It had felt like a whisper to Barry. A soft little voice in his ear that had been speaking to him suddenly went quiet. It had barely been felt at the time, but it had been preceded by pain.

They’d been walking across the forest, and Barry had suddenly felt a stabbing pain and… something else. He’d seen it, a road, dirt, a sky, someone in armor. Pain, so much pain. His eyes widened in realization of what he was experiencing, his steps stumbling against a root as he clenched at his throat.

“They’re dying!”

The proclamation was loud and clear, and instantly the others stopped. Lady Dagmar turned to look at him with a scowl, while Lala had been the first to reach his side. Her hands glowed and the pain began to numb. But Barry’s mind was swirling with confusion and agony, neither of which were his own.

“They’re dying.”

“Who?”

“The others.” He stated, holding his head, trying to hold back the fear and panic that was pouring into him like a waterfall. “They’re dying. There’s a road, forest, and… some people in armor, screaming…”

It was so much information, all of it hyper-loaded with emotion. With sensation. As if someone was trying to shove everything they were feeling into his brain. They were dying, and they were desperately clenching at anything they could grasp. And the bond was right there for them to hold.

“They’re dying.”

His words bounced within the dark forest.

He was kneeling beside a tree that was taller and larger than any skyscraper he’d ever seen. He should be nervous, awed, afraid. Instead he was in pain, his thoughts suddenly somewhere else entirely.

“They must have been ambushed.” Dagmar declared.

“We have to help.” Barry pulled himself to his feet with Lala’s help, face pale and his brow drenched in cold sweat. “They need help.”

The elder maiden, the Warlock, looked at him and shook her head. “There is nothing to be done. We are too far, even if we hurried, we would not get there in time to matter. What of my daughter? What of Lady Embla?”

“She’s…” Barry scowled. “She’s alive, but I can’t tell much else. She’s angry.”

“She will do what’s necessary.” Dagmar nodded. “Let us not wait. The grove is near.”

“But-.”

“You are needed here, Barry.” The tone was scolding, her brows snapping together.

“My Lady.” Lala quickly spoke up, keeping her hand on Barry. “We should not rush him. If some of our sisters are dying, then the bond…”

Dagmar barely gave a nod, signaling they were stopping for the time being. Not that Barry was paying much attention, he was leaning against the tree and clutching at his chest. The memories of the feral in the hole came back to him and this… this felt different, muted, it wasn’t as raw and visceral. He could vaguely sense what was going on, but it wasn’t as if he were within their skin.

Instead, it was as if he stood besides them as they died.

He could not see their eyes, or hear their voices. Their thoughts were no more than fear, pain, and darkness.

Barry heaved, knuckles turning white. He couldn’t tell what their names were, or rather, he wasn’t sure who was who. It was a jumble. Was it because of the distance? Because he hadn’t gotten to connect with them as he had Embla? What did that say about the feral he’d been bonded to for more than a day in a hole?

He could only weather it out and wait, his heart beating a mile a minute and his gut full of rocks. They were dying, and all he could do was watch. He couldn’t even figure out how or why. A road, knights, fighting, anger.

“I should be with them.” He whispered under his breath, his cheeks were wet.

The only one to react was Lala, drying his face with her sleeve and holding his shoulder, giving what little support she could provide.

It took an hour, probably less, before the last of the maidens had passed away.

Only then did Barry’s senses allow him to turn back to the forest. The mammoth trees that towered over them, the roots large enough to be carved and allow houses to be built within. Everything about the place felt eternal in a way that the mind refused to comprehend or conceptualize properly.

“I… I think it's finished, it’s over.”

“Then we move.” Dagmar declared, turning forward and pressing on. For a maiden that looked one strong gust of air away from toppling over, she set a remarkably hard pace.

There were so many questions Barry felt bubbling in the back of his mind. What had happened to the maidens? Why had they died? Was there an attack? Dagmar and the escort looked remarkably calm about the whole thing. Lala, on the other hand, had grown pale and tense, her hand holding his tight as they continued their march through the umbra of the forest.

Even though it was midday, they’d summoned some orbs of light to ensure their paths were clear. The roots presented treacherous terrain, some hiding holes one could fall through and vanish into whatever lay beneath.

Barry remembered hiding in one such hole. The ferals, Mark, and…

With a sigh, he focused on his shadow. Orion was there, but she was tense, far more than the others.

“We are here.” Dagmar declared out of the blue. “Do not speak. The only reason we are alive is that they know of me.”

Barry had been about to ask who ‘they’ were, when one of the guards pointed upwards.

All eyes rose to the massive branch a hundred meters off the ground. Upon it was a woman, no, a maiden. Her skin was a pale moonlight pale, her hair obsidian black. She wore a simple green toga, and upon her hand was a bow that was almost twice her height. On her hand was an arrow that looked closer to a spear.

“They are the guardians of the grove. Show them their due respect. Any weapons you may carry, leave them here. Do not raise your heads until I instruct you to.”

Dagmar moved slowly, lowering her head and kneeling. She became still as her forehead touched the ground. The others were soon to follow, hesitant, they put down their swords, spears, shields, and bows. Leaving them on the ground.

Barry was without a weapon, but he was the last from the ground to lower his head.

Silence followed, and none moved.

There was a soft breeze, and the sound of ruffling.

“Move slowly, do not reach for your weapons, do not attempt to fight, do not say a word. Break this and you will die. Raise.”

Obliging, Barry raised, and froze.

There were hundreds of them.

On the branches. On the roots, all around them, some barely a handful meters away. At least fifty maidens that looked very nearly exactly the same if not because some of them were shorter or taller, their clothes slightly different here and there. Each of them was armed with the same kind of massive bow and spear-like arrows.

A hundred black eyes staring at them in deathly silence.

One of the guards screamed in shock.

Barry hadn’t even seen what happened next.

One moment the maiden had been standing there, shocked.

The next she was gone.

There’d been a heavy sound slightly behind him. Barry, slowly, turned. The maiden was there, pinned to the tree, a dozen arrows piercing her body. Dead so fast none had even registered it, perhaps not even the maiden. There hadn’t even been so much as a whistling sound.

Just silent brutal death.

He looked back at the maidens wielding bows, each of them holding the weapon at the ready, the arrows aimed at them. Barry felt himself starting to tremble and sweat.

“They are feral.” Dagmar hissed, raising her hands, exposing the white lines marking her body. “But even in insanity, they protect the grove. No threats, however minor, are tolerated. The only reason we are still alive is that they recognize me as a friend.”

The closest of the ferals approached, bow still at the ready even as she stared at the white lines running through Dagmar’s skin. The seconds ticked by in silence, Barry noticed the maiden’s eyes were unfocused, as if she were not really looking at anything and merely staring into infinity.

As if none of them were really there.

After what felt like an eternity, she lowered her bow. So did the others.

One by one, the protectors walked away, vanishing between the trees like they were nothing but an illusion. One by one they were gone from sight, but Barry knew better. The quiet lumbering forest suddenly had eyes and threats around every corner in ways he couldn’t have imagined even in his worst nightmare.

All of them, but one.

The maiden turned, walking slowly but purposely.

“We follow.” Dagmar declared. “Do not pick your weapons, do not make sudden movements. If you trip, stay on the ground, do not stand until I tell you.”

“Are… are they elves?”

“They are and they are not. They have forsaken their connection to the forest and the trees. It is a path taken only by those willing to sacrifice that part of themselves for the sake of their duty.”

Dagmar spoke in a slow voice, keeping her steps measured.

“It is much like the Warlock. Though they are of the genus of dark elves, the only way to become one is to give up that which dark elves cherish the most.”

Those words made Barry frown as he glanced from the old maiden to the guards and then Lala. “What is it that dark elves cherish the most?”

The only response he got was a smirk from the others.