Shadows of the crown

chapter 3: The whispers of Shadows

The wind howled through the trees, carrying upon it a biting chill that seemed to crawl under Evans's armor and burrow deep into his bones. The sudden disappearance of the cloaked figure had left the camp silent, but tension hung in the air like a thick fog. Each man stood still, staring into the darkness as if he expected the figure to reappear any minute.

Evans's heart still racing, he stared at the place where the mysterious figure vanished. His mind was a tumble of questions, none of which had easy answers: Who was this stranger? How did he know about the crown? Most terrifyingly of all, what did it mean that the crown was awake?

Jorin spoke first, his voice low, but urgent. "We need to move. If the crown knows that we're coming, it's too dangerous to stay here."

Evans nodded, forcing himself to focus. "You're right. We'll rest for a few hours, leave at first light. But we need to be ready for anything."

Jorin's face darkened, looking around at the soldiers, still standing at full attention, once more on high alert. He had fought with these men for years, and he trusted their skill, but even they looked uneasy since the confrontation with this strange figure. Whatever happened, it wasn't something blades could fight.

"I'll take the first watch," Jorin said, stepping away from the fire and toward the treeline. "We can't afford to be caught off guard again."

He watched him go, a great surge of gratitude towards his friend's steadfast presence. Jorin had been there, was there, through Evans's darkest hours. But now, more than ever, he needed that stability. Yet somehow, deep in his bones, he knew this trip was one thing even Jorin couldn't keep him safe from.

As night wore on, Evans was quite unable to sleep. He lay on the hard ground, his mind racing as replays of the events of the past day played over and over in his mind. His father's face flickered before his eyes, twisted and hollow with the very power Evans was now trying to destroy. It sent a chill down his spine. He'd always thought his father's madness was a result of a gradual, slow decent-the kind that took years to manifest. But this stranger's warning spoke of something far worse: the crown itself knew of them, watched them, and perhaps even influenced their path.

Was it alive somehow, the crown, in some weird kind of way? Was it not only an object of power but life, feeding off the wearer's mind until they were nothing more than a puppet?

The thought sent a chill running through Evans's blood.

Unable to lie still any longer, Evans quietly got up from his bedroll and moved to the edge of the camp. The fire had burned low, and only faint shadows danced on the ground. Jorin was standing nearby, his back to Evans, staring out at the darkness beyond camp. Evans moved quietly, not wanting to disturb his friend, but Jorin spoke before he could utter a word.

"You couldn't sleep either, could you?"

Evans shook his head though Jorin wasn't looking at him. "No. Too much on my mind."

Jorin nodded, eyes scanning the trees. "Been thinking about that figure. what they said. Do you believe them? That the crown knows we're coming?"

Evans hesitated. The rational part of his brain wanted to dismiss it as a scare tactic-a way to get them off their mission. But there had been something in the figure's voice, in the presence itself, that was just too real to ignore.

"I don't know," Evans replied, his voice low. "But I think we need to assume the worst, just in case. We have seen what the crown has been able to do so far. If it really has some sort of. awareness, then we'll be even more prepared than before."

Jorin turned to him with a grim look upon his face. "And if it does? If the crown knows we are coming, what will we do then?

Evans swallowed, his mouth dry. "We press on. We have no choice."

Jorin nodded slowly, but the tension between them spoke volumes. They knew whatever waited for them in the Black Mountains was way beyond their understanding. And yet, they had to continue. The fate of the kingdom-and perhaps their very lives-depended upon it.

As Evans stared out into the night, the weight of the crown's legacy weighed on him heavier than it ever had. It wasn't just some journey of destruction to be wrought on a cursed artifact; it was to face the darkness that had plagued his family for generations. And he couldn't shake the feeling now that somehow he was already falling under the crown's influence, being drawn to its source in the same way his father had been.

The hours crawled by, and slowly the first light of morning began to seep through the trees. The mist still clung to the earth, swirling around the hooves of the horses as the group prepared to set out once more. Evans mounted in silence, his mind still clouded with doubt. But he pushed those thoughts aside. There was no turning back now.

The path through the Black Mountains was rough and dangerous, twisting along precipitous cliffs and crags. The air grew steadily colder, and the mist was thickening with every passing hour, until it was impossible to see anything a few feet away from them. The soldiers rode silently and tensely, peering into the shadows for some sign of danger. Even Jorin, normally so placid and unruffled, appeared ill at ease.

The closer they drew to the heart of the mountains, the stronger Evans could feel the crown's presence. It was as if the air itself was charged by its dark energy, prickling his skin and filling his mind with whispers he couldn't quite understand. He tried to shake them off, focusing on the path ahead, but the whispers grew louder, more insistent.

Then, a shrill scream tore through the fog, shredding the silence like a razor. A soldier who was riding at the rear of the procession was flung off his horse. His body landed with a dull thud on the earth, and it was as if time just stood still for one instant.

"Ambush!" Jorin yelled, unsheathing his sword-the other soldiers racing to take up a defensive position.

Evans's heart was racing as he dismounted, his hand going instinctively to the hilt of his sword. He looked around into the mist, trying to see from where the attack was coming, but there was nothing except shifting shadows.

And then, they emerged.

Figures in identical black robes as the one from the night before, began to take form out of the fog. The faces were hidden, moving with an uncanny quiet; their eyes shone bright with a light not of this world. Too many to count, Evans thought, moving in huge bounds at a race not human to close them in like wolves around their prey.

They were vastly outnumbered and fought valiantly, though soon they became overwhelmed. One by one, they each fell to the shadowy figures, their cries echoing through the mountains. Evans swung his sword in the air as he tried to fend off the attackers; it was like fighting shadows because each strike seemed to pass through them, as if they weren't entirely real.

"Fall back!" Jorin yelled, but there was no place to go. They were hemmed in on all sides.

Evans's head spun as he fought to hold off their attackers. The whispers of the crown were louder now, almost deafening, and for the first time he could make out the words.

"Come to me," the voice whispered, cold and seductive. "You cannot fight the darkness. Embrace it. Let it consume you."

The weight of the voice hit Evans like some physical force, crushing the last resistance from his mind. Doubts swarmed in. He could feel the cold darkness creeping in, damp, wrapping itself around him like some shroud. How easy it would be to give in, to let the crown take him as it had taken his father.

Then, through the haze of shadows and whispers, he heard a voice—Jorin's voice.

"Evans! Fight it!"

Evans shook his head, his sight focusing for a moment on Jorin standing beside him, his sword raised, eyes burning with a fierce determination.

"You are stronger than this," Jorin yelled. "Do not let it win!"

At this, a surge of will saw Evans push the whispers back, forcing the crown's influence to fall back to the darker edges of his mind. He gripped his sword tightly, standing firm with Jorin as the shadowy forms closed once more.

But it was far from over.

The voice of the crown was still there, back-of-the-mind quiet, just waiting for the instant he let his guard down.