The southern shore cut a ragged line through the fog, disappearing into the drowned woods beyond. Thorn’s feet sank into the thick, sucking mud as he heaved himself out of the water. Each step felt heavy, the mud clinging to his boots, pulling with a force that matched the bruises and cuts throbbing along his body. He didn’t pause to rest; his eyes darted across the half-submerged trees and bushes that jutted from the water in crooked, ghostly silhouettes, each shape blurring into the mist.
Behind him, Ada struggled onto the shore, her steps slipping in the slick mud. Her breaths came sharp and shallow, her gaze flicking anxiously toward the trees, as though expecting to see her family waiting for her beyond the murky waterline. But Thorn’s hand shot up, a silent command for caution. Her eyes widened, but she froze, watching him intently.
Thorn’s head tilted, his senses sharp, alert to every shift in the fog around them. He could hear only the faint lap of water against the mud, the drip of water from his cloak and Ada’s sodden clothes. Yet the silence felt unnatural, heavy. A chill prickled down his spine, and he gestured for Ada to stay low, his body crouched, his muscles tensed.
“We don’t know what’s waiting for us here,” he murmured, his voice barely louder than a whisper. He kept his tone even, controlled, though each shallow breath betrayed the effort it took to stay on his feet.
Ada nodded, lowering herself into a crouch. He could see the fierce resolve in her expression.
They moved slowly, every step sinking into the mud, as they navigated the strange, twisted landscape where waterlogged bushes clawed at their ankles and tree roots jutted out like skeletal hands. Thorn’s gaze swept over each shadow, each twisted branch, as he mentally mapped their next steps. Shelter and warmth were essential, but not here, not yet.
As they pushed forward, Thorn’s mind raced, every instinct on edge. The urgency gnawed at him, yet he stayed alert, ready to react to the slightest sign of movement in the fog.
Thorn led them forward, every step meaningful, eyes scanning ahead with a weary vigilance. He knew they were moving clockwise around Halrest’s edges, though the landscape looked almost unrecognizable. Trees leaned at odd angles, their trunks stripped of smaller branches, while bushes lay damp, their leaves curling and brittle. Everything around them looked drained of life, a muted blend of grey and brown, as if the land itself had been drowned and spat out by the lake.
Ada’s eyes roved over the destruction, and each broken tree, each patch of lifeless earth, seemed to etch a new layer of worry onto her face. She kept close to Thorn, but her head turned constantly, as if trying to piece together where she was, what had happened. She broke the silence first, her voice low, almost fragile.
Ada’s gaze swept over the warped landscape; her expression tight as she took in the sight of water creeping far beyond its usual bounds. She shook her head slightly, her voice barely a murmur. “I never thought... it’s like the lake swallowed everything.”
Thorn nodded, his eyes narrowing as he surveyed their surroundings, the weight of her words settling heavily. “I’ve seen floods before,” he whispered, his tone laced with a kind of grim wonder. “But never like this.”
Ada swallowed, her mind circling back to her family’s house, every precious thing they’d left inside. She could almost feel it, a pull like an ache in her chest. Her heart pounded with the fear that twisted inside her, a fear she couldn’t shake.
“What if they… what if they’re still there, Thorn?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “What if they’re trapped in all of this?”
Thorn glanced at her, the lines of his face set, yet his gaze softened for just a moment. He understood what was driving her forward, even if it meant risking her life, risking everything. But he couldn’t let that desperation blind them. He knew they’d already skirted death more than once today.
“We’ll get to them,” he murmured, his tone steady, though he could feel the weight of each promise he made her. “But only if we’re careful.”
He paused, pointing out a row of trees further inland, where the ground sloped up slightly and the mud became firmer. “Stay close,” he said, his voice dropping even lower as they crept forward. “Anything could be lurking here. We don’t know the extent of it.”
Ada nodded but kept her gaze firmly on Halrest’s distant outline, visible only as a dark mass in the fog. The town she knew felt more like a memory than a place now, something fragile and fading as they moved through this alien version of her home. She fought to keep her breaths steady, to keep the fear tamped down, but each step only seemed to deepen her sense of dread.
Thorn’s thoughts drifted to the unseen dangers ahead. He stole a glance at Ada, who looked like she’d run straight through the town if he let her.
“Stay focused,” he said, his voice firm but kind. “Don’t think of anything else until we know we’re safe.”
Ada’s jaw clenched, her gaze momentarily meeting his. There was trust there, a tentative anchor against the chaos. And though fear gnawed at her, she followed, her footsteps as silent as his, as they slipped deeper into the shadows around Halrest.
They pressed on through the muck and half-drowned forest until they reached a higher patch of ground, where the soil felt dry and solid beneath their feet. Thorn scanned the area, his eyes searching for anything that might offer cover. His gaze settled on a small, sunken clearing nestled between two towering trees whose branches wove together, casting deep shadows across the ground.
“Over here,” he murmured, motioning for Ada to follow. They stepped into the clearing, its edges hidden by the thick undergrowth. Satisfied they’d be out of sight from anyone—or anything—that might be passing nearby, Thorn set his pack down and turned to Ada.
“We’ll set up here for now,” he said, his voice low but steady. “It’s not much, but it’ll keep us out of the open.”
Ada nodded, her face still pale and drawn, but she moved to follow his lead as he began clearing the underbrush. The silence around them felt thick, broken only by the sound of their damp clothes rustling as they worked. Thorn watched her out of the corner of his eye, noting the slight shivers that rippled through her.
“We need to get out of these wet clothes,” he said quietly, glancing down at his own soaked sleeves. “The water’s still clinging to us, and if we stay like this too long, the chill could put us down for good.”
Ada hesitated, glancing around the clearing as if hoping for some shelter from the cold that clung to them like a second skin. Their cloaks, still soaked and heavy from the lake, weighed them down and seemed to leech warmth from their bodies with every movement.
“We’ll remove what we can, and search nearby for something dry,” Thorn said, removing his cloak and shaking it out before hanging it on a nearby branch of a nearby tree. He reached for his tome, the ancient leather-bound book that rarely left his side, and placed it beside the cloak, tucking it under a thick layer of fallen leaves to keep it hidden.
Ada followed his lead, pulling off her own cloak and wringing it out, though it was little use in the chilly air. She pulled her own tome from its sling, glancing down at its water-streaked cover with a worried frown. She buried it beside Thorn’s, careful to keep it out of sight.
Looking up, she saw him watching her with a slight smile. “It’s a shame about your tome,” she murmured, eyeing his with a trace of sympathy. “I can’t imagine how much knowledge you had stored inside it—gone now.”
Thorn’s smile deepened, and he shook his head. “It’ll be fine,” he said, his voice tinged with a quiet confidence. “This old tome has seen worse. Give it a little time, and it’ll be completely restored.”
Ada’s brow furrowed, a mixture of curiosity and awe crossing her face. “Is it… enchanted?”
“It is,” he replied, though he left the explanation at that. “But we’re short on time. We’ll talk about it later.”
He turned his gaze toward the distant silhouette of a house, just visible through the trees. The structure looked abandoned, its wooden walls worn and weathered, but it held the promise of shelter and, hopefully, dry clothes. He nodded toward it. “There might be something there we can use. We’ll break in, find anything dry, and then head out to gather what we need for the potion.”
Ada looked toward the house, her initial hesitation giving way to resolve. She nodded, understanding the necessity. Together, they moved through the underbrush, careful to keep low and avoid drawing attention to themselves.
As they reached the edge of the clearing, Thorn turned back to her, his voice soft but firm. “Stay close and keep quiet. We don’t know who—or what—might be nearby.”
Thorn moved ahead, every sense sharpened as he guided Ada closer to the outskirts of Halrest. The town seemed to crouch in the mist, its outline blurred and ominous against the pale light filtering through the clouds. Each step felt heavier, the silence pressing in around them, broken only by the sound of their feet against the damp ground. Every breath Thorn took was shallow, measured, as he scanned the landscape, alert for any movement.
Ada followed close behind, her heart pounding in her ears, each corner and shadow filling her with a creeping dread. Halrest, once familiar, looked warped and abandoned, as though the land had swallowed pieces of it whole.
Thorn lifted a hand, signalling Ada to stop. She froze, her eyes widening as she followed his gaze. A twisted figure—no more than a bundle of branches and cloth—hung draped over a fence post nearby, its outline grotesque and too still. Ada’s breath caught as she realized it was merely debris, yet the sight unnerved her, like a morbid echo of the town she once knew.
They crept along the edge of a narrow lane, stepping over broken planks and shards of pottery that littered the ground, the remnants of people’s lives scattered and trampled. Thorn’s eyes flicked to every doorway, every shattered window, his hand hovering near his belt, ready to draw his blade at the first sign of danger.
His senses stretched taut, and his movements were precise, each one chosen to avoid the most exposed areas. He paused often, tilting his head to listen, his focus unbroken.
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Ada’s stomach churned as she spotted deep gouges along the walls of the nearby houses, as though something with claws had dragged itself through the town. The sight of it filled her with a new, chilling fear. She kept her head down, willing herself to stay close to Thorn.
They skirted around a shattered cart, its contents scattered and rotting in the open air. Thorn moved in a crouch, his gaze constantly sweeping their surroundings as he led Ada into a narrow side street, close to the abandoned house they’d chosen. The structure was partially obscured by the twisted branches of an old oak, its wooden walls faded and weathered, blending into the shadowed landscape. Every instinct in him screamed to stay alert—this was their only chance to find supplies.
Ada’s hands trembled slightly as she followed Thorn closely, slipping into the narrow gap between two walls. She felt the rough texture of stone scraping against her shoulder, the chill of it seeping through her damp clothes. Thorn was just ahead, his steps soundless as he approached the back entrance of the house. He held up a hand, signalling her to stop as he carefully examined the door, fingers running along its edges, checking for anything out of place. The lock was rusty, and with a gentle push, it gave way, creaking as the door swung open.
He slipped inside first, guiding her in after him. They both froze, allowing their eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Thorn’s body remained tense, his breathing steady but controlled. He gave Ada a quick nod, a silent assurance that it was safe—for now. But his stance stayed vigilant, ready for whatever might lie deeper inside.
Thorn stepped carefully over the threshold, his eyes sweeping the room, and Ada followed, her steps slow and hesitant. Every corner seemed to hold a dark stain or the sheen of a puddle left behind by the lake’s retreat. Waterlogged chairs slumped in place, their once-polished wood dulled and splintering, while a faded tapestry hung crooked on the wall, its edges still dripping.
Ada’s eyes drifted over the warped, swollen shelves, books half-submerged in murky water and blankets left sodden across a ruined armchair. The place looked like it had drowned and then been left to dry without a single hand to set things right. The sight of it struck her, and her thoughts slipped, unbidden, to her own home—her family, her belongings. She didn’t know if she could bear to see her home in the same state.
Thorn’s hand brushed her shoulder, a gentle but grounding touch. She glanced up to find him watching her, his expression steady, almost comforting. His eyes conveyed the words he didn’t need to say: We haven’t found anyone yet. There’s still hope.
She swallowed, nodding, and pulled herself back to the present. Thorn’s attention had already shifted as he moved through the house, his steps careful, his gaze sharp. He checked each room methodically, casting his eyes over every surface, every piece of furniture that might hold something useful.
They made their way into a small bedroom at the back of the house, the doorway warped from the water but still passable. The room felt eerily untouched by time, as if the people who lived here had simply stepped out with the intention of returning soon. A damp bed slumped in the corner, the sheets soppy but neatly placed, while the wardrobe doors hung slightly open, revealing empty shelves, their contents carefully removed rather than scavenged.
Thorn’s gaze landed on a low chest near the bed, its lid locked tight. The water hadn’t penetrated it, and the wood, though faintly damp on the surface, had withstood the lake’s intrusion. He knelt beside it, running his fingers over the sturdy lock. After a moment, he raised his hand and drew a quick rune in the air above it. A faint glow traced his movements, illuminating the room with a soft, ghostly light. As the glow faded, there was a gentle click, and the lock shifted, popping open as if turned by an invisible key.
Ada’s eyes widened, watching with quiet astonishment. She leaned closer, her voice barely a whisper. “How… how did you do that?”
Thorn looked up at her, a knowing smile playing at the corner of his mouth. “Later,” he replied softly, letting the mystery linger.
He opened the chest carefully, lifting the lid to reveal neatly folded clothes inside. The items were simple but well-cared for, organized in tidy stacks: two plain woollen tunics, a pair of patched trousers, a heavier cloak, and a child-sized cloak embroidered with faded red stitching along the edges. It was a modest but heartwarming collection, each piece lovingly maintained. Whoever had lived here had taken pride in their belongings—perhaps a family with humble means but strong values.
Thorn’s fingers brushed over the small cloak, his gaze lingering for a moment before he handed a tunic and pair of trousers to Ada. She took them, her fingers tracing the well-worn fabric, feeling a strange sense of closeness to the family who had once called this place home.
As Thorn picked up what he would wear, he glanced at Ada, giving her a brief nod, his eyes soft. These clothes, worn and patched, might have been overlooked by any ordinary passerby, but here, in the silence of an abandoned home, they were a precious find.
Together, they changed quickly, each pulling on the dry clothes with a shared sense of reverence, as though by wearing them they were preserving something of the lives once lived here. The dry fabric offered a warm relief against their chilled skin, and they bundled their damp clothes tightly, rolling them up to keep them out of sight.
As they stepped back toward the main room, a muffled sound drifted in from outside—a faint scraping, followed by the soft crunch of footsteps against gravel. Thorn froze, as he strained to listen, motioning for Ada to stay still.
They exchanged a brief glance, understanding passing between them. Thorn edged closer to the window; his back pressed against the wall as he peeked through the cracked glass.
Shadows moved just beyond the door, indistinct figures shifting in the fog-laden dawn, their movements slow and aimless. Whatever was out there hadn’t noticed them—yet.
They waited, hearts racing, as the figures passed, the eerie quiet returning once more. Thorn finally eased away from the window, giving Ada a reassuring nod. The danger had passed, but the sense of dread lingered, stronger than ever.
They gathered their bundles, slipping quietly out of the house and back into the shrouded, war-torn remnants of Halrest, leaving the damp, haunted shell of the house behind.
They moved through the woods with a practiced silence as they returned to their makeshift camp. Thorn set down the wet clothes they’d removed and motioned for Ada to help him gather any twigs and branches that were still dry enough to burn. She watched him closely, following his lead, her movements careful and efficient.
*We need dialogue here, now that they are out of immediate danger
Soon, they had a small pile of dry wood. Thorn knelt, arranging the twigs in a neat stack with larger branches over them, building a small, tidy structure for their fire. Ada knelt beside him, her gaze fixed on the pile with a kind of quiet anticipation. She half-expected him to mutter an incantation or trace a rune, something to summon the fire into being. She waited, hands folded in her lap, her attention rapt.
Thorn caught her curious look and paused, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Expecting magic?” he asked, his tone amused.
Ada blinked, glancing away, a little flustered. “I thought… I mean, I know you can—”
“Magic can do many things,” he said, striking a small flint against a steel rod he kept in his pack, sending sparks into the dry kindling. “But it would be wasteful to use it on the simple things.” He gave her a knowing look, the kind that held more than just words. “Besides, there’s value in knowing how to manage without it.”
She watched as the sparks caught, small flames licking up along the dry twigs, her eyes wide with a mixture of admiration and understanding. It was a simple lesson, but one that spoke to something deeper. She could sense a hint of guidance in his words, a suggestion that there was much she didn’t know yet—skills and lessons she might learn if she stayed by his side.
Once the fire took hold, Thorn sat back, resting his hands on his knees, his eyes trained on the flickering flames. “It’s not always about what you can do, Ada. Sometimes, it’s about what you choose to do.”
Ada nodded, her gaze shifting to the fire, feeling the warmth begin to creep through her as the flames danced. She settled into the moment, the weight of the day’s tension easing slightly, though her thoughts lingered on Thorn’s words. There was a calm, quiet wisdom in him, and though he rarely spoke about himself, she could sense that his knowledge came from hard-earned experience.
They sat in silence, the crackling of the fire filling the space between them, both of them grateful for the warmth. After a while, Thorn began to speak, his tone low and reflective. “The world has ways of testing us,” he said. “Magic and skill—they’re only parts of it. There are things out there you can’t fight or change just with power.”
He glanced over at her, his eyes thoughtful. “But there’s strength in knowing that too. In understanding what you can control and what you can’t.”
Ada listened intently, absorbing his words like the heat from the fire, a sense of calm mingling with the stirring of determination. She understood, in a way, that her journey was only beginning, and that there was much Thorn could teach her—about magic, about survival, and perhaps about herself.
Ada let her eyes rest on the fire, her spirits momentarily lifted by Thorn’s words, a small sense of hope warming her heart. But as she looked into the flames, her thoughts drifted, unbidden, back to the silent, haunted house they’d just left. The damp, twisted remnants—the lives left behind as though their owners had vanished mid-step. A chill spread through her, colder than any winter breeze, as the thought crept in: What if my home is just like that? What if my family…
She bit her lip, trying to push the fear down, but it coiled tighter, and her hands trembled slightly.
Thorn glanced over, as if sensing the shadow falling over her thoughts. Without a word, he reached for his tome, resting it across his knees. She blinked, pulled from her dark reverie, her attention shifting to the book. The last time she’d seen it, it had been drenched, dripping with lake water. But now, the leather cover looked mostly dry, as though it had been left out under the sun, the edges only faintly damp.
Her brow furrowed in surprise. “How… it was soaked before.”
Thorn ran a hand over the tome’s cover, a quiet satisfaction in his eyes. “The enchantment,” he explained, turning the book slightly so she could see it better. “It’s simple but effective. Built to withstand harsh conditions, and to restore itself over time. Even a soaking in lake water can’t keep it down for long.”
Ada’s curiosity got the better of her, pulling her fully from her anxious thoughts. “What kind of enchantment is it?” she asked, leaning forward, her fingers itching to reach for the tome, though she held herself back out of respect.
Thorn glanced at her, a small, approving smile softening his features. “It’s a preservation charm,” he replied. “Not particularly powerful, but one that keeps anything within safe from weather, decay… even a bit of rough handling. I’ve carried it for years, and it’s held up through storms, battles, and long journeys.”
He opened the tome, carefully flipping through the pages until he found the one he sought. Ada leaned in, her eyes widening as she took in the neat, water-free ink on the open pages. Diagrams and careful notes lined the paper, the text detailing ingredients and steps in a precise script. Thorn tapped the page, a small smile touching his lips.
“This,” he said, his tone quiet but certain, “is what we need to make—the cleansing potion.”
Ada’s eyes moved over the recipe, taking in the strange symbols and measurements, her curiosity flaring to life.
“It’s nothing extraordinary,” he continued, gesturing to the book. “But a charm like that—one that protects knowledge and keeps it accessible when you need it—has more use than many flashier spells. Power is often found in what’s steady and dependable, not just in what’s showy.”
He glanced at her, letting his words sink in, a quiet wisdom woven into them. This enchantment, this tome, his approach to magic—they were all lessons in their own way, hints at the depth of what he could teach her. For now, though, she focused on the recipe, the intricacies of it drawing her in as she realized how many unknowns still lay before her.
She found herself fascinated by the practicality of it—a charm that didn’t blaze with strength but held its own, day after day. She could see how it mirrored Thorn himself, steady and sure, rooted in experience rather than showmanship.
“You seem to know a lot about… enchantments,” she said, her tone soft but laced with interest. “Did someone teach you?”
Thorn gave a slight nod, his gaze thoughtful. “Yes,” he replied, “But that’s a story for another time.”
Ada’s gaze drifted back to the tome, a small flicker of wonder in her eyes. Thorn’s quiet strength, the book’s subtle magic, the calm wisdom that radiated from him—all of it hinted at knowledge she had barely begun to understand. For a moment, her fear faded, replaced by a sense of possibility.
But as her gaze returned to the flames, the image of her family’s home rose in her mind once more, and a cold pang settled in her chest. She knew the risks, the uncertainty. And though she had Thorn to guide her, the reality of what she might find—and what might already be lost—remained, casting a long shadow over the path ahead.
Thorn closed the tome gently, his eyes catching hers. He didn’t say anything, but the warmth in his expression told her that, whatever they faced, he would be there to face it with her.