The sky above the Taiga forest on the eastern border is not a sky. It is a sheet of gray shroud stretching endlessly, pressing down on the world below until it can hardly breathe.

  At an altitude of two hundred meters, Mira floats.

  The wings of Dalt's glider on her back no longer hum softly as they did during testing in the warm workshop. Here, in the frozen air that slapped her face with a temperature of minus twenty degrees, the steel frame groaned. The canvas stretched between the metal bones vibrated violently, creating a rhythmic flapping sound, like the heartbeat of a dying giant.

  Mira didn't feel the cold. Adrenaline and fear had burned her nerves numb.

  She looked down. Beneath her feet, a sea of pine trees stretched as far as the eye could see. White. Dark green. Black. No other colors.

  She narrowed her eyes. Mira focused her Intian on her optic nerves. It was a basic physical strengthening technique taught by Kars, but this time she forced it beyond its safe limits. Her amber pupils dilated, her irises glowing dimly. The world below her became sharp.

  She could see the snow-covered pine needles from hundreds of meters away. She could see the footprints of a rabbit jumping between the frozen bushes. She could see the breath of a deer chewing on bark.

  But he didn't see any enemies. There were no rows of soldiers in armor like the Morpoll troops that morning. There were no Arlen banners. There was no smoke from campfires. There were no horse-drawn carriage tracks.

  Only the forest. A silent forest. A forest that was too... perfect.

  Mira pulled the glider's control lever to the left, turning her body to scan sector four—the location where the last lookout post had reported before losing contact.

  “Come on,” Mira hissed, her eyes beginning to feel hot and watery from the pressure of the Intian. “Show yourselves.”

  She flew lower, skimming the treetops. The tips of her glider's wings sliced through the upper branches, knocking down clumps of snow. Still no reaction. Normally, the glider's loud noise would provoke a reaction. Birds would fly away in alarm. Enemies would look up or shoot arrows.

  But this time, no birds flew. The forest below seemed to hold its breath. It was as if nature itself was afraid to move.

  A sudden nausea struck Mira's stomach. It wasn't air sickness. It was a primal instinct. The instinct of prey that knows a predator is nearby, but cannot see it.

  “I can't see anything from here,” Mira muttered in frustration.

  If the enemy used high-level Cloaking magic, or if they moved under the densest canopy of trees, aerial observation was useless. She had to descend.

  Mira spotted a small gap between the trees—a small frozen lake covered in snow. It was large enough for an emergency landing. She pulled the air brake lever. The mechanical wings on her back changed angle, catching the wind to slow her down.

  Instantly, the gear mechanism spun roughly.

  Mira dove downward. The ground approached rapidly. Dazzling white.

  Her feet slammed into the frozen lake surface. The thick layer of snow cushioned the impact, but she still slid ten meters before finally coming to a stop on her knees. Her breath came in gasps, forming thick white clouds in front of her face.

  She quickly unhooked her glider. The device was heavy and useless in close-quarters combat in the forest. She hid the wings behind a thick holly bush, covering them with snow.

  burying it in snow.

  Mira stood up. She summoned her hard light sword. The light from the sword was truly dazzling, but Mira's eyes were already accustomed to staring at it.

  It was very quiet.

  Mira turned her body 360 degrees. The forest around her looked normal visually. Black old tree trunks, frozen moss, and snow falling slowly like cotton ash.

  But her ears caught nothing. There was no sound of wind that usually roared at the treetops. No sound of winter insects. No sound of squirrels.

  This forest was dead. Or... silenced.

  Mira began walking toward the outpost. It was about five hundred meters to the east. Her footsteps sounded too loud. The snow beneath her boots cracked.

  Every ten steps, Mira stopped. She held her breath, listening. Nothing.

  She continued walking, this time more cautiously. She channeled a thin stream of Intian around her body, creating a simple vibration sensor. If anyone stepped on the ground within a ten-meter radius, she would know.

  After fifteen minutes of walking in agonizing tension, Mira caught the scent. Not the stench of a corpse. But the smell of metal. The sharp smell of copper. Fresh blood.

  The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

  Mira quickened her pace, half running between the trees. She pushed through the last thicket and arrived at a small clearing.

  Forest outpost.

  A small moss-green tent still stood upright. The campfire in the middle of the camp had died, leaving behind cold, blackened wood. A pot of barley soup lay overturned on the ground. Its contents had spilled out, freezing into brown lumps of ice. Two spears lay in the snow, as if their owner had simply dropped them.

  “Hello?” Mira called out. Her voice was hoarse. “Anyone there?”

  There was no answer. Mira approached the tent. She burned the door flap with the tip of her sword. It was empty. The sleeping bags were still neatly rolled up. There were no signs of a struggle inside the tent.

  Mira backed away. She examined the ground around the camp. The snow was... strange. There were no clear footprints. No drag marks. Only strange patterns on the surface of the snow. Thin black lines that seemed to be “burned” into the white ice.

  Mira knelt down, touching the black line. It was cold. Colder than the ice around it. And when her finger touched it, the line faded into a thin black smoke that vanished instantly.

  Shadow Magic.

  Mira stood upright. Her heart was racing. “Where are you?” she whispered, her eyes scanning the forest. “Where are the bodies?”

  If there had been a massacre, there should be bodies. There should be blood splattered on the trees. But it was clean here. Too clean. Only the smell of blood in the air bore witness to the fact that something terrible had happened.

  Mira walked away from the camp, following the direction of the wind that carried the smell of copper. She walked towards the Blackwood trees on the north side of the post. These trees had jet-black bark and very dense leaves, creating an area that was always dim even during the day.

  Mira entered the shadows of the trees. The temperature dropped dramatically. And that's where she found him.

  Not on the ground. But above.

  Mira looked up slowly, following the red drops falling onto the shoulders of her white robe.

  Up there, caught on a branch five meters high, was a scout soldier. He wasn't hanging by a rope. His body... had fused with the branch as if the tree's shadow itself had solidified, wrapping around the soldier's body, and pulling him into the wood.

  The soldier's eyes were wide open, staring down at Mira. His mouth was agape in a silent, eternal scream. His face was deathly pale, but there were no sword wounds. There was only a small black hole in his chest, right over his heart. A hole that wasn't bleeding, as if his heart had been sucked out by a vacuum.

  “For Heaven's sake...” Mira stepped back, her hand covering her mouth to stifle a gag.

  She looked at the tree next to her. There was another one. The second soldier. In the same position. Entwined in the branches, blending into the shadows, a black hole in his chest.

  The third tree. The fourth tree.

  There were five scout soldiers. All five hung there like rotten fruit offered to the god of darkness. This forest was not a place of battle. It was a place of ritual. Or a kitchen.

  They were killed without even drawing their swords. They were killed in total silence.

  Mira felt a chill run down her spine. Not because of the temperature, but because of the sensation of being watched. She spun around quickly, her sword slashing at the empty air. “GET OUT!” Mira shouted. Her voice cracked, echoing in the dead forest.

  No one came out. Only the shadows of the trees seemed to sway slightly, even though there was no wind.

  Mira is a trained fighter. She has fought a scorpion monster. She has fought humans. But this is different. This enemy has no form. This enemy has no voice.

  Mira closed her eyes for a moment, trying to sense the flow of Intian. If there were any magic users here, there would definitely be traces of them.

  She opened her inner eyes. And she saw it. The entire forest... the entire area around the lookout post... was covered by a thin web of black energy. Every tree was connected to each other by threads of shadow. And Mira... Mira was standing right in the middle of that spider web.

  They hadn't left. They were still here.

  Mira heard a rustling sound to her left. It was very faint. Like silk rubbing against bark. She turned quickly. The shadow of a pine tree on the ground seemed to be elongated abnormally. The tip of the shadow was pointed, pointing at her feet.

  Mira jumped back. Mira summoned a ball of light from her palm. A blinding white light exploded, illuminating the dim area.

  Normally, light would dispel shadows. But here, Mira's light only made the shadow more distinct. More black. The tree shadow writhed in pain, then shrank back to its trunk.

  Mira was breathing heavily. She was alone. Completely alone. Her glider was far away. Her troops were behind the hill.

  “Who are you?!” Mira shouted again, this time in a desperate tone. “Show yourselves, cowards!”

  The answer she got was not words. Instead, it was laughter. A slow, dry laugh that echoed from all directions. From above the trees. From behind the bushes. From within the ground.

  Hihihi... Hahaha...

  The sound moved at an impossible speed. Left. Right. Behind. Above.

  Mira slashed to the right. Nothing. She turned and slashed to the left. Nothing. She fired a light bullet at the tree. The nail stuck into the wood, but it didn't hit anything.

  She was fighting ghosts. She was fighting her own paranoia.

  Cold sweat drenched her back, freezing beneath her cloak. Mira slowly backed away, trying to escape the circle of Blackwood trees. She had to return to open ground. She had to return to the sunlight, even if it was weak.

  But as she stepped back, her foot tripped over something. She fell to the ground.

  She saw what had tripped her. It wasn't a tree root. It was a hand.

  A severed hand. The hand that held the silver owl-shaped badge. Ulric the courier's badge. It was the hand of the scout who had delivered the message that morning.

  Mira's eyes widened. Ulric had said, “There's a Hunter in the forest.” The scout... he never made it back to base. This hand was deliberately placed here. For Mira to find.

  It was a trap. They weren't killing Mira outright. They were playing with her.

  Mira struggled to her feet. Her legs trembled. Frustration exploded in her chest, mixed with terror.

  She was the Stealix. She was the hope of the rebels. She possessed the power of the Star. But now, in the middle of this cursed forest, she felt like a child lost in the darkness.

  “Why didn't you attack me?!” Mira screamed, tears of anger streaming down her frozen cheeks. “You could have done it now! Why?!”

  Silence. The laughter stopped.

  Then, a whisper brushed past her ear. So close that Mira could feel the cold breath on her neck.

  “Because your fear tastes sweeter than your blood, Princess Star.”

  Mira spun around and stabbed behind her with all her might. The tip of her sword pierced the empty air. There was no one there. Only the snow falling heavier and heavier, slowly covering her own footprints, as if the forest was trying to erase Mira's existence little by little.

  Mira stood frozen in the middle of the forest that faded into gray. Her sword was pointed at an invisible enemy. Her breath raced in her tight chest.

  She didn't know where to attack. She didn't know where to run. Her enemy was the shadow itself. And night would soon fall, bringing with it perfect darkness for these hunters.

  Rhea Ashart, the heir to the Revolution Queen, screamed her anger at the silent sky. A scream heard by no one except the dead trees and the eyes hiding behind the dimension of light.