Chapter 9 — On the Road to the Silent Valley

The dirt road stretched like a scar through the sleeping forest, guiding Grumak and Malias's steps as the rabbit village slowly disappeared into the branches and morning mist. The sound of smoking chimneys and the villagers' low voices faded, replaced by silence and anticipation.

Malias walked with his hood up, his eyes fixed on the folded map in his hands. Grumak walked beside him, silent, as if chewing over his own thoughts.

It was then that Malias turned the mission scroll over on pure instinct—perhaps searching for some forgotten note, perhaps simply out of habit as a wary warrior. But what she saw behind it... stopped her in her tracks.

“Grumak,” he called, handing him the paper.

He picked it up, turned it over in his fingers, and read it silently.

Three names were written in ancient, almost faded ink. The handwriting was firm, but marked by haste or frustration.

Sallira – 70 years ago
Velgran – 140 years ago
Jor'nel – 210 years ago

And just below, in smaller letters, like a whisper of time:

“Battle of Balance — Three Faults.”

Grumak frowned.

“Then we’re not the first,” he said, handing back the parchment.

"And perhaps not even the last, if we fail as well," Malias added, tucking the map into his cloak. "Battle of Balance... It seems more like a ritual than a mission."

"Three failures in two hundred years," Grumak murmured. "Something in this valley doesn't want to be found. Or... doesn't want to be touched."

Neither of them said anything else for a while.

The forest ahead grew denser. But alive. And the path... narrower.

As if the world itself tested them at every step.

And behind them, the parchment closed with the subtle sound of old paper—holding secrets perhaps best left unknown.

“Come on, Malias,” Grumak said, adjusting his pack. The path ahead was narrow, steeped in ancient shadows.

"I just hope this Silent Valley thing isn't just another myth," Malias grumbled, his eyes glued to the crumpled map. "Crossing the forest for a stone that appears every now and then… that's more like a trap than a mission."

"Moonstone," Grumak corrected with a half-smile. "Rare, magical, powerful. And if it's real, it can open doors."

Malias snorted, pulling his hood over his wolf ears.

"You and your obsession with finding meaning in everything. Mystical creature, shining stone, moon cycle... If this mission isn't a trial, I'll eat my bow."

“It could be both,” he replied. “But since we’re here…”

The trail grew narrower with each step. The light filtered in broken beams. The sounds of the village grew distant, as if from another world.

“Strange silence,” Malias commented. “The forest seems… attentive.”

Grumak raised his hand.

— Wait. Did you hear that?

Malias stopped. His ears pricked up. There was something among the branches—heavy, rhythmic. A sound that didn't belong there.

She touched the fragment on her belt. Grumak could already feel the heat from the elemental glove creeping up his arm.

— It could just be an animal...

The leaves moved. A rustle. Then another.

But Malias... wasn't looking.

She was panting. Her body leaned forward. Her nose twitched.

— Malias...? — Grumak called suspiciously.

“There’s a smell…” she whispered. “Strong. Warm , strange.”

Grumak frowned.

— What kind of smell is that?

She approached, sniffing the air. She walked in circles, her tail tense. As if hypnotized.

“You look like a wolf in heat,” Grumak murmured.

“I HEARD THAT!” She whipped around, her cheeks burning.

"It was tactical," he defended himself. "To break the tension."

She crossed her arms, trying to regain her dignity. But her tail swished, giving it all away.

— What if I said the smell was you?

Grumak froze.

— That gets complicated.

She laughing.

—Just kidding, you fool. I just wanted to see your face.

And with the weather finally lightening, they resumed their walk. The forest seemed less oppressive now… but they both knew the real challenge was yet to come.

Grumak advanced silently, his eyes trained on the path's branches. Malias walked close behind, bow ready. The forest began to change—less dense, but more... alive. As if every root were watching. As if the air hid voices.

It was then that they heard the whisper. A faint rustling. A crack.

Grumak raised his hand. He stopped.

“Something moved there,” he murmured.

—Those damned deformed hyenas again?

— No. It's smaller. And faster.

Suddenly, a red figure crossed the path.

Grumak leaped aside. Malias nocked an arrow, but stopped mid-swing, his eyes wide.

From the shadows, a slender figure emerged. A demi-human with a... unique appearance.

crimson red fur that gleamed faintly in the filtered light. Long ears, shrewd golden eyes, and a smile bordering on insolence. He wore light, dark leather clothing with flexible plates held in place by straps. And at his sides, perfectly fitted, were two curved daggers of blued metal. Polished. Sharp. And quick.

The rabbit raised his hands, but kept his smile.

"Calm down, calm down. If you were enemies, you would have already felt the point of my daggers. And if I were an enemy... you wouldn't be arguing."

Grumak still kept his guard up.

- Who are you?

"Tibrok," he said, bowing with an elegant flourish of his ears. "Born of the Red Ash line. One of the last Nok'vai of the southern continent."

— Nok ... what? — Malias narrowed his eyes.

Tibrok sighed theatrically.

—Ah... the outsiders and their lack of history. The Nok'vai were one of the first tribes to touch the light of the moonstone. Guardians of ancient forests, messengers between planes, keepers of forgotten knowledge... and, lately, hunted for it.

Grumak did not lower his arm.

—That's nice to hear. But it still doesn't answer what you're doing here.

— Watching. And waiting for you.

“Us?” Malias frowned. “Why?”

Tibrok took two steps closer, without fear, and sat down on a mossy stone, with the calm of someone who had already measured the danger.

"Don't be alarmed. I'm not a psychic. Nor a lost spirit. I just... hear very well. And the rumors about two travelers who accepted the Moonlight Stone quest... reached the forest quickly."

"Did this come from the village?" Grumak asked. "From Asterin?"

Tibrok nodded, raising an eyebrow.

"A mission recorded decades ago, right? Origin: 'Old Balbito, from the inn on the left corner.'" He made air quotes with his fingers. "The same Balbito who swears he saw the stone with his own eyes and spent his life trying to find a group to accept the quest."

Grumak relaxed a bit. Malias still watched suspiciously, but curiosity was beginning to take over.

—How do you know all this?

— Because I listen. And because I observe. And, in this case, I have an interest... complementary to yours.

— Interest?

Tibrok leaped to his feet, his daggers clinking in their sheaths.

"I know where the Moonlight Stone usually appears. Not exactly—no one ever knows—but I know the valley where the mist cycle opens the path. I can guide you there. But..."

—Ah, the famous “but” — said Malias, crossing his arms.

"But in return, you'll help me with something later. An ancient artifact, lost in a forgotten crypt half a continent away. It's not in this forest. But it's connected to my lineage. To my mission. And to something much greater than all of us."

Grumak watched him more closely now. The way he spoke, the conviction, the choice of words... it wasn't vanity. It was faith.

"You want us to trust you," he said. "When you followed us, showed up out of nowhere, carry two daggers, and speak like a mystical storyteller."

Tibrok smiled, closing one eye as if he were an accomplice.

— Trust is built on two sides. I offer the path. You offer the armed arm. Together, we seek a legend, and then a secret.

Malias blinked slowly.

— What if we refuse?

"Then they will find the valley, perhaps. If they survive the false routes, the living mist, and the creatures that feed on the moon's glow. But they will not find the Stone. It does not appear to just anyone. Only when the right path is taken... and when those who walk have a greater reason than the glow of reward."

Grumak turned to Malias.

She just shrugged.

— If he has half of what he's promising... it's worth it.

Grumak nodded.

"Okay, Tibrok. You guide us to the stone. And if this is real... we'll talk about your so-called relic later."

Tibrok smiled broadly. The first genuinely happy one.

— Then we have a deal.

And the daggers glinted in the filtered forest light as he turned on his heel and disappeared into the branches, as if the trail had already been made for him—and now, for them, too.

The trio continued through the forest, now a living corridor of twisted roots, whispering shadows, and branches that seemed to bend under the weight of what they guarded. Tibrok walked ahead with an almost absurd lightness for someone who had just joined two armed warriors—but his eyes never stopped moving. Alert. Silent. A rabbit of ancient blood.

It was then that the world tore apart.

A creature emerged from the brush like an arrow from hell itself. Hunchbacked, its skin gray and scabbed, its mouth open like a slit stitched shut with razor blades, and its eyes black as the bottom of a well. The sound it made was the worst: a cracking sound of bones, as if its own body were breaking to move.

— TIBROK! — Grumak shouted.

The little Nok'vai froze. His eyes wide, his body frozen as the sight approached in a predatory leap, the creature's mouth open, ready to swallow him.

But... poof!

Tibrok disappeared.

And reappeared half a second later... on Grumak's shoulder, panting like a cat that had barely escaped death.

"I ALMOST BECAME A SNACK!" he yelled, his eyes wide and his fur standing on end.

Grumak didn't even have time to respond.

Malias already had his bow in hand. The enchanted arrow rang out like thunder and pierced the creature's head. It fell soundlessly—like a doll whose strings had been cut.

But relief did not come.

Three more appeared.

Deformed beasts, like hyenas made of bone scraps. Claws dragging on the ground. Open jaws and too many teeth for one mouth.

Grumak assessed the terrain.

Fire here would be suicide.

A bluish mist began to escape through the metal grooves of the fingers.

The first creature came charging in. Grumak waited just the right amount of time and struck.

The punch slammed into the beast's chest with a muffled thunderclap. Instantly, its body froze solid—and shattered from the inside out, shattering into a thousand pieces that flew among the branches and leaves.

Malias whispered, already preparing another arrow:

— That's a skill I didn't expect... freezing an animal in the middle of the woods and still looking good in the photo.

"Just don't let those vermin get near the guide," Grumak replied, eyes alert. "He's almost become a tavern entrance."

"I'M STILL HERE, OK?!" Tibrok protested from Grumak's shoulder. "And now you owe me at least dinner and an emotional hug!"

“Concentrate!” Malias shouted.

The two remaining creatures attacked at the same time.

Grumak jumped aside, but one of them was already coming at him—mouth open, claws raised.

Tibrok has disappeared again.

Poof!

He reappeared behind the creature, two daggers in hand. His eyes glowed a savage gold. With two quick, precise movements, he plunged the blades into the beast's hind tendons.

She screamed. A horrible sound. And stumbled with momentum.

Before it could recover, Grumak spun and delivered a second freezing blow to the monster's neck.

He exploded into ice and pain.

The last creature aimed at Malias.

But Malias was already expecting her. She gently turned, pulled the string, and fired at just the right moment. The arrow pierced the creature's skull, and it fell with a dull thud a few feet away.

Then, silence came.

As if the valley itself was holding its breath.

Grumak slowly lowered his arms. The mist was still dissipating between the trees.

“Are they dead?” Malias asked, scanning the room with his eyes.

“For now,” he replied. “But I don’t like this silence.”

Tibrok slipped off Grumak's shoulder and walked slowly toward the bodies.

His golden eyes... held a contained sadness.

"Varnek," he whispered. "They sense Nok'vai blood like we're beacons in the darkness. We don't hunt them. They come after us. Always."

Grumak approached, observing the twisted body of one of the monsters.

— Have you faced this before?

"I was raised running from it. I became useful... for that. For escaping. For coming back. For cutting quickly when there was no running." He looked at them both seriously. "What you did here today... my people will not forget. The Nok'vai honor those who bleed for us."

Malias lowered his bow, his shoulders tense, but his breathing was already beginning to return to normal.

“I hope this is the hardest part of the trail,” he muttered.

Tibrok shook his head.

—That was just the gate. The valley hasn't even begun to test you yet.

The three of them walked in silence until they found the camp site—three trees intertwined in a dome shape. Tibrok pointed and deftly led the way in assembling the elevated platform. Vines tied together. Branches fitted together. Fabrics made a makeshift roof.

Malias, still huffing, muttered:

— If the monster doesn't kill us, hunger will.

Tibrok, as if he had been waiting for this moment, pricked up his ears.

— I saw a Frulambras tree a little while ago. Golden, sweet fruits... and they say they soothe the soul. They even help bring good dreams.

Grumak arched an eyebrow.

— Do you have a mental map of the forest or are you just avoiding work?

— Instinct. And a bit of strategic laziness.

He returned minutes later with amber fruits that glistened in the filtered moonlight.

Malias tried one.

"Sweet, woody... and mint?" He grimaced. "Okay, better than raw root."

With her stomach calmer, she fell asleep curled up under her blanket.

Tibrok lay down with his arms crossed behind his head.

Grumak, however, remained awake.

"Don't you sleep?" Tibrok whispered.

— First shift is mine. And... I was thinking about your disappearance today.

Tibrok smiled slightly.

— Ethereal Leap. Ancient Nok'vai. It's like gliding between planes. But it's expensive. Three times in one day and I almost vomit my lungs out.

— You disappeared three times today.

— I almost vomited my lungs. And half my courage.

Grumak let out a muffled noise. Almost a laugh.

— Next time, just... warn me.

— I promise. And I'll appear on the side. More polite.

Silence.

But not the heavy kind.

It was the good silence.

The one when you don't need to pretend to be strong.

The one when three completely different people share the same shelter at the end of the world.

And they know that, at least for that night... they survived.