Chapter 2: The Hills of Trepidation

~Eira

The wind tore through the Hills of Trepidation, lifting the edges of my cloak, whispering warnings I no longer cared to heed. The horse beneath me shifted restlessly, her hooves crunching over brittle, frostbitten ground, but I didn’t stop riding. Not for the cold. Not for the ache in my bones. Not even for the sob locked in the back of my throat like a secret I refused to voice.

Beyond the borders of Obsidian, the world looked like it had been scorched by time itself. The sky hung dry and brittle above me, the color of bleached stone. No clouds, no breeze, no softness. The earth was cracked and hostile beneath my boots, and each step of my horse’s hooves sent up small puffs of ash-gray dust.

I passed the remains of trees that looked more like claws than branches. Scattered bones littered the edges of hills—some the size of rabbits, others the size of men. The deeper I rode, the more the silence thickened around me, like the world had forgotten how to speak.

“I hope you weren’t expecting a meadow,” I murmured to my horse, patting her flank gently. “Because this… this is a graveyard in disguise.”

She snorted, ears flicking back, but said nothing—as horses are known to do.

Still, I kept talking. Not for her, really. For me. For my own sanity.

The land around us was endless—one hill after another, each one just like the last. Narrow. Harsh. Devoid of life. Creatures watched us from the edges of rocks and ridges, just at the edge of sight—shapes with too many limbs or eyes that glowed faintly. But every time I turned to look, they vanished.

“Curious little beasts,” I whispered. “Can’t say I blame them.”

Hours passed. The sun hung in the sky like a forgotten coin, casting no warmth. Sweat dried on my skin in seconds. My lips were cracked. My throat, sandpaper. I reached for my waterskin only to find it empty.

Wonderful.

My horse had begun to slow, her legs trembling beneath her. I dismounted and walked beside her, one hand gripping the reins, the other shielding my eyes from the sun’s glare.

“Don’t worry,” I said hoarsely. “We’ll find something soon. Maybe water. Maybe shelter. Maybe a damn puddle.”

She didn’t respond.

Of course not. Why would she? If she did then I’d agree that I’d finally lost my mind.

By dusk, the air had turned sharp and cruel. The temperature dropped fast, and my breath fogged in front of me. My hands, numbed by cold, trembled as I pulled my cloak tighter. Above us, the moon rose heavy and low, golden and watching. It cast a pale glow over the hills, turning the dead land into something almost spectral.

“We’re not dying out here,” I told her. “You hear me? I didn’t get banished just to freeze in the dirt.”

She shook her mane but kept walking, though slower now. Her steps faltered.

That’s when I saw it.

A shadow in the side of a hill—wide and jagged. A cave.

Relief surged through me like a rush of warm blood.

“There,” I breathed. “Come on. Just a little farther.”

The cave’s mouth was jagged, surrounded by black stone like broken teeth. But it was deep enough to shield us from the cold and the wind.

I tied the horse to a low rock near the entrance and let her rest. There was no firewood, no food, and no water. Just stone. Just silence. But it was enough.

I sat near the mouth of the cave with my back against the wall, pulling my knees up to my chest. The silence wasn’t peaceful—it breathed. Moved. Stretched.

“I’ll find something tomorrow,” I murmured. “A stream, a village, a miracle. Something.”

The horse made a soft, weary sound, as if agreeing.

My eyelids drifted shut, just for a moment.

A sound woke me.

Soft. Subtle. But wrong.

I opened my eyes. The moonlight didn’t reach the back of the cave. Only shadow. But in that shadow, I saw them.

Eyes.

Red. Glowing. Dozens.

They blinked slowly, without rhythm, without reason. Watching. Waiting.

My breath caught in my throat.

I stood slowly, heart pounding against my ribs.

“Easy,” I whispered to the horse. “Easy now.”

She was frozen in place, nostrils flaring, her eyes wide with instinctive fear.

I moved to untie her reins, my fingers fumbling with the knot. My eyes never left the darkness.

The creatures didn’t move.

Yet.

I gripped the reins and led her backward, step by cautious step.

Don’t run.

Don’t turn your back.

Don’t blink.

Then—

The shadows surged.

No warning. No sound. Just movement.

They poured from the back of the cave like smoke with claws. Skinless things wearing bone masks, their bodies twisted, their breath wheezing like broken flutes.

I recognized them. They were Wyrmfangs. Blood sucking creatures that always attack their prey in packs. They were capable of bringing down even the strongest adversary by the might of their numbers. Learning about them in school was nice and all but seeing them charging at me was a different feeling entirely.

My horse reared with a panicked scream.

And then they lunged for us.