Chapter 4

Half a day of casual chatter on the road had softened the squad.

For a moment, everyone seemed to forget this wasn’t some friendly outing — it was a mission, and one that had never promised to be safe.

We reached the edge of the forest fairly quickly.

The path we’d followed ended here, and from this point on, we had to rely on our own experience to find our way through these suffocating woods.

The air hit hard — thick with the smell of rotting leaves.

Tall, brooding trunks stretched up into the mist.

Their branches, tangled and dull-leaved, looked like twisted, predatory fingers.

The silence was oppressive, almost physical.

Only the occasional rustle of branches or a crow’s cry broke it.

The forest, as always, felt foreign. Hostile.

It watched.

It waited.

For a careless intruder.

And all of that distracted from the more urgent concern — our scouts were still nowhere to be seen.

Kristin swore, her head jerking left and right with frustration.

“Gods, I hate this damned place! Where the hell did those two disappear to?!”

Elos and I exchanged a glance, then shrugged.

We moved slowly, cautiously, deeper into the woods — eyes scanning everything.

And then Madeline stopped.

Suddenly.

Dropped low.

Ear to the ground.

“Quiet. Don’t move.”

The squad froze.

“There’s something. It’s close. I hear movement…

Coming downhill.”

Her face was tense, her voice hard, stripped of all emotion.

“Damn stench… I don’t smell Helle and Marcus.”

***

A few seconds later, the crack of branches sounded above us.

Something thudded to the ground behind.

We spun around instantly, weapons drawn, eyes fixed on the thick bushes just a few steps ahead.

But to our surprise, it was Marcus who emerged from the thicket.

He looked like he’d just been kicked around by a pack of trolls, but still managed to flash a dumb grin.

“Took you long enough to get here,” he quipped. “And what’s with the weapons? Planning to take on the local snails?”

“SO. GODS. DAMN. FUNNY. MARCUS.”

Kristin snapped and socked him in the shoulder.

He yelped.

“Where the hell have you been? Where’s Helle?”

His arrival was dramatic… and a little relieving.

We lowered our weapons.

Marcus brushed fallen leaves from his silver-streaked hair, stretched his arm, and explained:

“Your beloved Helle went to check a possible way around — the rocky hills to the left of the path.

I climbed a tree to scout ahead, saw these damn bushes go on forever, then heard you all coming.

Tried to get down, my boot buckle snagged — curse that thing — and boom. Crashed. It hurt…”

He sighed heavily.

“Barely managed to tuck and roll.”

“Where were you supposed to meet up?” Kristin asked, much calmer now, clearly ignoring his whining.

“She should be back any moment,” Marcus replied.

“We figured we’d finish scouting before you caught up.”

Right then, Helle emerged from the trees, walking along the same trail we had taken.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Her focused expression was tinged with frustration.

“Kristin, I checked for a shortcut around the forest to save us time… No luck,” she reported.

“The hills could shave a few hours off the journey, but we’d still have to crawl through underbrush and bog beneath them.”

“First,” she continued, “we might be able to find old trails — solid ground that doesn’t swallow your boots — and maybe clear a path others can use in the future.”

“Second—”

Madeline cut her off.

“Second, I’d be dead weight trying to crawl over those godsdamned rocks.

I’ll just slow everyone down.”

No emotion in her voice, but the tension was unmistakable.

“Take the hills. Go on without me.”

Silence fell.

Some lowered their eyes.

Kristin furrowed her brow, staring at the ground, thoughtful.

***

My gaze drifted to the tree Marcus had fallen from.

The thought wouldn’t leave me — there had to be another way through.

What would the heroes of those old tales do in our place?

The kind who always knew what to say, what to do.

They wouldn’t hesitate.

They’d assess the situation in a heartbeat and act without fear.

No “maybes,” no “what ifs.”

No worrying about sounding stupid.

That… wasn’t me.

Hesitation. Doubt.

I could already hear the imaginary snorts, the mocking repetition of my words — like back in the Academy, or when I was new on the job.

And yet…

“I… I might have an idea,” I muttered.

The wardens turned, skeptical looks all around.

“Marcus, where are those damn bushes the thinnest?”

He blinked, then looked toward the thicket and the tree.

“Two hundred steps, give or take. Why?”

I pointed at the tall, narrow tree nearby.

“Garrel’s got a decent axe. That thing’s tall enough — at least two-thirds of the distance. Maybe more.”

Marcus and Garrel caught on quickly. Their grey faces stretched into matching grins.

“We’ll chop it down,” I went on.

“Drop it straight over the brush. Trunk’s wide enough to walk most of the way — then we fight through the rest.”

I could feel Kristin watching me closely.

When I turned to her, her face showed something like… pleasant surprise?

“For the first time since I’ve known you, you’ve said something actually useful. Not your usual dumbass nonsense.”

She smirked.

“Well, get to it!”

***

About half an hour later, the three of us had felled the tree in the right direction and started crossing over the brush.

Kristin went first, followed by Helle.

She wanted to test the path herself before letting the group go.

At the end, she carefully climbed down and checked the ground — firm enough.

She waved Helle over, gave her instructions, and Helle returned to us.

“Captain says there’s a clearing ahead. Looks like solid ground starts there.”

“Cross in pairs max — the trunk bends a bit near the end.”

Helle and Marcus went first.

Then Elos and Garrel.

Garrel — being a mountain of a warden — made the wood creak under his weight.

Elos had to balance like hell to keep from sliding into the muck.

Once they were across, only Madeline and I remained.

Despite her lack of sight, she moved better than many with eyes.

Still, this slick, shifting log was no easy path even for her.

I reached out a hand to help.

She snapped her hand away and scoffed.

“I’ve got it.”

But her first step nearly made her stumble.

In a flash, I jumped ahead of her onto the tree and touched her fingers.

“Let me,” I said quietly — but firmly.

She gave a small nod and gripped my hand tightly.

Together, we moved slowly toward the others.

And the instinct was right —

After about fifty steps of easier walking, we emerged onto the clearing.

Below us: the swamps.

The mist swirled with thick, acrid fumes, creating a heavy, white-grey curtain of rot.

One look at the squad’s faces said it all:

They didn’t want to go down there.

The real problem?

No one had the faintest clue where to go next.

“What’s the plan, Captain?” Elos asked.

“For now, we circle the edge,” Kristin said.

“With any luck, we’ll spot something. Or someone.”

She split us up:

“Gar, Elos, Mads — take the right.”

“Don’t get too close. Breathe in too much of that and you’ll be seeing ghosts.”

“We’ll go left. We meet at the other side — where the scholars were supposed to show up. And the wardens sent after them.”

“If you see anything strange — send a signal arrow.”

Everyone nodded — and split off.

***

Our group moved slowly along the edge of the swamp.

The stench — sulfur and rot — hit the nose hard, even from thirty paces away.

Through the fog, eerie shapes of gnarled trees emerged here and there — like ghosts watching in silence.

The water itself was dark and viscous, almost oily.

Bubbles rose lazily to the surface and popped with a wet blop, as if something vile was preparing to break free from the depths.

“Not exactly prime research ground, huh?” I muttered, trying to break the graveyard quiet.

“Fully agree,” Helle replied, covering her face with a sleeve.

“Less talking, more looking,” Kristin grumbled, pointing ahead.

“Find anything — tracks, signs, something — or shut up trying.”

Helle and I exchanged a look, smiled faintly, shrugged, and moved on in silence.

We had covered more than half the perimeter… when we heard it.

A sound.

Low. Wrong.

A wet, gurgling rasp — coming from deep within the bog.

A groan, twisted with the slap of water.

Something was moving under the surface.

Something foul.