Night had settled over Dakiya Forest, cloaking us in darkness. The trees lood high above, their branches swaying gently in the breeze, casting shifting shadows on the ground. Every rustle of leaves and snap of twigs sent a shiver down my spine, reminding that we were not alone in this wilderness.
Dinner was a ager affair—just jerky and bread. We couldn’t risk a fire; its light and warmth would only serve as a beacon to the monsters lurking in the forest’s depths. The cold was biting, but we had no choice. After our silent al, we spread a blanket over the floor of the carriage, creating a makeshift bed. Chris and I laid down, trying to find comfort on the hard surface, while Father sat at the door. His hand gripped Pride’s leash firmly.
I squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to sleep, but every sound seed magnified in the silence of the forest. The occasional distant howl or the soft rustle of leaves made it impossible to relax. My mind was a whirlwind of thoughts and anxieties, and it was clear that sleep would not co easily tonight. After what felt like hours of restless turning, I finally gave up. Slowly, I rose from the blanket, careful not to wake Chris, and moved to where Father sat.
He glanced at as I approached, his eyes sharp and alert despite the darkness. "Will, why are you still awake?" he asked, his voice low but steady, a stark contrast to the eerie noises surrounding us.
"I can’t sleep," I admitted, sitting down beside him. The forest seed even more foreboding from this vantage point, the trees stretching like dark sentinels into the night sky. "I thought maybe if I stayed here with you, I might get drowsy. Then you could rest for a while."
Father’s eyes never left the surrounding darkness. "No," he said firmly. "I won’t sleep tonight. I need to keep watch. This place isn’t like the grassy plains where we rested before. It’s dangerous."
His words sent a chill down my spine. I knew he was right, but the thought of him staying awake all night alone, without even a mont’s rest, unsettled . "That’s why I said I’ll take watch," I argued softly, my voice almost a whisper against the rustling leaves. "Just for an hour. You need to sleep, even if it’s just a little."
He turned to , his expression unreadable in the dim light. "No, this place is dangerous even for you," he replied, his voice carrying an edge of finality.
I wanted to argue more, but I knew it would be useless. Father was as stubborn as they ca, especially when it ca to our safety. "Then I’ll just keep you company until I feel drowsy," I said, resigning myself to sitting with him. At least this way, he wouldn’t be alone.
"Yeah, do that," he agreed, his gaze returning to the dark expanse of the forest.
We sat in silence, the minutes stretching into what felt like hours. The forest around us was alive with sounds—the distant hoot of an owl, the rustle of small creatures scurrying through the underbrush, and the ever-present whisper of the wind through the leaves. Despite the unease that hung in the air, there was sothing almost peaceful about sitting there with Father, sharing the quiet of the night.
Eventually, a question that had been gnawing at the back of my mind ca to the surface. I hesitated, not wanting to disturb the fragile calm we had found, but my curiosity got the better of . "Father," I began, my voice barely more than a whisper, "are the monsters in this forest weaker than the ones you fought on the battlefield?"
He glanced at , a slight frown creasing his brow as if weighing my question. "Yeah," he said after a mont. "They’re weaker. I can kill them with just one spell."
"What’s the difference between the monsters here and the ones on the battlefield?" I pressed, needing to understand what made them so different.
Father sighed, his gaze turning distant as if he were seeing sothing far away. "The monsters on the battlefield were five tis stronger than those here," he explained, his voice tinged with a mix of weariness and resolve. "Their physical and magical traits were boosted by the demons."
I shivered at the thought. It was one thing to imagine facing creatures like the ones in this forest, but sothing entirely different to picture ones made even more fearso by dark magic. "Why do the demons make them stronger?" I asked, trying to keep my voice steady despite the fear curling in my stomach.
"Because they’re trying to overwhelm us," Father replied simply. His eyes had hardened, a flicker of sothing cold and unyielding passing through them—mories of battles I couldn’t even begin to fathom. "They use the monsters as weapons, to break through our defenses and cause chaos."
A heavy silence settled between us again, the weight of his words sinking in. I was lost in thought, trying to process the reality of what he faced on the battlefield, when he spoke again, his tone softer this ti. "Now that I’ve answered your questions, it’s my turn to ask you sothing."
I felt a jolt of apprehension at his words. "Okay," I replied cautiously, sensing there was sothing he had been holding back, sothing he needed to know.
"Will, what really happened while I was at the capital?" he asked, his voice quiet but firm.
The question hung in the air between us, heavy and unavoidable. My heart skipped a beat. Father didn’t know the full story of what occurred during his absence. We had chosen to keep it from him, not wanting to reopen wounds that had barely begun to heal. All we had told him was that Uncle Philip had been sent to the capital after suffering a trauma from the battlefield.
"I know sothing happened," Father continued, his voice strained with the weight of unasked questions. "But you all refuse to tell . I thought you didn’t trust or find reliable enough to help. But I want to know what happened so I can understand and maybe help in so way."
Guilt washed over . He had every right to know, yet we had hidden it to protect him and ourselves from the painful past. Seeing the sadness and concern in his eyes now, I realized how much it had hurt him to be kept in the dark.
"No, it’s not that," I said quickly, feeling the need to reassure him. "You’re a really reliable father. We just didn’t want to bring it up again. But... maybe I can tell you now since it’s just the two of us here. Just promise you won’t tell them I told you."
He sighed, a mix of relief and sadness in his eyes. "Will, thank you for trusting ," he said, his voice gentle.
Taking a deep breath, I began recounting everything that had happened while he was gone. The words tumbled out, each one dredging up mories I had tried to bury. I told him about the argunts, the fear that gripped our household, and the mont I decided to step in when Uncle Philip beca a threat. Father listened intently, his face a canvas of emotions—shock, anger, sorrow—as he learned the full extent of what we had endured.
"So while I was at the capital, you were going through all that," he said quietly when I finished, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there to help you."
"No, it’s not your fault," I insisted, feeling the need to absolve him of any bla. "What I did was out of pure selfishness. If I got hurt, it would’ve been my own fault."
Father shook his head, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that made my breath catch. "No, what you did was the right thing," he said, his voice steady and sure. "If I had been in your position, I would’ve done the sa. Your mother might see it differently, but to , you did the right thing. You protected Chris and stopped Philip before he could do sothing irreversible. Be proud of yourself."
He reached out and placed a hand on my head, his touch warm and reassuring. Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring my vision. I hadn’t realized how much I needed to hear those words, how much I needed to be understood and validated. The weight I had been carrying alone felt lighter now, shared in that mont with my father who saw and acknowledged the choices I had made.
"You did a good job," he said, his voice softening as he pulled into a hug. "I’m sorry I wasn’t there to take your side. From now on, if you have a problem, co to . I’ll do my best to help you, as long as I’m not on the battlefield, okay?"
"Yeah," I managed to choke out, my voice thick with emotion. "Thank you, Father."
I buried my face in his shoulder, letting the tears flow freely. His arms around were strong and comforting, a barrier against the darkness of the forest and the fears that still lingered in my mind. In that mont, all the uncertainty and doubt I had felt seed to lt away, replaced by a warmth and reassurance that I hadn’t realized how much I had missed.
In my mind, I offered a silent thanks to whatever higher power had given such a father. His words and his embrace were all I needed to know that I wasn’t alone, that no matter what happened, I had soone who understood and supported .
After a while, we simply sat there, side by side, the silence around us no longer filled with the threatening noises of the forest but instead with a comforting sense of peace. I knew there would be more challenges ahead, but for now, this was enough. This mont, sitting here with Father, was enough to make believe that everything would be okay.
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