Ambush, the attack on the carriage.

The forest was thick, suffocating. Even with the sun above the twisted treetops, the Umbrathara woods seemed to swallow the light — a living shadow, filled with ancient whispers and forgotten secrets.  — Sir, this is the road where the escort of that young lady will pass. — murmured one of the bandits, kneeling beside the leader.  The man was tall, his face marked by deep scars like trenches, and his half-closed eyes fixed on the narrow path ahead. A wicked smile slowly formed on his lips as he tightened his grip around the hilt of his sword in anticipation.  — We will wait further ahead. Prepare yourselves, today we’ll have a sweet carnage. — he said, his hoarse voice scratching the air.  Hours later, far from there, Lysielle Ravencourt’s escort advanced along the road. The rhythmic sound of hooves echoed across the terrain as the dense forest began to gradually surround them.  After three hours of travel, the group arrived at a small village enclosed by wooden fences and simple houses. The atmosphere was peaceful, almost welcoming, but the villagers’ eyes revealed a deep unease.  An old man approached, mounted on a gray horse. His face was wrinkled, but his eyes held the steadiness of someone who had seen far more than he wished. He stopped before the captain of the escort and bowed his head respectfully.  — Knight, forgive the intrusion, but I bring a warning. — he began, his voice calm. — The villages in this region, living in the shadow of the great Umbrathara Forest, avoid entering its depths. They say ancient things sleep beneath those trees, and that those who dare disturb them… do not return.  The captain nodded respectfully, but his gaze remained firm.  — I appreciate your advice, sir. But our duty is clear, and the Amin road is the most direct path to the capital. We cannot turn back.  The elder sighed, running a hand through his long white beard, his eyes revealing sincere worry.  — If you cannot avoid the road, then may the gods go with you. — he said, before making a brief bow and returning slowly the way he came, as if carrying a bad omen on his shoulders.  After that, some time following the road passed; even though they had encountered no trouble, something in that place felt… wrong.  The escort soldiers felt the air grow heavier as they advanced deeper into the ancient Umbrathara trail. The rustling of leaves was quieter. The air, more humid. And the silence, heavier.  — I don’t know what this is… but it’s getting hard to breathe… — murmured one of the riders, frowning. — This oppressive feeling… suffocating.  Others nodded silently. All were on alert, eyes scanning the thick vegetation.  — It’s not just your imagination. — replied Garrik, the captain of the escort, his tone grave. — Centuries ago, when the Empire began to rise, it expanded like fire on dry grass. Seized lands, burned kingdoms, destroyed cultures. Entire races vanished before the advance of the imperial legions.  He paused for a moment, his eyes fixed on the path ahead.  — Dark elves, dryads, demi-human tribes… some were wiped out. Others fled to survive. One of the escape routes was this very forest — Umbrathara. They say that since then, non-human beings still live within it, far from imperial eyes.  The escort listened in silence, respect and tension growing with each word.  — Sir… are you saying those races still exist? Here, inside the Empire?  — Yes. Many migrated to the Abalaths Union, the federation of non-human nations to the north. But not all. Some hid in forests like this one, or in distant mountains. And there are rumors that they remain alive… guarding their lands, hating everything the Empire represents.  Garrik drew a deep breath and looked over his shoulder.  — It was a real, brutal war. And the Ravencourts were among the noble houses that contributed the most for the Empire to triumph over those peoples. That’s why today, their house is a symbol of power and status. And why their lands lie so close to the capital.  The soldiers nodded with newfound understanding.  Meanwhile, inside the carriage, the atmosphere was the complete opposite.  Lysielle rested with her head on Liora’s lap, looking calm, almost sleepy. Liora, sitting with her legs tucked in, offered grapes with her fingertips, visibly uncomfortable with the situation.  — M-my lady… I think this is getting a bit… too much…  — Hm? — Lysielle half-closed her eyes, savoring another grape. — Weren’t you melting over my summon the other day? Why don’t you show me the same affection? Or am I less charming than him?  Suddenly, Lysielle stopped, her expression turning distant… serious. She fell silent, lying on Liora’s lap with her face turned upward… until slowly, she turned her back instead.  She said nothing.  But the gesture was enough.  Liora understood immediately. No questions, no hesitation. Time spent at Lysielle’s side had taught her how to read her silences as clearly as words on an open page.  She reached for the fan on the small table beside her, where Auri — still being punished — was tied up. Even though he squirmed with an unhappy expression and let out small grunts of protest, neither girl paid him any mind. Liora gently began to fan her lady. Her other hand slid through Lysielle’s white hair with delicate strokes, separating the strands as if each one were too precious to pull.  And then, without Lysielle asking, Liora started to sing.  The song was soft, low, almost a whisper. But the first verse alone was enough to pull Lysielle inward.  Her eyes closed. And in the next instant… she wasn’t there anymore.  In her mind, a dark room appeared like a veil being pulled away.  It was her childhood room. The pale moonlight entered through the long windows, and the cold stone mingled with the pain covering her body.  Lysielle sat at the edge of the bed, her bare torso wrapped in bandages. Several dressings were already soaked with dried blood. Her arms trembled as she tried to reach her back to change them, but each attempt brought only more pain.  She curled forward, eyes shimmering with frustration and barely-held tears. Her chest rose and fell with effort. And for a moment, she felt she would collapse right there — alone, as always.  That was when the door opened quietly.  And then… a girl appeared.  A child as young as Lysielle, eyes anxious, breaths quick, holding in her hands a small towel and a poorly sealed jar of ointment.  Lysielle stared in surprise for a moment. Her golden eyes were dull and tired, but her voice came out low, almost trembling.  — …Liora?  The little girl ran to her without hesitation. Her bare feet tapped the stone floor as if she feared arriving too late. Without a single word, she climbed onto the bed and sat behind the injured young lady. She picked up one of the bandages and, with small but careful fingers, began to replace them.  There was pain… but also relief.  Lysielle bit her lip, trying not to cry. But when the girl finished, she embraced her from behind. That embrace didn’t say “it will be alright,” because they both knew it wouldn’t.  It said only: “I’m here.”  And then, softly, the girl began to sing. A trembling melody, almost off-key, but full of feeling. The song wasn’t perfect. But it was real. And that was enough.  That night… and so many others that followed.  Back to the present…  Lysielle said nothing.  She only curled up further in Liora’s lap. Her body trembled faintly, and a tear rolled down her cheek, disappearing into her maid’s skirt.  Liora did not stop singing. Nor changed her tone.  She knew.  Her lady was strong. Stronger than anyone.  But even the strong… are afraid.  And with reason.  After all, few talents returned alive from the Imperial Academy.  Meanwhile, outside the carriage—  As the last lights of day vanished with the sunset, the Umbrathara forest sank into a thick, unsettling silence. Shadows stretched like dark fingers between the trees, and the sound of wind in the leaves seemed heavier, muffled — almost forced.  The escort soldiers were visibly tense.  — It got dark fast… — murmured one of the front riders, eyes scanning the treetops.  — Too fast… — said another, glancing at the mist creeping along the ground.  Then one of the escort knights, Lina, dismounted without a word. She knelt on the ground and sifted through the dry leaves. The caravan slowed.  Everyone watched in silence as she rubbed her fingertips on the soil, bringing them to her golden eyes, frowning.  — Anything there, Lina? — asked a companion guiding his horse nearer.  But before she could answer, her body froze. Her eyes widened.  — This is… magic! — she exclaimed, standing abruptly.  Barely had the words left her mouth when a line of flaming mana tore through the air like a red lightning bolt. The flash struck one of the horses on the flank.  The horse released a sharp, terrified neigh. Its muscles tensed and its front legs rose before it spun and lost balance, crashing to the ground. As it stood again, the animal bolted blindly into the forest, disappearing among the trees with panic in its eyes.  Its rider, however, wasn't as lucky. Flames engulfed him instantly, spreading quickly but burning slowly — from the inside out, beneath the armor. He collapsed on the ground, thrashing, screaming in agony as the metal sizzled against his skin. His arms beat the dirt, trying to smother a fire that clung as if to his soul. It was useless. And the smell of burned flesh filled the air.  While the screams echoed through the forest, a stronger command followed.  — FORMATION! — roared Garrik, drawing his sword. — PROTECT THE CARRIAGE!  More mana bolts shot between the trunks. The knights wrapped their bodies in layered mana in a heartbeat — bluish, green, and red auras briefly illuminating the scene. The forest exploded into movement.  Shadows leapt from the trees. Too fast to be ordinary mercenaries. Men in dark cloaks, weapons in hand, attacking in perfect synchrony. Their steps on the earth made almost no sound.  The first clash was brutal. A soldier spun his spear and locked it against an enemy’s blade. Sparks burst from the impact, and the two separated, only to collide again with doubled force.  Two silhouettes crossed behind them — a mercenary whirling short daggers while dueling a bald soldier, dodging every strike by mere centimeters, as if he already knew the man’s movements.  Further ahead, an imposing figure wielding a club shattered one of the shields with a single blow, sending the soldier crashing against a tree. His dark aura rippled like heavy smoke, oppressive, as if draining the air around him.  Three of them… were different. Their presences tore through the battlefield with pure magical pressure. Every step, every attack, felt calculated — and lethal.  Inside the carriage, Lysielle stood up, instincts razor-sharp.  — I have to go! — she exclaimed, pulling on a leather vest.  — No! — Liora cried, grabbing her waist. — Please, my lady, it’s still too early! Just wait a moment!  The carriage shook. Outside, battle noises were pure chaos: screams, blades clashing, dull impacts of bodies hitting the damp ground.  Then one of the soldiers was caught off guard — a precise strike hurled him like a projectile toward the carriage.  The impact was brutal. The knight’s body tore through the wooden side like a cannonball, hitting Liora directly. The carriage flipped from the force, and both were thrown out through the opposite wall, ripping the curtains and splintering the wood.  — Liora!! — Lysielle screamed, trying to reach her friend’s hand — but failing.  Too late.  As the carriage stabilized after tipping, slow, confident footsteps approached.  From the shadows, a man emerged, walking calmly among the wreckage. His steps on the broken wood were slow, deliberate. A wide smile framed his soot-stained face, and his light armor hinted at magical resistance.  — So it’s you, little girl — said the mercenary, reaching a hand out as if she weren’t a real threat.  Lysielle didn’t answer.  Her body had already moved.  In a single second, her aura exploded around her — and in the next moment, the mercenary’s body was struck by dozens of cuts delivered before he even understood what happened.  He fell apart in pieces, like paper shredded by the wind.  Lysielle rose from the carriage debris, her expression serious… and terrifying.  Behind her, Liora lay slumped against a tree, her body covered in wounds, blood dripping from her temple.  The air grew heavy again. The forest, silent, seemed to hold its breath.  The true battle… was only beginning.