The fire crackled softly, casting faint shadows that danced on the surrounding trees. The air had cooled as night settled in, and the group of adventurers gathered around the fire, their voices low but filled with warmth. Their laughter had faded to the occasional chuckle, and as the day slipped into the quiet stillness of night, the forest seemed to hold its breath.

Ryn, ever the lively spirit, stretched out, propping his elbows on his knees. His sword, still too large for someone of his wiry frame, gleamed faintly in the firelight. “Tomorrow’s the big day, eh? Ruins to the east, and treasure to the west! We’ll be sitting pretty before the week’s out, mark my words.”

Kellen, who had settled against a tree, quirked a brow and grinned. “Yeah, we’ll be sitting pretty until your boar comes charging through again, Ryn. Maybe I’ll start carrying a shield just to protect us from you.”

Lila rolled her eyes but smiled as she polished her bow, her fingers gentle as they ran along the wood. “You’re both hopeless. Ryn’s lucky I’m here to keep him alive, and you, Kellen—well, I’m still waiting to see if that quick tongue is going to help you outrun whatever trouble Ryn causes.”

Kellen snorted. “At least I don’t trip over my own sword.”

Ryn laughed heartily. “Only because you’re too busy looking for a way to avoid it! You’re not as sneaky as you think, Kellen.”

Farin, still the quietest of the group, adjusted his spectacles and spoke softly. “I think… I think I’d like to buy my family something. They need it more than I do. I’m not sure I want to keep everything for myself.”

Ryn smiled at the younger cleric, a rare moment of sincerity in his usually playful demeanor. “That’s noble of you, Farin. But don’t forget about yourself. You’ve earned your share, too. We’ll make sure to leave you enough to buy something shiny. You deserve it.”

The cleric gave a small, appreciative smile. “Maybe… but I just want to make sure that all of this—our journey—means something. That it’s not just about treasure or fame, but about doing something right.”

Ryn gave a firm nod, a touch of seriousness in his voice. “Stick with us, Farin. You’ll be a legend, too. No one ever forgets a legend.”

Kellen raised a brow, leaning back against the tree with his arms crossed. “Bold words from the guy who nearly got us killed by a boar last week.”

Lila chuckled, not bothering to hide her amusement. “I still can’t believe you tripped on your own sword.”

Ryn held up his hands in mock defense. “Hey, that boar was faster than it looked! And besides, we made it out fine, didn’t we?”

“Sure,” Kellen said dryly. “But maybe next time, don’t lead with your face.”

The group burst into laughter, the sound filling the space between the towering trees. Farin chuckled softly, but his gaze drifted to the fire, his thoughts far away.

The warmth of the fire and the camaraderie between them brought a sense of peace to the group. Yet the air around them seemed to shift. The breeze no longer carried the sweet scent of the forest, but a damp, heavy chill. The soft rustling of the leaves, the chirping of crickets, had disappeared. Even the fire, crackling with its familiar warmth, seemed to crackle with a tension that none of them could place.

Farin shivered, his staff clutched tightly in his hands. “Does anyone else feel that? It’s… colder. It wasn’t like this earlier.”

Ryn waved it off, though his grip on his sword tightened, his instincts sharpened. “You’re just spooked. We’re close to the ruins, that’s all. Nothing to worry about.”

But even he couldn’t shake the unease settling in his chest. The night had grown quiet—unnaturally quiet—and the shadows of the forest loomed larger, as though they were watching.

Malric sat motionless in the corner of their camp, his skeletal form hidden in the darkness of the trees. He could smell the warmth of their living flesh, feel the heat of their bodies in the air, and it repulsed him. Their laughter, their dreams, their silly chatter—it all grated against his senses. He loathed them, their vitality, their disregard for the dangers that surrounded them.

How simple they were. How foolish.

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The cleric, Farin, still muttered his prayers, his voice soft and filled with a strange mix of hope and fear. He prayed for their safety, for the success of their quest, and Malric couldn’t help but sneer inwardly. These pathetic creatures, so full of life, were oblivious to the true danger lurking in the dark.

He observed them, learning about their armor, their clothes, the tools they carried. Ryn’s oversized sword, Lila’s nimble bow, Kellen’s arrows, and Farin’s staff. Malric even overheard their talks about villages, merchants, and the so-called ‘adventurer’s life.’ They were naïve, caught in their own little world, unaware of how fragile their existence truly was.

What was it like to be so full of life? To feel that surge of energy that they felt with each breath, each step? Malric despised it.

Yet he was curious.

His thoughts twisted, but his patience remained. He would not reveal himself just yet. They would be vulnerable when sleep overtook them. He could wait. It wouldn’t be long before they were all in his grasp.

The fire flickered, casting long shadows on the ground as the adventurers settled for the night. Ryn leaned back, his sword beside him, already half-dazed from the warmth of the fire. Kellen stretched his legs out, his bow resting across his lap. Lila had already curled up near the fire, her bow beside her, and Farin had settled into a sleep, his staff still clutched in his hands.

Malric moved silently, inching closer to the campfire. His bones creaked softly in the stillness, but the adventurers, lulled by their tiredness and the warmth of the fire, didn’t hear him. He waited, watching. He would make his move soon. The chance was close at hand, and he would seize it.

His skeletal hands, thin and brittle, twitched in anticipation. He had been patient. He had learned. He had endured. Now, it was time to strike.

The fire crackled one last time before its light dimmed, leaving the camp in a near silence. Malric crept forward, a faint whisper of movement in the air.

And just before he made his move, the silence was broken—by the quietest of whispers, carried on the wind.

"Tomorrow’s the big day," Farin had whispered, barely audible.

Malric didn’t respond. He didn’t need to. He was already closing the distance.

The night had fallen silent, but it was only the calm before the storm.

The camp was silent, save for the occasional crackling of the fire. The adventurers, exhausted from the long journey through the forest, lay scattered around the flickering flames, each of them lost in the world of sleep.

Ryn sprawled on his back, sword beside him but too far for his hand to reach. Kellen was slouched against a nearby tree, bow resting loosely in his lap, his eyes shut, though his grip on the weapon remained firm. Lila lay on the opposite side of the fire, curled into herself, with her bow laid aside and her cloak pulled close. Farin, seated nearby on a log, had his staff across his knees, the faintest traces of sleep creeping over him as his head drooped.

And in the dark shadows just beyond the firelight, Malric watched.

Silent as death itself, he studied the group, the cold stillness of his bones contrasting with the warmth of the campfire. The flickering light painted their faces in eerie shades, their breaths slow and steady. Every one of them was a target, vulnerable in the deep, unnatural quiet of the forest.

Malric took his first step toward Farin, his movements like whispers in the night. The cleric was closest, and with a swift, practiced motion, he covered Farin’s mouth. The young man’s startled gasp died in an instant, his wide eyes locked on the skeletal figure above him. A sharp shard of bone pierced his throat, silencing him forever.

The others slept on, unaware of the silent slaughter.

Kellen was next. Malric moved behind him, hand pressed against the archer’s throat before he could so much as blink. Kellen’s breath stopped as Malric tightened his grip, and within moments, the archer crumpled to the ground, lifeless.

Lila’s position was more distant, but Malric had no trouble closing the gap. He approached swiftly, dropping beside her, a bone shard plunging into her chest before she could even register the danger. She died without a sound.

Ryn, still sprawled out and blissfully unaware, was the last. Malric loomed over him, his skeletal hand wrapping around Ryn’s neck. With a twist, the adventurer’s life was snuffed out, his neck breaking under the pressure.

The camp fell into an eerie silence once more.

And then, as Malric stood over Ryn’s body, a noise broke the stillness. Kellen’s body shifted as the last remnants of life fought against the inevitable, a soft thud as he fell fully to the earth. The sound stirred Lila from her sleep.

Her eyelids fluttered open, bleary and heavy. For a moment, she was disoriented, her senses slow to catch up with the world around her. The air was colder than she remembered, and the usual chirps of the forest seemed absent.

Her heart hammered in her chest, and she blinked against the darkness, squinting through the haze of sleep.

Something was wrong.

A sharp, metallic scent hit her nostrils, like blood—fresh and pungent.

Lila’s eyes shot open, fully awake now, and she saw it. The bodies of her companions. Farin. Kellen. Ryn. All of them—dead. Their faces frozen in expressions of horror, their bodies sprawled unnaturally on the ground, lifeless.

No.

Her breath caught in her throat, and she stumbled to her feet, her hands trembling uncontrollably. Her mind raced. What was happening? Had they been attacked by something? Some beast? No… no, no, no, this wasn’t right. The forest was too quiet. The fire flickered, its warmth now nothing more than an unsettling presence, casting long, twitching shadows across the ground.

Her bow. She needed her bow.

Lila’s heart thudded painfully against her chest as she fumbled for her weapon. It was beside her, but her fingers were too shaky to grab it. She felt her throat tighten, and for a moment, she thought she might collapse, her panic bubbling over. The silence around her grew louder, ringing in her ears as she tried to make sense of what was happening.

What had happened to them?

She scrambled backward, her feet tangled in the underbrush as she tried to stand, her eyes darting around for any sign of movement. She was alone. They were all gone.

A noise—slight but distinct—drew her attention. Footsteps. Soft, almost imperceptible.

Lila whipped around, her eyes wide with terror. In the darkness, she saw a figure—a silhouette moving just beyond the firelight, its edges jagged and unnatural. She could make out no details, only the bone-white outline of something monstrous. Her throat constricted, and for a heartbeat, she froze, her mind unable to grasp what she was seeing.

No. No, it couldn’t be.

But there it was, moving toward her with horrifying precision, its steps eerily silent. A skeletal figure.

A skeleton.

It wasn’t possible. It couldn’t be real.

A sharp gasp tore itself from her throat as she scrambled to her feet, panic surging through her veins. Her bow—she needed her bow! Her fingers closed around it, but it was too late. Before she could even draw an arrow, the skeletal figure closed in on her, its cold hand reaching out to grasp her throat.

"No! No!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and desperate. She tried to pull away, but her legs were weak, her movements uncoordinated. Fear consumed her. Her breaths came in short, panicked gasps as her mind raced. What was it? Who was it? Why was it—why was it—

She stumbled, her feet catching on a hidden rock, and before she could right herself, the skeletal figure was upon her. A cold hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her screams, and with a final, desperate movement, she was pulled backward into the darkness.

Her thoughts became a whirlwind of confusion and terror. What had happened? Why had they been killed? Why was she—

And then, in the cold grip of the night, everything went dark.