Chapter 134: The Silence That Follows
From the edge of the bloodstained road, the old carriage driver stirred. He had been thrown into the dirt during the chaos, and only now did his weary eyes flutter open. His body trembled as he pushed himself up on shaky arms, coughing against the dust.
When his gaze lifted, the scene before him froze the breath in his chest.
The once-quiet barren path was now a graveyard of broken bodies. Bandits lay sprawled in pieces, lifeless eyes staring at nothing, their blood soaking into the earth. The metallic scent clung to the air, thick and suffocating.
The old man’s lips parted in horror. "Hhhhhhaaaa... what in gods name!!..." His voice cracked, no louder than a whisper. His heart raced as he stumbled back a step, afraid he might collapse again.
Then his eyes found them.
By the side of the carriage, Dila sat on the ground, her silver-white hair messy and her hands trembling. Fran was beside her, arms wrapped tightly around her, her tail curled around Dila’s waist like a shield. The young cat-girl pressed her cheek against Dila’s shoulder, holding her as though she could keep her from breaking apart.
Dila’s face was pale, her blue eyes glassy and wide. She didn’t even seem to notice the driver’s presence.... she was lost, trapped in the memory of what she had just seen, soo violent soo gore. Fran’s ears drooped low, her small body trembling too, but she held onto Dila with all the strength her sixteen-year-old self could muster.
The old man’s throat tightened. These girls.... they had endured more than anyone their age should. His heart ached as he watched them, two fragile lives trying to find comfort in each other amidst the nightmare around them.
For a moment, he forgot his fear of the blood and corpses. He simply stood there, his hand clutching his chest, silently praying for their safety.... and wondering what kind of creature had that had ravage into the bandits, leaving behind a battlefield of horror.
The carriage driver’s wrinkled hand trembled as he raised it toward them. His voice cracked, heavy with both fear and concern. "Princess.... we need to go. You must clean yourself up.... all this blood...."
His words carried into the silence of the aftermath.
Dila’s eyes slowly shifted to him. Her pupils were wide, trembling, as if she were still staring at the horror that played out only moments ago. She parted her lips weakly. "...Oky...." The sound of her voice was frail, drained of life.
But she did not rise.
Her body remained sunken into the dirt, her legs spread slightly as though she no longer had the strength to move them. Her silver hair clung to her cheeks, streaked with dust and faint traces of blood. Fran still hugged her tightly, her little hands gripping Dila’s sleeves as though refusing to let her slip away.
Fran then forced herself to stand, though her own knees were trembling. She reached for Dila’s arm, her blue eyes shimmering with worry. "Sister.... let’s go.... let’s move on, please...." Her voice cracked on the word please, almost breaking into tears.
Dila’s lips quivered as she turned her gaze toward Fran. Slowly.... almost unwillingly.... she whispered again, "...Oky...." But her body didn’t follow. She stayed pressed against the earth, frozen.
The horses ahead stamped nervously, their hooves clattering against the hardened ground. The carriage itself, though scratched and smeared with dirt, remained in shape. It stood there like a quiet witness to the massacre, waiting.
The driver clenched his jaw, forcing his aching body to act. "Alright, Princess...." He bent down, slipping his arms under her fragile frame. As he lifted her, his back screamed in protest. "Ahhh... my back... awww..." he winced, stumbling slightly as he remembered being hurled earlier by the bandit leader into the barren ground. The pain shot through him, but he held her tight, refusing to let go.
Step by step, he carried her to the carriage. Fran followed close, her hands clutching the side rail, her worried gaze never leaving Dila.
Inside, the driver carefully laid her onto the seat. Dila’s eyes still stared wide, unblinking, lost in a haze of trauma. Her academy uniform was stained with blood not her own, deep crimson blotches smeared across the navy and silver fabric. Beside her, Fran climbed in, her own uniform just as dirtied, but her thoughts were only of Dila.
Fran’s little face softened with sorrow as she leaned closer, her cat ears drooping low. She whispered shakily, "It’s over now, sister.... it’s over...."
But Dila only lay there, her chest rising and falling unevenly, her eyes still frozen wide.... as if her heart had not yet escaped the battlefield.
Inside the carriage, Dila’s chest rose faintly, each breath uneven. Her silver lashes trembled, and then, with a voice weak and broken, she parted her lips.
"...Please.... Fran.... get my staff.... from outside...."
Her eyes never moved from the carriage ceiling, still wide and hollow, as though her soul hadn’t returned from what she had just endured.
Fran froze for a moment, her heart clenching at the sound of Dila’s frail request. Then she nodded slowly. "...Oky, sister...." Her voice was soft, careful, almost as if she feared breaking Dila further with a wrong word.
She slipped out of the carriage, her sandals crunching against the dirt and sands, her steps quick but unsteady. The battlefield still reeked of iron and death, bodies scattered in grotesque silence. Fran’s throat tightened as her eyes fell upon the staff lying on the ground where it had fallen.
The white metal pole gleamed faintly, its orbiting shards dull and lifeless now. When Fran bent down and reached for it, the metal felt cold.... too cold, almost unnatural. No warmth of magic, no pulsing energy.... only weight. Heavier than she expected. She gritted her teeth and pulled it up with both hands, hugging it close.
"Got it...." she whispered shakily, more to herself than anyone.
Turning away from the corpses, she hurried back to the carriage and climbed inside, laying the staff gently on the floor near Dila’s seat. The polished surface touched the wooden boards with a muted clink. Fran glanced at her sister again.... Dila hadn’t shifted an inch, her gaze still fixed upward, her lips parted slightly as if trapped in silence.
Fran swallowed hard, her heart aching, and sat across her, clutching the edge of her own bloodstained uniform.
Outside, the old driver climbed onto his seat, gripping the reins with stiff hands. His voice cracked as he tried to steady himself. "...Oky.... we’re going now.... I hope.... I truly hope there’s no more bloodbath like this...."
His words trembled, carried by a shaking tone. The horses snorted nervously, stamping against the earth before finally beginning to pull the carriage forward, leaving behind the field of death.
Hours bled together as the carriage wheels groaned over dirt and stone. Seven hours had passed since the bloodshed, yet inside, silence weighed heavier than the night itself.
The lamps fixed to the carriage sides burned weakly, their flames swaying with each bump of the wheels, casting long shadows that crawled across as now they are in the dense forest, around them. The moon hung high above, silver and full, its pale glow filtering through the canopy of twisted branches. Leaves whispered against one another with the cold night wind, and every so often, an owl cried in the distance, sharp and lonely.
Dila sat curled into her seat, her knees drawn close to her chest, her silver-white hair spilling over her shoulders like threads of moonlight. Her eyes, though open, held no focus, staring into nothingness. She had not spoken a word since she asked for her staff. Her silence was like a wall.... cold, unreachable.
Fran sat beside her, her small hands folded tightly on her lap, eyes shifting between her sister and the window. Worry gnawed at her chest like claws. She wanted to reach out, to shake Dila, to make her respond.... but all she could do was stay close to her seat, hoping her presence alone was enough.
The forest thickened as they moved deeper, branches arching overhead until the road felt like a tunnel carved in shadow. The horses snorted nervously, ears twitching at every rustle of the underbrush. The steady rhythm of hooves grew uneven.
From the driver’s seat, the old man hunched forward, his hands trembling faintly on the reins. His voice, though meant to be steady, betrayed his unease.
"I.... I think we might need to hurry up," he muttered, eyes darting to the treeline. "This is dense forest.... and night is not safe here. I fear we might be ambushed.... by magic beasts.... or worse.... magic wolves."
The horses jerked at the word, as if they too understood. Their lamps swung violently, throwing distorted shadows of trees onto the road.
Fran’s throat tightened. She leaned slightly forward, her cat ears twitching in alert. "Magic wolves....?" she whispered, gripping her dagger tightly though it was still sheathed. Her young heart pounded fast, worry crawling across her face.
But Dila didn’t move. She remained curled in silence, her breathing soft, shallow. It was as if her mind had sunk into a place too far to be touched by fear or the threat of wolves. The world outside had lost its meaning to her....
The night grew colder. The forest air smelled of damp moss and soil, and somewhere in the distance, a low growl stirred, carried faintly by the wind.
The driver gritted his teeth, flicking the reins, urging the horses faster. "Hold on, Princesses...." he whispered, more to himself than anyone.
The carriage rattled on through the oppressive dark, the moonlight barely able to pierce the choking canopy above.
Suddenly.....
The wheels slowed, groaning against the dirt until finally the carriage lurched to a stop. The sudden halt jolted Fran and Dila, the silence of the forest pressing even heavier now without the sound of hooves.
The horses cried out, their weary neighs breaking the still night. "Neeehhh.... nehehhhhh...." They tossed their heads weakly, steam rising from their nostrils in the cold air. Their legs trembled before they dropped to their knees, collapsing onto the dirt road with thuds that echoed into the quiet woods.
From the driver’s seat, the old man cursed under his breath. His hands fumbled on the reins before he threw them aside and clutched his aching back. "Ohhh.... ohhh no.... what do I do...." His voice cracked, desperation spilling through the night. He looked back at the pale light of the lamps flickering against the trees, his face lined with exhaustion.
"They can’t.... they can’t go any further," he muttered, almost to himself. Then louder, turning toward the carriage door, he called out shakily, "Princess.... it looks like the horses are tired. They have no strength left to pull us. They.... they need water.... food...." His voice wavered, burdened by guilt. "They can’t carry us through the forest like this.... ohhh."
Fran’s throat tightened. She swallowed hard, the sound loud in the still air. Her hand instinctively reached for her dagger at her side, though her palms were clammy with sweat. Her blue eyes darted to Dila, fear curling inside her chest.
Dila stirred at last. Her head, which had been resting against the seat, shifted slightly, and her silver-blue eyes turned toward the muffled voice of the driver outside. It was faint, but her gaze sharpened, as if pulled from the fog of her own mind by the weight of the words.
For a long moment she didn’t speak, only stared at the shadow of the driver cast against the dim lamp outside. Her fingers twitched against her knees, still curled close to her body. Her breath was unsteady, her mind replaying the images of blood and severed heads again.... yet she couldn’t ignore the call of responsibility in his voice.
Fran noticed her sister’s eyes finally moving, and leaned close, whispering as softly as she could, "Sister....?" Her voice trembled, uncertain if Dila was truly back with her or still lost in the horror of earlier.
The forest around them groaned with life.... the rustle of branches, the shifting of unseen creatures, and the deep silence between sounds that made the heart race. The moonlight barely pierced through the canopy above, painting the road in pale, broken patches of silver.
The horses lay motionless now, their chests heaving, their bodies too weak to rise. The driver placed a trembling hand on one of their manes, whispering, "I’m sorry.... just rest...." His tone was heavy with guilt.
Inside the carriage, Fran bit her lip. "If the horses can’t move.... does that mean.... we’ll have to walk?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, as if she feared the trees themselves would answer.
Dila’s eyes lingered on the driver’s shadow, her lips parting slowly. Her voice was faint, but for the first time in hours, she spoke with intent. "Fran.... stay close to me...."
The forest swallowed her words, leaving only the sound of the horses breathing heavily, the driver muttering to himself in despair, and the endless darkness waiting just beyond the lamps.
The old man let out a long, weary sigh as he crouched down beside the fallen horses. His joints cracked from the movement, his body still aching. With trembling hands, he unfastened the worn leather straps and removed the horses from their leashes. The animals lay sprawled on the barren ground, sides rising and falling heavily, their nostrils flaring with labored breath.
"Rest now.... rest," he muttered softly, his voice breaking, almost like he was scolding himself for pushing them too far.
He staggered to the back of the carriage and rummaged through the supplies. His fingers clutched at a leather water dispenser, half-filled, its weight sloshing faintly in the still night. He hurried back to the horses, kneeling beside them with a pained grunt.
"Sorry.... sorry, my friends," he whispered. His voice was hoarse, carrying both guilt and affection. He uncorked the container and carefully poured the water into a shallow wooden bowl. Kneeling lower, he slipped one arm beneath the limp head of the nearest horse and gently lifted. "Come on.... drink...." His hands trembled as he tilted the muzzle toward the water.
The horse stirred weakly, eyes dull from exhaustion. Then, as the water touched its lips, it began to lap at it slowly, the sound of drinking echoing quietly in the silence of the forest. The old man’s eyes softened with relief. "That’s it.... that’s good.... drink as much as you can...."
He repeated the motion with the other horse, shifting his aching back and wincing with every move. His palms steadied the heavy head, guiding it down until the lips brushed the cool surface of the water. The second horse drank greedily, splashing a little, the ripples shining in the faint lamplight.
Inside the carriage, Fran peeked from the door, watching silently. Her ears twitched, catching the faint sound of water splashing and the old man’s murmurs of comfort. Her hands clutched tightly at the edge of the doorframe, her blue eyes filled with a mix of worry and admiration for the old driver’s determination.
Beside her, Dila remained curled against the seat, her silver hair still spilling across her shoulders. But her gaze shifted toward the faint sounds outside, her lips parting ever so slightly. The sound of the horses drinking, and the old man’s gentle voice, eased a small part of the terror lodged in her chest.
The forest, though still dark and threatening, seemed to hold its breath for that fragile moment. The moonlight filtered through the trees, glinting softly on the leather flask in the old man’s hand, as though the night itself was acknowledging the quiet act of kindness.