Chapter 8: Unleashing the Shadows

 

Chapter 8: Unleashing the Shadows

Nick and Noah crouched in the damp undergrowth, hearts pounding as the thornpaws trudged closer. The thick foliage of Ember Hollows muffled the low grunts and heavy breathing of the beasts, but the stench of their sweat and the creaking of the wagons filled the suffocating darkness. The sickly yellow torchlight flickered across twisted roots and mossy stones, creating a shifting tapestry of shadows that danced over Nick’s and Noah’s worried faces.

A sudden green-scaled claw slipped out from beneath a heavy tarp. Its talons, each three inches long, glinted menacingly in the torchlight. Noah swallowed hard, trying to steady his trembling hands. Seeing those claws dragged a fresh memory of his earlier near-death encounter with a wyvern. He leaned closer to his father. “Dad, it’s a wyvern!” he whispered, voice cracking with fear. “Another wyvern!”

“Shh,” Nick hissed, pressing a calming hand to Noah’s shoulder. “You’re right, though. There must be two more of them on those wagons.”

The thornpaws, bearing their heavy loads, trudged mere feet away from their hiding place. Noah held his breath. He could hear the beasts’ laboring puffs and the groan of the wooden axles under the wyverns’ weight. Just beyond, three figures moved through the gloom: one broad and burly, another wiry and tense, and a lanky man dawdling at the rear, more interested in picking petals off a daffadilly than in watching his surroundings.

“I don’t like this,” the wiry one hissed, voice tight. “Shouldn’t we hear something by now from the wyvern let loose up north?”

“Shut up,” growled the burly one. “You want to announce our whole plan to the forest? We’ll go another mile or so, then set them free. Let them do what they do best.”

As they passed, the torchlight jittered across the ferns and brambles where Nick and Noah concealed themselves. Both father and son shrank back, blood rushing in their ears, waiting for the men’s eyes to sweep their way. But the lanky man lingered at the rear, flicking at flower petals, oblivious. The wagons creaked on, bearing their dangerous cargo deeper into Ember Hollows, toward the ranch.

Nick leaned close to Noah, voice barely above a breath: “We need to stop them before they reach the ranch.”

Noah’s eyes widened. “Dad, there are three thugs, two thornpaws, and two wyverns! Do you have a plan?”

Nick grimaced. “I have the start of one. Maybe we can stun the lanky fellow. He’s not paying attention. If we take him out quietly, the others might not notice right away.”

Noah’s heart hammered. “And if they do notice?”

Nick set his jaw. “We’ll deal with that if it comes.” He nodded at Noah’s star sling. “Do your best, son.”

They crept forward as silently as possible, their boots sinking into soft moss. Noah loaded a star fragment, adrenaline tightening every muscle. He exhaled, trying to steady his aim as the lanky man meandered behind the wagons. Nick whispered encouragement, but Noah shushed him, needing absolute focus.

He released the shot. The fragment sliced through the air—and missed its mark. Instead of striking the lanky man, it struck the wagon’s tarp. The fabric tore with a snap. Underneath, a wyvern stirred, wakened by the sudden jolt and light. It hissed, scales scraping against wood, and began thrashing violently. The tarp whipped off its back. One thick rope snapped, sending a sharp crack echoing through the trees.

“Get another shot!” Nick shouted, the hope of subtlety lost in the chaos.

The wyvern’s furious snarls cut through the silence. It whipped its tail, shattering another rope, while the men cursed and scrambled. The lanky man stood frozen, mouth agape, unable to process what was happening. Noah pulled back the sling again, no time for precision, and let the star fragment fly.

This time, it struck true. The fragment hit the lanky man square in the chest, and he collapsed with a faint moan, stunned into unconsciousness. The wiry man shouted, “What do we do?!” just as the wyvern lashed out, its tail slamming into him and sending him sprawling into the underbrush with a pained yelp.

The burly man spun, panicked eyes wild, and in his frantic attempt to flee, he careened straight toward Nick and Noah’s hiding spot. Nick stepped onto the path, unicorn blade gleaming. Seeing the armed stranger, the burly man shrieked—his voice shrill, belying his imposing size—and tried to stop so abruptly that he fell backward onto the muddy trail.

“There are wyverns loose! Someone’s got wyverns—help!” he babbled, scrambling to get back to his feet.

Noah emerged too, his sling at the ready. “We know they’re yours!” he shouted, feeling braver now that fortune had shifted.

Behind them, the wagon collapsed under the wyvern’s thrashing. Wood splintered and the thornpaw, terrified, broke free and fled into the forest, leaving the enraged wyvern behind. The second thornpaw, hitched to the other wagon, decided it wanted no part in this madness and bolted away with its burden still attached, disappearing deeper into Ember Hollows.

Nick took a step toward the burly man, blade leveled. “Tell us what you know. Who sent you?”

The burly man’s eyes darted to the feral shape in the gloom. The wyvern, injured and furious at its captivity, crouched low, flexing its claws. It hissed, saliva dripping from its fangs. Seeing it, the burly man whined, “Not now! We’ll be eaten alive!”

And indeed, the wyvern seemed to realize who had bound it in ropes and carts. It turned toward the burly man, fury glittering in its golden eyes. The burly man let out a squeal and bolted back the way he’d come. Nick hesitated only a heartbeat before letting him go. They couldn’t risk their lives for answers right now. They had to get back to the ranch and protect what mattered most.

“Come on, Noah!” Nick barked, grabbing his son’s arm. They dove into the bushes as the wyvern leapt forward in pursuit of the fleeing man. Noah glanced back just in time to see the monstrous silhouette loping after its former captor, each heavy footfall shaking the forest floor.

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High above the canopy, Beka guided Celeste in a wide arc, searching for signs of Nick and Noah. The night sky, crisp and starlit, gave her a broader view than the forest floor would allow. From this vantage, she spotted flashes of light shimmering through the leaves—star fragments or unicorn magic, it was impossible to tell. Her heart lurched. Wherever that magic came from, it was close to where Nick and Noah might be.

“There,” Beka whispered, pointing down. Celeste dipped a wing and descended gracefully. The crisp air whooshed past them, stinging Beka’s cheeks. On any other night, a flight atop a winged unicorn would be enchanting. Tonight, it was tainted by fear and urgency. The Ember Hollows canopy was too thick to penetrate, forcing them to land on the outskirts near the ranch.

Beka slid off Celeste and clutched the unicorn’s muzzle. “Guard this path,” she said, voice trembling despite herself. “You saved my daughter once today—be ready to protect my family again.” Celeste nodded, snorting gently, her horn casting a serene glow over the tall meadow grass.

Beka turned and ran for the ranch. Every step felt heavy with dread. Would Nick and Noah be there waiting, safe and sound?

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Ariel limped through the meadow, following Zed’s gentle urging. Every ache in her body complained, but Zed’s unwavering spirit pushed her on. “All right, all right,” she muttered, “I’m coming.” She missed the softness of the barn’s hay, the warmth of home. Instead, they had the faint moonlight and distant cries echoing off the hills.

As they reached the meadow bridge, Ariel spotted Celeste’s glow at the ranch’s edge. Zed nickered eagerly, pawing the ground, encouraging Ariel to hurry. She forced her legs to run, despite the pain, drawn by that comforting light of home and hope.

Upon reaching the outskirts of the ranch, Ariel found Celeste standing guard, eyes fixed on the dark path leading into the forest. “What is she doing?” Ariel murmured, scanning the surroundings. “And where’s Mom?”

Just then, Beka burst from the barn, frantic. “They’re not here!” she shouted. Celeste whinnied, turning to Beka, and at that moment Ariel tried to call out, “Mom!” But the sound was lost beneath the sudden roar erupting from the Ember Hollows trail.

A thornpaw tore out of the trees at breakneck speed, a heavy wagon dragging behind it. The wagon’s occupant—a wyvern groggily waking—thrashed inside. Beka spun, eyes widening. Celeste’s horn flared bright, sending a stunning beam of pure white magic straight at the thornpaw, felling it instantly. The thornpaw collapsed, and the wagon, still barreling forward with its own momentum, crashed into the stunned beast. The impact was violent—wood splintering, ropes snapping. The wyvern tumbled free, shrieking in fury and confusion.

The wagon slammed into Celeste, knocking her from her hooves with a heartbreaking whinny. Ariel screamed in terror as Celeste fell, horn’s light flickering. Zed trembled beside Ariel, uncertain, frightened. The wyvern righted itself, stumbling awkwardly on a wounded limb. Its amber eyes shone with hatred and pain.

Ariel could hear Beka shouting from the other side of the wagon wreckage, “RUN, ARIEL, RUN!” The wyvern’s head jerked up at the sound, seeing prey on both sides now: Beka on one side, Ariel and Zed on the other. It hissed, tail lashing, pinned between them and the stone barn. With nowhere to go, it lowered itself into a predatory crouch, ready to unleash its fury on whichever target made the first move.

Ariel’s heart hammered in her chest. Zed snorted, stepping closer to her. In that moment, fear, pain, and desperation swirled inside Ariel. She saw her mother behind the wyvern, saw the ranch that held their family’s legacy, and thought of her father and brother somewhere in that cursed forest. Everything was at stake.

The wyvern’s growl deepened. It chose its quarry, turning toward the smaller, weaker-looking pair—Ariel and Zed. It would strike soon.

End of Chapter 8