Alariden Woods, one of the largest and thickest forests of the empire, was in the pathway to the Sandornen Estate. It was said to hold home for many species; even the forest and terrain elves called the Slyvaryan tribe, and some primaeval tribes were also said to be living in those deep woods. Although no one had ever come across them until now. There were tales about the Kaezhlar clan having had to have fought great battles against the elves. No one knows about it except for the ones who have fought.

The other tribes, they didn't get much exposure to the outside world.

So in such woods, the night had fully embraced the forest, wrapping it in a blanket of thick darkness illuminated only by the flickering glow of a small campfire.

The symphony of the forest came alive—chirping crickets, rustling leaves, and the distant hoots of owls created an eerie yet rhythmic melody. The scent of damp earth mixed with the faint aroma of burning wood as Jolthar and his knights settled into the stillness of the night.

The campsite was modest but efficient.

A small fire crackled in the centre, its orange flames dancing against the cold night air.

Two knights crouched near the fire, making the fire required for grilling the meat.

Two others had ventured deeper into the forest to hunt, their absence leaving a slight tension in the air. Nearby, the horses and Jolthar's loyal drake rested, tied securely to trees, their breaths visible in the cool air as they occasionally shifted or snorted.

As the night deepened, the night air was turning colder, causing the knights to huddle closer to the fire for warmth. The crackling of the flames was the only sound breaking the peaceful silence of the forest.

Jolthar leaned casually against a dry tree trunk, a long stick in his hand that he absently used to poke at the dirt near the fire pit. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes held their usual sharpness, always observing, always prepared.

Beside him, Eran sat cross-legged, chewing on a piece of dried fruit as he eyed Jolthar with curiosity.

"What did the Matriarch of the Blue Rose say to you?" Eran finally asked, breaking the silence between them. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of intrigue.

Jolthar didn't answer right away. Instead, he smirked slightly and shrugged, his tone deliberately vague.

"Oh, you know how she is—always cryptic, always dramatic. She said a lot, but nothing I'd care to repeat." He chuckled, his voice tinged with sarcasm.

Eran raised an eyebrow, clearly unsatisfied. "That's it? Nothing? The last I saw her, she was angry at you and she even said that she would kill if she saw you again."

Jolthar grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I'd tell you, but then I'd have to worry about you spilling the secrets."

Eran frowned, but seeing how playful he was about it, Eran would wait for his answers.

Then Jolthar said, "You sound like an obsessive wife; do you know that?"

Eran rolled his eyes, knowing Jolthar was just teasing him. "Fine, keep your secrets," he replied with a smirk.

Jolthar gave a sly wink and leaned in, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper, "Let's just say she's not as fiery as she once was." Eran raised an eyebrow, his eyes narrowing as he quickly pieced together what that might mean.

It didn't take long before the realization hit the group like a wave, and suddenly, they couldn't hold back.

"Oooh, look at Jolthar go!" someone teased.

"Atta boy!" The chorus of playful cheers.

Eran punched lightly on his shoulder and said, "You lucky brat."

Jolthar leaned in with a mischievous grin, his voice dripping with humour. "She's gorgeous, no doubt," he said, "but she's like a garden... looks lovely at first, but you don't wanna know how many hands have been in there planting seeds!"

Eran couldn't contain his laughter, practically wheezing. "Damn kid, if she hears you, she'd freeze your balls off for sure."

Jolthar shrugged nonchalantly, his grin widening. "Eh, no worries," he said with a chuckle, "if she freezes them, at least I'll have an excuse not to make any more bad decisions!"

"Jolthar's got no shame!" a knight shouted, laughing even harder.

They all laughed their banter light and teasing. As there were only six of them, they have become accustomed to Joltar and got close to him. He was different from the children of the main family. And he talks to them as if they were equal.

Eran leaned back, shaking his head at Jolthar's evasiveness, though he knew better than to press further. Jolthar had a knack for keeping his cards close to his chest.

Their moment of levity was interrupted by a sudden, distant roar that echoed through the forest, sharp and primal.

The men froze, their laughter fading as they turned their heads toward the direction of the sound. The knights around the fire exchanged uneasy glances, their hands instinctively moving to the hilts of their weapons.

Jolthar straightened, his relaxed demeanour evaporating as he sharpened his focus.

Eran's eyes narrowed, and his hand drifted to his sword, resting across his lap. "That sounded close," he muttered, his tone now serious.

Just then, one of their men burst into the clearing, his face pale and his breathing ragged from exertion. "Our men," he gasped, pointing back toward the forest, "they went hunting in that direction! That roar—it came from there!"

Jolthar didn't wait for more information. He exchanged a quick glance with Eran, and they both sprang into action, grabbing their weapons and heading toward the source of the sound.

The knights followed close behind, their expressions a mix of fear and determination.

Before they could venture far, the two knights who had gone missing came running toward them from the shadows of the forest. Their faces were filled with panic, and their steps were frantic. "What happened?" Eran demanded as they approached.