The hunter's words hung heavy in the evening air, a chilling counterpoint to the crackling fire. Strange lights, flickering and moving upstream, where the torn fabric and painted wood fragment had come from. The villagers gathered near the fire pit, their faces pale in the firelight, their eyes wide with apprehension. The weight of the unknown pressed down, heavy and suffocating.
Kaelen's voice cut through the murmuring, sharp and commanding. "Describe them again," he instructed the hunter. "The lights. How many? How bright? How did they move?"
The hunter, a man named Jorik, recounted what he had seen, his voice steady despite the fear in his eyes. "Not many, Chief. Perhaps… four? Five?" He held up fingers. "They were bright. Brighter than the glowing plants. Like… like small fires, carried." He mimed holding a torch. "And they moved. Slowly, through the trees, near the riverbank. Like someone walking with them."
Discussion erupted among the villagers, a mix of fear and speculation. Were they the people whose symbol was on the wood? Were they searching again? Or were they something else entirely? Whispers of forest spirits, of creatures that could carry fire, of the Old Ones and their mysterious power, circulated through the crowd. The forest at night was a place of shadows and unknowns, and these moving lights added a new, terrifying element to its darkness.
Kaelen listened intently, his gaze fixed on the dark edge of the forest upstream. He needed to make a decision, and quickly. Sending a large group out at night was risky. Leaving the village with fewer defenders was also risky. But ignoring the lights, allowing a potential threat to operate unseen so close to their home, was perhaps the greatest risk of all.
He consulted with the elders in low tones, their faces serious in the firelight. Elias sat with them, listening, his mind racing. Torches. Moving lights carried by people. On Earth, this would indicate a group moving through the darkness, perhaps searching, perhaps traveling. It fit with the idea of the outsiders Lyra's group had observed.
He spoke up, addressing Kaelen. "Lights… carried," he said, using the words Jorik had used. "By… people?" He gestured, mimicking someone walking and holding a light. "Like… the ones who searched?" He pointed in the direction of the upstream area where the footprints and disturbed earth had been found.
Kaelen looked at Elias, then back at the elders. The child's simple interpretation, linking the lights to the searching outsiders, was a logical one. It felt more probable than spirits or fire-carrying beasts.
The decision was made to send another observation group, smaller and even more stealthy than the previous one. Their mission remained the same: observe, gather information, do not engage. Lyra, despite having just returned from the previous mission, volunteered to lead again. Her skill in stealth was unmatched. Finn, his face grim but determined, would go with her. Two other experienced hunters, known for their ability to move silently in the dark, completed the group.
Preparations were swift and silent. The chosen hunters gathered their gear – dark clothing, sharpened knives, bows and arrows. They moved with a quiet urgency, the weight of the village's safety resting on their shoulders. Farewells were exchanged in hushed tones, quick embraces, silent nods.
As the Moon-Twins climbed higher in the sky, casting an ethereal glow over the clearing, Lyra and her small group slipped out of the village entrance, melting into the shadows beneath the towering trees. They moved with practiced silence, their footsteps making barely a sound on the leaf-strewn ground. The village was left behind, its people waiting, listening, their senses heightened.
The remaining villagers returned to their huts, but sleep was elusive for many. The sounds of the forest at night, usually a familiar backdrop, now seemed filled with unseen movements and potential threats. The dark metal panel by the entrance stood sentinel, its smooth, dark surface absorbing the faint moonlight, a silent, enigmatic guardian against the unknown.
Meanwhile, Lyra and her observation group moved through the forest with practiced stealth. They followed the riverbank, using the natural cover of the trees and undergrowth. The forest at night was a different world, filled with the calls of nocturnal creatures and the rustling of unseen things. Lyra led them with an almost supernatural sense of direction, navigating the darkness with confidence.
As they neared the area where the lights had been reported, they slowed their pace, moving with even greater caution. Lyra signaled for them to spread out, moving parallel to the riverbank, using the dense foliage for concealment. They communicated with silent hand signals, their eyes constantly scanning the darkness ahead.
They began to see the lights through the trees – faint flickers of orange and yellow, moving slowly, deliberately. They were still some distance away, but the sight sent a shiver of apprehension through the hunters. These were not natural lights. They were clearly fire, carried or controlled by someone.
Lyra signaled for the group to halt. They hunkered down in the undergrowth, their bodies pressed against the damp earth, becoming one with the shadows. They watched the lights, their senses straining to pick up any sounds – voices, movements, the clatter of tools.
Slowly, cautiously, they crept closer, using every available piece of cover. The lights became clearer, resolving into the glow of torches. They could now make out figures moving around the torches, shapes moving through the trees near the riverbank. There were perhaps a dozen or more individuals, their forms indistinct in the flickering light.
Lyra signaled to her group, conveying their number and position. They were clearly not Zarthus's tribe; their movements and the nature of their lights were different. They were the people whose symbol was on the painted wood fragment, or perhaps another unknown group entirely.
The observation group remained hidden, watching the figures by the torches. They could hear faint sounds now – the crackling of the torches, the rustle of movement, and occasionally, low voices speaking in a language they didn't understand. It was not the language of their village, nor the melodic tongue of Zarthus's tribe. It was a new language, alien and unfamiliar.
They watched for a long time, observing the figures' activities. They seemed to be searching for something near the riverbank, moving the torches low to the ground, examining the earth and the water's edge. They occasionally pointed to something, speaking in their foreign tongue. They didn't appear to be setting up a camp, or hunting, or gathering resources in the way the villagers did. Their activity seemed focused, purposeful, and centered on the river.
Lyra and her group remained hidden until the first hint of dawn began to lighten the sky. The figures with the torches gathered together, extinguished the lights, and then moved away from the riverbank, deeper into the forest, disappearing as silently as they had appeared.
Lyra signaled to her group. They waited for a time, ensuring the other group was truly gone, before cautiously emerging from their hiding places. They moved to the area where the figures had been, examining the ground in the growing light. They found footprints, larger than their own, and the marks where the torches had been placed. They also found signs that the earth had been disturbed in places, small areas where the soil had been dug up and then replaced. They found no other artifacts, no clues as to what the figures had been searching for.
The observation group began their journey back to the village, moving quickly now that the stealth of night was no longer necessary. They carried with them the knowledge of what they had seen – strange lights, unknown people, a different language, and signs of searching near the river. The mystery of the torn fabric and the painted wood fragment had deepened, connected now to a group of outsiders who moved in the dark and searched the earth by torchlight.