist, and flung him across the stone floor. Eryndor managed to land a shallow cut across a Changeling’s shoulder.
Dark, viscous blood welled up, but the creature only shrieked and blurred forward, slashing him across the chest as he stumbled back.
Talan fought like a man possessed. He intercepted a Changeling streaking toward Faelith and slammed his sword down in a two-handed arc. The creature dodged, but the blow forced it back a step, giving Faelith a moment to regain her footing.
“Talan, your left!” she shouted.
He pivoted and caught another Changeling’s claws on the flat of his blade as it came down over his head. The impact rang like a bell. He tried to shove back, teeth gritted, but the creature moved faster than he could react.
It seized him mid-motion and lifted him effortlessly. Its claws sank into his abdomen, draining the life from him as his body convulsed.
Faelith screamed his name, but it was already too late. His body hit the stone floor with a sickening thud.
Her vision blurred with fury and grief. Gathering every ounce of strength she possessed, she let out a vengeful cry and charged the creature with her sword raised high. Her blade met its arm and bit deep this time. She felt bone.
The Changeling shrieked and recoiled, but another streaked in from the side, forcing her to spin and parry. The clash of iron and claw echoed through the ruin.
“Fall back!” someone shouted.
Her remaining men moved, dragging her with them as they fought the monsters off. The only path left was the cliff’s edge. The Changelings closed in, their movements flickering in and out of her vision like lightning.
The captain tried to rally any knights still breathing, but a Changeling appeared behind him in a blink and drove its claws into his back. He gasped, blood bubbling at his lips.
The key to Cian’s shackles slipped from the melee and clattered across the stone.
Cian lunged for it.
He snatched the key and fumbled with the lock as Changelings shrieked nearby. One streaked toward him, forcing him to roll aside. Its claws scraped the stone where his head had been. He got to his feet as another came for him, shackled arms raised in a last-ditch defense.
Faelith and her men stumbled backward as the creatures advanced.
The remaining fighters separated, hoping to spread the abominations thin. One came dangerously close to Faelith and an elf named Sylthas. Tightening her grip on her sword, Faelith swung, aiming for its throat.
The Changeling ducked under her blade with unnatural speed and lunged.
Time slowed as she closed her eyes in silent acceptance.
Sylthas shoved her aside.
Her heel caught on loose rubble. The ground vanished beneath her. She opened her eyes as she fell, arms scrambling for purchase as the cliff’s edge rushed past.
Her eyes followed as Sylthas plummeted toward the waters below, a bloody gash across his chest, his life already drained.
A hand seized her wrist.
Cian lay on the ground, gripping her tightly to keep her from falling further.
Her eyes widened. Why would a stranger, a prisoner, save her?
He held her with one hand, muscles straining, his other arm braced against the stone. The Changelings streaked back and forth as her men continued to fight, their movements so fast they left after images in the moonlight.
Faelith kicked against the cliffside, trying to find purchase, but the moss-slick rock offered none.
Cian gritted his teeth and hauled her upward with a strength nearly impossible for someone who had spent days in chains. She collapsed onto solid ground, her side striking a jagged rock that knocked the breath from her.
There was no time to recover. A Changeling darted toward them, shrieking.
Faelith raised her sword on instinct.
Cian stepped in front of her.
He lifted his hands, now free from the rune. The air around him shimmered. Heat gathered, swirling and condensing into a wave of blazing light.
Fire ignited the air.
Faelith shielded her eyes as she lay there. Her men had the sense to take cover once they felt the temperature spike.
Cian controlled the flame as it surged forward.
The explosion lit the night like a second sun. Flames roared across the ruin, engulfing the Changelings in a wave of searing heat. Their cries twisted into shrieks of agony as their bodies burned, warped, and collapsed into ash.
The blast struck the far wall and sent a shockwave through the ruin. Stones cracked. Dust rained down.
Real silence followed.
Not the suffocating stillness from before.
Faelith stared at Cian, chest heaving, heart pounding. “You… how did you…?”
He didn’t answer. He stood there, breathing hard, the last traces of firelight fading from his hands. Her men approached, shaken but alive, and helped her up.
Only three remained. The knights were gone—all of them. Talan’s body lay near the shattered wall, eyes closed.
Faelith knelt beside him, grief tightening her throat. She brushed a hand over his brow and whispered apologies and regrets.