Chapter 44: Year 2, Spring - Trouble Would Always Find Its Way
Year 0003, I-III Month: The Imperium
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Work in Progress and The Central Continent of Arkanus
The once snow-filled land had returned to its original state. Trees that had shed their leaves to prepare for winter's cold embrace now slowly unfurled tiny green buds, signaling the awakening of spring. Tender shoots pushed through the softening earth, and birdsong filled the warming air as nature reclaimed its vibrant palette.
The residents of Maya Village busied themselves with preparations for the major upgrades that would define and shape this year. Despite their focus on these improvements, they hadn't slackened in their daily routines. Men and women alike trained their bodies rigorously each day, pushing themselves to their limits before dispersing to their various tasks. After completing their physical conditioning, the men ventured beyond the village perimeter walls, their axes and saws slung over strong shoulders.
As in seasons past, they needed to select the right trees for repairs and upgrades. They moved methodically through the forest, examining each potential specimen with experienced eyes, testing hardness, looking for signs of disease or weakness, and marking those deemed worthy with small notches. Some would become support beams for new structures, others would be fashioned into furniture, and the remainder would feed the cooking fires that never ceased burning in the village center.
While most of the men were abroad in the surrounding wilderness providing food and gathering suitable construction materials, the women attended to equally vital tasks. They prepared garden fields with practiced hands, turning soil and planting seeds that would sustain them through the coming seasons. Their fingers worked nimbly as they cleaned the two houses and surrounding areas, maintaining the orderliness that had become a hallmark of Maya Village. They completed these village chores while deliberately leaving certain tasks for the men upon their return—a delicate balance of responsibilities that maintained harmony within their community.
Theressa, with lines of wisdom etched around her eyes, had taken it upon herself to train the younger girls in homemaking arts. This training came atop their already hectic schedule, but she understood its necessity. Eventually, whether they embraced the idea or resisted, these young people would leave their childhood homes and establish families of their own. Better they should do so armed with knowledge than left to discover life's challenges unprepared. Her weathered hands guided theirs as they learned to prepare medicinal herbs, mend clothing, and cook meals that would fortify body and spirit alike.
Meanwhile, Aetherwing and his mate soared above the treetops, their massive wingspan casting fleeting shadows across the forest floor. They divided their time between caring for their rapidly growing chicks—whose downy feathers were gradually being replaced by sleeker, stronger plumage—and providing aerial security around the village perimeter. Their keen eyes missed nothing as they circled, ensuring no predatory beasts or potential prey ventured too near the settlement. Their shrill cries warned of danger when necessary, a system of protection that had saved the unsuspecting villagers on more than one occasion.
In years to come, when darkness and war would once again envelop the wider world, this hidden place would become a sanctuary for the weary and lost. Maya Village would transform into a safe haven for countless souls seeking to escape from the chaos beyond the forest's edge. It would stand as the last bastion for those seeking refuge from dangers that would ultimately shatter the fragile peace so recently constructed.
The great forest, long labeled as uninhabitable and perilous by outsiders, would maintain this dual nature—remaining a deadly threat to the foolish or unprepared while offering sanctuary to those deemed worthy. This paradox was not new. Throughout history, many settlers had attempted to conquer these wild woodlands, yet none had prevailed against its ancient, primal power.
Those rare few who became lost and somehow stumbled upon the unexpected village nestled within the forest's depths invariably reacted with shock and disbelief. Their prior knowledge—that no human settlement could possibly exist in such a place—conflicted sharply with the reality before their eyes. This had happened numerous times over the years: merchants who strayed from main roads while fleeing bandits; refugees escaping the ravages of war; or simply lost travelers who wandered aimlessly like Gel and her mother, who had found themselves here through seeming chance or perhaps fate's hidden design.
In previous times, the village elders would guide such visitors back to the outer edges of the great forest and set them upon the main road that traced the mighty western-central river of the Arkanus Continent. This waterway, powerful and majestic, flowed along the western boundary of the forest, naturally dividing the western continent from the central landmass. Its counterpart, the eastern-central river, performed the same function on the opposite side, separating the central continent from eastern territories. These twin rivers had created effective natural barriers that split the continent into three distinct regions, each with its own cultures, governance, and history.
The road system adjacent to these waterways had been originally created by the Elms-Arkanus Empire for military purposes—a means to stealthily move troops while concealing their movements from the watchful eyes of the once-powerful Fresco League of Kingdoms, now absorbed through conquest into the expanding Empire. The western and central portion of the continent had fallen under complete Imperial control, while its eastern continent had been halved, those under their direct stewardship and those of their allies. While the eastern most part was under the invasion of the Great Evil and its Dark Forces. The Imperiums formerly independent territories were once again united under a single banner, willingly or otherwise.
When first constructed, this network of roads had served as secret passage for Imperial contingents tasked with assaulting southern enemies or reinforcing existing forces engaged in conquest. The secrecy had not endured, however. Gradually, enterprising merchants discovered these routes and began using them as alternative pathways for transporting goods between the southern and northern regions of the western-central continent.
Despite this discovery, the general populace avoided these roads, understanding the danger presented by their proximity to the great forest. The buffer zone separating the main road from the wilderness measured barely a kilometer—insufficient distance from the perils that lurked within the ancient woods.
The Central Region was not entirely dominated by the Great Forests, which occupied only 4,010,000 square kilometers (6%) of the central continent's total 70,000,000 square kilometer expanse. Numerous cities, towns, and villages dotted the remaining territory, including the once-independent settlements of Pipik Village and Kirka Village, along with the formerly autonomous Principality of Ogind County. These and many other communities had either formed alliances with the Empire of Elms-Arkanus or completely surrendered their sovereignty to Imperial rule, recognizing the futility of resistance against such overwhelming power.
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A Sinister Group
While Maya Village busied itself with improvements and daily life, a desperate drama unfolded at the forest's edge. A group of ragged people fled toward the treeline, their torn clothing flapping around emaciated frames. Their faces—gaunt, unwashed, and marked with fear—reflected the desperation that drove them forward on weakened legs. Vacant eyes darted nervously behind them, watching for pursuers as they stumbled onward.
These unfortunates were slaves. Though the Empire had officially banned slavery due to its own complex history and experience with the practice, other regions across the continent—and even parts of the West—continued the tradition. Some used bondage as punishment for crimes, while others simply exploited captive labor for agricultural work, mining operations, or construction projects that free citizens refused to undertake.
A black market slave trading organization had been exploiting the hidden route that paralleled the main road, using it to circumvent Imperial patrols and the watchful eyes of authorities who would disrupt their profitable human trafficking operations. This particular path remained concealed alongside the more traveled thoroughfare, invisible to casual travelers unless they deliberately wandered in that specific direction.
Few would consider such a deviation. The great forest's fearsome reputation served as an effective deterrent to curious explorers and wanderers. This very fact made the route perfect for the illicit slave trade, despite the inherent risks. The black market traders understood all too well the dangers that lurked within the forest depths, yet they feared Imperial justice more than woodland predators. Discovery would mean not only the end of their lucrative business but likely their own lives as well, as the Empire dealt harshly with those who defied its edicts and Imperial Law.
In the aftermath of numerous conflicts that had swept across the continent, countless people found themselves displaced, their homes destroyed and families scattered. The slave traders—who operated under the name "Corvus" while maintaining a reputable front as the merchant group "Zargos Mercantile"—seized upon this misfortune, presenting themselves as benefactors finding work for those in need.
This carefully constructed façade had served them well for many years. Only those with connections to the criminal underworld recognized Corvus for what it truly was: a vast organization with tendrils reaching into every dark corner of society. Their operations spanned assassinations, abductions, intimidation, slave trading, drug production and distribution, gambling establishments, and every conceivable vice. The legitimate face of their enterprise, Zargos Mercantile, flourished thanks to the profits generated from these shadowy dealings, amassing both wealth and influence that extended from respectable society into the darkest corners of the criminal world.
The current expedition involved transporting a fresh consignment of slaves captured in the southern territories of the western continent. Their destination was the estate of a particularly powerful client who sought bodies that could not be traced—people without families searching for them or official records documenting their existence. Such slaves could be worked to death, experimented upon, or disposed of without consequence or inquiry.
The great forest, notorious for its dangers, soon demonstrated why it had earned such a fearsome reputation. A pack of Grimfangs—massive wolves with intelligence that bordered on sentience—had been monitoring the edges of their territory. They had noticed the increasing human incursions over the past several years and their Chief Alpha had ordered this particular wolf pack to investigate and respond appropriately to this trespass.
During the weeks since the snow began to recede, their stealthy reconnaissance had confirmed that humans were indeed entering their domain with increasing frequency. This blatant disrespect enraged the wolf pack. Humans, for all their supposed superiority, seemed to have forgotten their place in the natural order—and the price for such arrogance would be steep indeed. The Grimfangs would remind these intruders why they ranked among the most feared predators in the Lonelywood Forest.
The Corvus expedition would serve as their first lesson. The caravan consisted of 150 armed guards escorting five large wagons constructed of thick steel bars forming cages. These mobile prisons were pulled by horse-like beasts bred for strength and endurance rather than speed. Within the confines of these cages huddled several hundred people—men, women, and even children—captured during previous raids and held in captivity until spring made transport feasible.
The winter's harsh conditions would have killed many of these valuable commodities had the traders attempted the journey earlier. Even now, the slaves' emaciated bodies barely clung to life, weakened deliberately by their captors to minimize resistance or escape attempts. Their physical condition, coupled with despair, made them compliant and manageable.
These unfortunate souls represented diverse backgrounds: former merchants whose caravans had been attacked; villagers captured during raids; debtors sold by creditors; and even noble-born individuals who had fallen from grace. Now they shared the same fate—reduced to property, mere objects to be bought and sold. Their once-vibrant eyes had dulled, hope extinguished by prolonged suffering. For many, death had become a welcome prospect, preferable to existence as another's possession, tool, or plaything.
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Grimfang Ambush!!!
The Corvus expedition moved forward, unaware of the danger that awaited them. Without warning, massive shadows erupted from the underbrush. The Grimfangs had positioned themselves perfectly, lying in patient ambush until the caravan was fully committed to the narrow path. Their attack came with devastating efficiency.
Powerful jaws clamped down on limbs, severing them cleanly. Massive claws disemboweled guards who had barely registered the threat before finding themselves dying in pools of their own blood. Bodies were torn apart as if made of parchment rather than flesh and bone. The forest floor quickly became slick with gore as the wolves decimated the armed escort with methodical precision.
When the head captain finally comprehended the catastrophe unfolding around him, he desperately attempted to rally his forces. His voice rose above the screams and snarls, commanding his men to form defensive positions and fight as a unit against the beasts slaughtering them. His orders went largely unheeded as panic spread through the ranks, each guard concerned only with personal survival in the face of such overwhelming violence.
Screams for help and mercy filled the forest clearing as the armed guards fell one by one. Despite their weapons and training, they found themselves hopelessly outmatched by sixteen massive wolves whose intelligence guided their assault as effectively as their natural weapons executed it. The animals attacked with clear purpose, targeting officers first and isolating smaller groups from the main force before moving in for the kill.
This particular Corvus expedition had never expected such a coordinated assault. Though they understood the hazards of their chosen route, having experienced minor skirmishes in previous journeys, nothing in their experience had prepared them for the brutality and effectiveness of this attack.
The head captain had earned his position through seniority and numerous successful journeys along this same path. His promotion recognized his experience navigating these dangers and even experiencing a similar fate in his youth, yet even his seasoned judgment had failed to anticipate or prepare for an ambush of this magnitude. Within the first five minutes, more than half his force lay dead or dying, their weapons proving inadequate against thick fur, tooth and claw.
As the guards fought their desperate, losing battle, the Grimfangs began targeting the wagons themselves. Powerful bodies slammed against the wooden vehicles, tipping them onto their sides and spilling their human cargo onto the blood-soaked ground. The slaves, already weakened and disoriented, found themselves suddenly freed from their mobile prisons but thrust into a nightmare beyond imagination.
The captain observed the destruction of their valuable cargo with detached concern. His priority had shifted entirely to survival; the fate of the slaves—and the profit they represented—had become irrelevant in the face of his own mortality. Self-preservation consumed his thoughts as he fought to escape the killing ground.
Inside the overturned wagons, the slaves experienced a jarring transition from captivity to chaos. One moment they had been huddled together in the swaying cages, lost in private fantasies of freedom and former lives. The next, they felt their world literally upend as the wagons tipped sideways, sending bodies sliding to one side and piling atop one another. The weakest among them, unable to withstand the crushing weight, suffocated and crushed beneath the tangle of limbs.
Those who survived struggled to their feet, disoriented but suddenly aware that the cages had broken open during the impact. For one brief, glorious moment, the possibility of freedom blossomed in their hearts—only to wither instantly as they comprehended the carnage surrounding them. Their momentary hope transformed into paralyzing terror as they witnessed the ongoing slaughter.
Their emaciated bodies shuddered involuntarily. Some attempted to vomit in response to the horrific scene, but their empty stomachs produced only bitter bile, as they had not been fed for days. The brutality they witnessed exceeded even the cruelties inflicted by their captors: dismembered guards hung from tree branches; broken bodies lay shattered against blood-smeared rocks; some guards remained conscious even as the wolves tore into their flesh, their screams for mercy going unanswered as they were devoured alive.
Among the stunned slaves was Donna, a fifteen-year-old girl who had been captured from her village three years earlier during one of the many regional conflicts. Her captors—the very same Corvus agents now being slaughtered before her eyes—had exploited the chaos of war to abduct her along with others from her community. Despite three years of captivity and abuse, she had somehow maintained a fragile thread of hope that she might someday escape her hellish existence.
Now freedom presented itself in the most terrible form imaginable. Her cracked lips bled as she bit down hard, trying to wake herself from what surely must be a nightmare. The pain confirmed her waking state, forcing her to accept the reality of her situation. In a cruel twist of fate, her brutal captors suddenly seemed merciful compared to the savage creatures methodically destroying them.
Donna's mind began to fracture under the strain. She mumbled incoherently to herself, questioning what sins she could possibly have committed to deserve such a life. She had never asked to be born into this cruel world; why then was she subjected to such relentless suffering? What cosmic justice demanded that she endure slavery only to face death by monsters in a forest far from home?
Her spiral into despair was interrupted when a fellow slave—a man whose face bore the marks of both hardship and determination—raised his voice above the cacophony of death. His words cut through the collective shock that had paralyzed the captives.
"Hey! This is our chance," he shouted, his voice rough but filled with urgent purpose. "Can't you see the guards are distracted? We should run now if we want any chance to survive and escape this hell!"
His call to action drew a skeptical response from another slave, a man whose bearing suggested he had not been born to poverty. "Escape? But where?" this man questioned, his tone revealing both fear and arrogance. "We're in the middle of nowhere! Where would we run to? And can we outrun those... those things? Can youguarantee our safety if we did so?"
The first man's face contorted with frustration and disbelief. What absurdity was this, to speak of guarantees in their present circumstances? The relative healthiness of the questioner suggested he was newly enslaved, not yet broken by years of deprivation and abuse. His ignorance of their desperate situation bordered on insulting.
Indeed, the skeptic had once been a nobleman, captured during recent conflicts and condemned to slavery as punishment for atrocities committed during wartime. Despite his reduced circumstances, he had not relinquished the entitlement that had shaped his former existence.
"What the fuck are you even talking about?" the first slave snarled, stepping closer to the former nobleman. "It doesn't matter if you're safe or not. Look around you! Guarantee your safety? Bah! I'm trying to pull myself out of here with whoever will come, so at least a few of us might survive another day or two as free men and women! So screw you! Whoever wants to follow me should decide now—I'm leaving this hellhole!"
The nobleman stood stunned, unused to being addressed with such disrespect. How dare this commoner speak to him in such a manner? Did he not recognize quality even in rags? These indignant thoughts remained unspoken, however, as he registered the murderous glares directed at him from the other captives. They clearly viewed his hesitation and questioning as the luxury of a man who had not yet experienced the full depths of slavery's cruelty.
One by one, slaves began slipping away in different directions, seizing this chance—however dangerous—for freedom. Some of the Grimfangs noticed this exodus and broke off from the main attack to pursue these fleeing humans. Those unfortunates who were caught suffered fates even worse than the armed guards. The wolves seemed to take particular pleasure in toying with these weaker prey, prolonging their suffering before granting the mercy of death.
Yet not all attempts ended in tragedy. Some slaves, including Donna, managed to blend into the chaos, using fallen bodies and overturned wagons as momentary cover before darting into the underbrush. Survival instinct guided their steps as they fled deeper into the forest, their path unknowingly leading them toward Maya Village—and whatever fate awaited them there.
As they ran, breath burning in their lungs and muscles screaming in protest, they carried with them the desperate hope that characterizes all who flee oppression: that somewhere ahead, beyond the next hill or through the next thicket, might lie if not safety, then at least a chance at a life reclaimed from those who would deny their very humanity.