What secrets lie within

Chapter III A Vow of Steel and Shadows

Galaeth's boots struck the loam with rhythmic thuds, each step an echo of her racing heart. Her lungs heaved in protest as she darted through the dense underbrush, the forest closing behind her like a curtain of green oblivion. Sunlight pierced the canopy in stabbing shafts, casting a kaleidoscope of shadows that flickered across Galaeth's path. The dappled light played tricks on her vision, but she did not slow her pace. If anything, it spurred her on, the chiaroscuro landscape a mirror to her tumultuous thoughts. Leaves crunched underfoot as she hastened through the dim forest, her breaths coming in short bursts that fogged in the chill morning air. The clearing, where she'd honed her abilities in solitude, lay behind her, swallowed by the creeping shadows of towering pines.

A nervous energy hummed beneath her skin, an echo of the power she wielded during solitary practice—power she now reined in, though it yearned for release. She darted between trees, scales on her forearms catching the sparse sunlight, shimmering briefly before vanishing into the gloom once more. Her auburn hair, pulled back into a tight braid, swung heavily across her back with each hurried step.

She cast a glance over her shoulder, where Vizeren's presence had been a comforting shadow just moments before. Now there was only the whispering of leaves to accompany her solitude. She could still feel the residue of his void energy on her skin, his watchful gaze following her from a distance. With every stride, Galaeth pushed her lithe body faster, muscles taut with determination. The scales on her arms caught what little light filtered down, casting prismatic patterns onto the dark soil. The canopy above swallowed her figure, cloaking her in a mosaic of sunlight and shade as she moved with purposeful grace.

Galaeth's limbs protested with a symphony of aches, each step an echo of the relentless dance from the morning's combat training. Her flesh glistened, pearlescent scales mingling with sweat, catching errant beams of light that sliced through the brooding forest. She propelled herself faster, the sting of exertion a familiar burn that tethered her to reality. Her training had honed her body into an instrument of lethal poise, but it was not for sport or glory that she trained—it was for Sera, her adoptive sister.

She could not shake the vision of Elowen, her Sera, in the clutches of merciless bandits. The report had come to her with the cold certainty of death: a caravan ambushed, signs of struggle, and Elowen's unmistakable silver pendant left behind in the dirt—a silent scream in the chaos. All trails led to the slave traders, Arwin's minions, who thrived in shadows and dealt in human misery.

The debt she owed Sir Aldric weighed heavily on her heart. It was he who found her, a lost wraith amongst the leaves, and gave her a purpose, a family. She could not, would not, fail him.

She propelled herself faster, the sting of exertion a familiar burn that tethered her to reality. With every labored breath, fragments of Galaeth's past clawed at the edges of her consciousness. Whispers of who she was before—shards that never quite pieced together into a whole. They haunted her like specters, elusive and distorted, nipping at her heels with gnarled fingers of doubt.

"Keep moving," she hissed, the words expelled with force, as if they could sever the tendrils of memory. A shudder ran through her slender frame, a battle within against the onslaught of recollection that threatened to engulf her. A glint of sunlight caught her gaze, reflected in the pool of a nearby stream, her own eyes looking back at her—a cruel reminder of the reflection she scarcely recognized. Eyes that shifted color with the tumult of her soul now a piercing grey, mirroring the storm clouds overhead.

"Who are you?" The question slipped from her lips, barely audible over the rustling leaves. It hung in the air, unanswered, dissipating into the encroaching gloom.

Galaeth's breath hitched, sharp and ragged as the memory sliced through her consciousness. The chaos of battle erupted within her mind's eye—a cacophony of clashing steel and guttural cries that mingled with the scents of blood and churned earth. She stumbled, her pace momentarily broken by the vivid recollection of the day that had unveiled her curse—or gift, she could scarcely decide which.