It's day thirty-four, which adds up to...eleven bells on the night of Solis in the fourth cycle in the month of Brumous. Or so I'm assuming if my math is right, which is usually sketchy but close enough to the correct answer. Let's just say I narrowly passed my math lessons when I was younger.

Over a month I've been in this wasteland of a forest, and it's only been two days in the real world outside of the Blight. I'm fairly sure I've gone crazy like the rest of the Roamers here. Heathens, I might even be prone to turning into one of The Fiend if I keep seeing the same damn trees over, and over, and over, and over, and over, and over...

That's all that's here. Trees, brush...more trees and brush. I have run into a river which I followed for a little while. Fish were hard to catch, and they were too small for a good full meal. My own food that I packed from the ship ran out however long ago. My head hurts too much to try and remember how long I've been chewing edible plants and roots. Gods how I yearn for a good doe or rabbit. Nothing lives here. It's as if all this perfectly habitable land repels all life save for those of smaller insects. It's annoying.

I've noticed my energy is plummeting with every passing day. I have to stop more times during my everlasting hike to Gods know where. I train when I get antsy or need to work off some anger, but my body gives up on me before I can. Then I end up punching a tree or kicking a rock or smacking a rock with a tree branch. And no, it never makes me feel better.  

Then there are all my Roamer friends who seem to trail me everywhere I go. They're victims of my anger most of the time, as they seem to always sense when I'm angry and drift toward me then. Only when I'm bored or content or in need of someone to talk to until they dash away. I've named the more frequent flyers, though they'll never answer to the names nor remember that I called them such after a few moments.

There are the ones I met on the first day. Darling, who is always asking for her "darling." Sammy is the one who always asks if I'm alright. I always end up somehow chucking something at his head which only goes straight through him while I yell at him that if I was alright, I wouldn't be yelling. Howler is the woman who is always calling for help, even though nothing but the air and the grass beneath her feet is touching her. Sometimes I wonder if people threw her in here because she was just plain mad.

Then there's the new ones I couldn't help but make fun names for. There's Chatty Cathy who never shuts up. She'll go on and on about nonsense. At first, I thought she'd spew something out about how to get out of the labyrinth or where there'd be a mountain or some kind of shelter so I didn't have to keep sleeping in trees like a monkey. Turns out she only talks about all things useless. Like the science behind the leaves changing colors, or the formation and process of a dying star. Useless. I'm ninety percent sure she got thrown in here because someone finally got tired of her mouth.

Bitchy Beth is the worst. She always has some bitchy comment to make about my ruggish clothing or the hawk's nest that's being made on my head. I always point out that it's her dress that is torn and thoroughly layered in the dirt, but she always says that she's elegant compared to my horrendous state. Bitchy Beth would have a full face of bruises if she weren't a damn ghost.

Demented Dan is just...creepy. He mumbles things, has wide eyes that look as if they'll pop out of their sockets any moment, and his hands are always shaking. I'd say he's on something, but I don't think ghosts can get drunk or high. Then again, I don't know much about ghosts. Heathens, I didn't really believe in them until now.

He never stops spouting warnings about The Fiend, which I have yet to see. Thirty-four days and not a single sign of the supposed flesh eaters. I've heard their Gods awful screeches that sound like dying hyenas and burning witches, but that's just about it on my knowledge of them. Not even Kairos who has become my one and only companion - because I wouldn't go anywhere near the word friend when it comes to him - says a word about them. He never shows fear at the sound of their name, but you can see in his eyes that he knows more than he lets on.

He's the only one who will visit when I'm not prone to strangling something. We have our conversations, most of which consist of me trying to pry information out of him. I never get my answers, which then leads me to become annoyed, which leads to anger, which leads to me kicking rocks and punching trees, and throwing branches at rocks.

It's a full cycle.

My mind is always working though, ears straining to hear any critter than so much as breaths too loudly. They've been more focused on listening for the Solus Umbra for the past two cycles. The Alone shadow. At least, that's what I call the shadow in the shape of a man that's always nearby watching me. I've tried several times to trap him or sneak up on him in turn, but he always runs off before I can.

I've found small things he leaves for me as if he's trying to communicate something. The first thing was a small stack of rocks. Every ten yards or so they'd be stacked up, and I followed them. That's how I found the river and the fish. Then it was a blue feather, one I didn't recognize nor know what it meant. I kept my eyes peeled towards the sky, assuming it meant there was a nest nearby, and hopefully, a bird to have for a meal.

No such luck.

I kept the feather and ended up tucking it into my knotted hair I forcefully twisted into some resemblance of a plated braid. Strands have fallen out since then, but I have been too lazy to undo them and attempt to brush them out. I am so not looking forward to having to untangle the knots. I'm fairly sure I'll end up bald because I'll just tire of the mess and chop it all off. I cringe at the thought of me with short hair every time I think about it. I can pull off many things, but short hair...nope. I like my long red hair too much to put myself through that horror.

The last object the Solus Umbra left me was an arrowhead carved from a rock of some kind. It took me a few days, but I finally pinned the stone as obsidian. The stone is only found near volcanic areas, or at least, that's where it's more commonly found. If there's obsidian then there's a volcano, which means this land isn't just all forest. It's the only hope I tend to run on nowadays.

I tied the arrowhead to a thick stick I carved with a knife I summoned up. It's just a spear now tied to the pack on my back, not having been touched since there's nothing here to pierce it with. I train with the makeshift weapon though, thankful to have something in my hands. Sparring with a tree is nothing like sparring with my sisters. At least my sisters made it fun and challenging. The tree just stands there and takes my shit. It's revolting. And yes, I am fully aware it's a tree and has no control of its movement whatsoever.

I miss my sisters and mother every day, and every day I worry about what they're getting themselves into and how Clarice is doing. Gods and their Saints, what I'd give to give the little warrior a hug right now.

I worry about her more than the others - her and Darius. Yes, it's my duty to protect them, but that doesn't mean I'm exempt from protecting them because I care for them rather than duty. That's the difference between us Ginerva and Bhaltayr and most royal guards. We fight for love and friendship, not duty and sworn oaths. I'm aware that not every royal guard or guard, in general, is like that, but it still makes me mad that there are those who put duty over the yearning of the heart. Sure, the heart is a dangerous thing and sometimes the mind is the wiser, but the heart is the voice of the soul, and the soul will always pull you towards the souls with which yours is tied.

Saints, being in this forest for this long is messing with my brain. I'm beginning to think like my mother and her fantastical inspirational bullshit.

It's mid-afternoon, the sun marking somewhere between four and five bells. The sun usually sets around seven bells in The Blight, which means I have to start looking for some type of food before staking out a tree to hunker down in for tonight. Tomorrow will be day thirty-five in my neverending journey. If I die tomorrow, it wouldn't be soon enough.

I hunt - and by hunt I mean I sit on a rock in utter silence and listen for anything - for what I believe is an hour and a half before I take the spear and launch it to the closest tree. The stick gives a satisfying ping when the arrowhead digs in and the shaft wiggles up and down at the impact.

I look up at the sky and start screaming. "I just want some damn food, assholes! Is that so much to ask? It's not like you're doing anything important up there you lazy sons of bitches! I! Want! Food, goddammit!"

Screaming at the Gods makes me feel slightly better, but it doesn't take the full edge off. It never does. I end up stomping over to my spear still deep in the trunk's side. I go to yank it out but it doesn't budge.

"You've got to be shitting me right now."

Half screaming, half sighing, I put both hands on the shaft and yank again. No such luck. I pull and pull, even going so far as to plant both feet on the tree and kick-off of it to pull it out. Apparently, my anger is several inches deep. Still tugging, growling, and cursing at the Gods and their useless Saints, I stop and freeze when a loud and guttural screech echoes through the trees. There's no answer nor follow-up growl, so I go back to shaking the tree from an upside-down position. There's another screech, but this one is closer.

It's odd. The Fiend are never out this early, nor this close to me. Maybe I'm getting too close to one of their nests or whatever. I'll have to make camp in a higher tree tonight. That is if I can get this damn spear out of this stupid tree.

I hate this fucking forest.

Another screech goes out, and I let my feet which were wrapped on the end of the spear, fall to the ground. Sticks snap, the sound of something rushing through the brush nearby catching my attention. The ghosts never make noise when they walk about. Not even the ground beneath their feet will shift or leave footprints. Whatever is running about is alive.

Another skittering run sounds to my left, raising the hairs on the back of my neck and arm. Forgetting the spear, I feel my power buzz beneath my skin, and two long blades form in my hands. Daggers in their sheaths are fastened to my legs, and a sword and its scabbard to my back. I kick my pack which I earlier dropped to the tree trunk with my spear lodged into its side.

Sliding into a ready crouch, I scan the woods and listen for the next skitter. No sound comes, and I recognize the silence, not as the one I've heard for the past thirty-plus nights, but the silence that screams anticipation. Bouncing on my heels, my eyes zone in on a blur between the trees. An unnatural fog has set in, only covering the ground lightly. The trees are fainter, but I can still see them. The ground, however, I can only see a few feet in front of me. I should've taken in my surroundings the moment the first scream went out if only it weren't for that stupid spear.

The figure is walking toward me and I find the outline humanoid. I know better than to relax and think it's just another ghost. The ghosts have a shimmer to their forms at night thanks to the moonlight reflecting off of them. During the nights when there are clouds in the skies, they're just plain transparent. This form is solid. It's got a silhouette against the fog.

As it grows closer another form steps out from behind it, and then another one, and another one, and another until there are five silhouettes all marching towards me. I size them up as they grow closer, finding their movements jerky and primal. Deep animalistic noises come with them as if their vocal cords have been torn, and their noses shattered to the point where they have to breathe through their mouths. I place them as The Fiend, figuring that they're the only things who could make such loud and earsplitting screeches.

The sun is low but still out, cloaking us in colors of amber and plum. The navy of the night sky is slowly swallowing up the beautiful colors, and soon they'll have the advantage of darkness on their side, which means I need to rid of them before that. Or, at least, outrun them before then.

But where to go?

"You smell of rich lemon verbena and the salt of the sea," the one in the center growls. I internally cringe at the sound of his voice. It reminds me of my father's as it is now. Deep, shredded, hungry.

"That's odd," I respond, turning as his four companions spread out in a half-circle around me. "I was sure I smelled of rotten fish and dying carcass. I haven't bathed in a month."

"She alone will feed the whole clan for twice that," the one to my right says excitedly, its head cocked in a way that I don't like. Its voice would be feminine if it weren't for the demonic scratch of it.

I tuck the part about there being a clan of them into my head.

"I get the first taste," a third to my left whispers, taking slow steps towards me as if he can't resist his own hunger. My stomach flips suddenly, and I whirl on instinct, swinging one blade up and the other horizontally with my hip. Both lodge into something, one of those painful screeches echoing before I can throw my attacker to the ground and ready for the secondary.

Nothing comes, and I glance up to find the five still standing there, looking down at their not so silent companion who is now missing an arm. It stands quickly, as if not noticing it's missing and bleeding rather profusely limb. It turns around slowly, and since it's closer than the others and not sticking to the shadows, the falling sunlight illuminates each of its features.

There are no eyes, just empty sockets. The jaw is clearly unhitched, allowing for its mouth to hang open and reveal the single row of razor-sharp teeth that line the entrance to the black hole. Blue blood oozes out of its mouth and drips down its neck where there's a nasty but clean gash across it. It has hair, though it's more of a plucked mop that hangs in wet coiled ropes as if they bathe in their own slime. It layers their body, which, thankfully, still has some leftover clothing covering some parts.

I know without a doubt that these things were mortals before...whatever it is that happened to them. But who they were is likely dead and gone, so I won't have any trouble killing them.

"Death, and pain," the armless Fiend somehow voices despite its lack of jaw movement, the blood in its mouth drooling further as he talks. "Suffering and agony. That is our God. This is your fate."

Without warning he leaps off his feet, his one arm outstretched. I hear the others move with him, and then I'm smiling and letting the decade's worth of training and preparation take over.

I feign and strike, kick and swing, turn and duck under their hands which have retractable nails that are just as sharp as their teeth. Their screams of pain as I continue to slice their skin echo between the trees, my own grunts clearing my head when they manage to land a punch or two.

One of them lashes out with her nails, teeth bared. I duck and drive a blade into her stomach, ignoring the striking stench that comes with the blood. Another throws her off, taking my blade with her. I already have a curved one in my hand by the time two others rush me. I lose sight of two of them, but I let it go and focus on not getting bitten by the third as he stands back up from where I kicked him into a tree.

The armless guy gets his other arm around my neck, and for a split second panic takes root in my gut as its breath brushes up against my cheek. I react, but not quickly enough. Its teeth sink into my shoulder and blistering hot pain shoots out so fast and so hard that my hand spasms and lets the knife drop to the floor. I blindly thrust my other dagger up and behind me, sighing when a loud crack sounds and his jaw releases me. I'm on the ground and rolling, crying out when my injured shoulder makes contact with the dirt just before the other female can tackle me. Another dagger leaves my still pain-free hand before she can launch at me again, burying itself between her eyes.

My back hits the trunk of a tree. I watch as all six of them still stand, the armless one is now also handless, the female with my blade between her brow, the other female with two in her gut, the other male bleeding from several gashes to his abdomen, and the one who bit me with a dagger sitting in his head and red blood - my blood coating his teeth and chin as it glints in the moonlight. I lost track of time, but the sun is gone, and the moon is the only thing allowing me to see their horrific faces.

One of the Fiend who hadn't moved to attack steps forward, his voice less scratched and smoother than his companions. "What are you?"

Taking a slight break in our undoubtedly not-over fight, I lift my hand to my bleeding shoulder. My whole body is shaking, which has never happened before when I've been injured. It must have something to do with his bite or his blood. I feel the small seed of healing power warm my hand and then my shoulder as I focus on sewing skin and muscle back together. My whole arm is numb, but the sensation slowly starts to come back as the power does its job.

"I'm no one," I answer, taking deep breaths. "And believe it or not, you're not the ugliest thing I've seen. Not even close."

The same four fly forward again, clearly not at all affected by the several death blows I've given them. I remember the basic rules. If all else fails, take off their head or sever the heart.

The wind starts howling, blowing the escaped strands of hair into my face. I close my eyes. My senses heighten and then I'm flowing with every movement, using momentum to carry the weight of my blows and block theirs with a few swipes. I can tell when they grow frustrated. Their attacks become blind reactions, their hunger for another bite leading their movements rather than their brains - if they have any - which they were listening to before. I go weaponless for a little while, using my hands and feet to keep their clammy skin off of mine. That only angers them more, and when the female to my left howls her anger, I smile and draw my sword. I hear the sting of the steel sliding out of its metal scabbard as clear as day, and then it's whistling through the air, barely feeling the resistance as it slices through her neck.

The other three hesitate, but I open my eyes and swing, beheading the armless male. Shrieking, the two knife heads shoot forward. As I take the two of them on, keeping a highly aware ear and eye on the other two males who have done nothing but stand and watch, I feel my body's lack of food begin to take its toll. I've been running on adrenaline and though it's not wearing off entirely, my muscles lack the strength they need to fight off the rest of them. Especially since the other two will be fresh and hungry, and-

Dear Gods they've been tiring me out. Two dead is nothing if they have a whole clan, and something tells me they won't mourn their lost brethren so long as they get to bite into me again.  

The thought distracts me long enough for the female to sink her nails into my side. Hers doesn't burn like the male's bite did, but it sure does fucking hurt. The pain sets my arm in motion before I can think it, and then her arm from the elbow down falls helplessly to the