Ch 21 - Things that Go Bump in the Night

Ny’Kelos Entrance

Night pressed against Ny'kelos like a burial shroud, the silence so absolute each breath felt deafening. Mist crept between the trees, its tendrils testing the village perimeter where torches struggled against the damp dark. Their flames danced weakly, as if even they feared what lurked beyond their light.

Two guards stood their post, the younger shifting restlessly while his veteran companion leaned against the wooden palisade. Torchlight caught the gray in Bren’s stubbled jaw as he watched his partner's nervous pacing.

"Too damn quiet," Orik muttered, knuckles white around his spear. Fear had stripped the youth's face of all confidence.

Bren's weathered features creased. "Quiet's better than the alternative." He rubbed his arms against the bone-deep chill.

"Though something feels wrong tonight."

Orik paused his pacing, eyes scanning the treeline. "They should've attacked by now. This waiting..." He swallowed hard. "It's like they're toying with us."

"First night on watch?"

A hesitant nod.

"Then listen well," Bren straightened, his voice dropping low. "War isn't all screaming and steel. Sometimes it's this - the waiting. The watching. You learn to—"

A sound cut through the night.

Both men froze, muscles coiled tight.

Beyond the torchlight, branches rustled though no wind stirred the air. Something moved in the shadows, deliberate and patient.

The younger guard swallowed. “Did you hear that?

The older man nodded, fingers whitened around the weapon. “Yeah.”

They stood frozen for a moment, listening.

Nothing.

Then—a low crunch.

Like a boot pressing against damp leaves.

The younger guard’s breath hitched. His fingers flexed on his spear.

The older man narrowed his eyes at the darkness beyond the torches. “Might be an animal,” he murmured.

But he didn’t sound convinced.

The younger guard hesitated before stepping toward the source of the noise.

“I wouldn’t—”

“I just need to check,” the younger insisted. “If something’s out there, better to see it now than when it’s already in the village.”

The older man exhaled sharply through his nose but nodded. “Fine. But don’t go far.”

The younger guard took a few careful steps forward, torchlight stretching just enough to kiss the outer edges of the brush.

The air held its breath.

Then—

Something moved.

A shadow in the mist.

It happened in an instant.

The younger guard sucked in a breath—

And then he was gone.

No sound. No struggle.

One moment, he was standing at the edge of the torchlight.

The next, the darkness swallowed him whole.

The older guard’s stomach dropped.

“—Kid?” His voice came out too quiet.

He took a step forward, soft deliberate strides over uneven terrain.

Nothing.

The trees swayed slightly, their branches whispering against one another.

The younger guard’s torch still flickered where he had stood.

But there was no sign of him.

His spear lay abandoned in the dirt, pointed the wrong way, as if he had been turning back when it happened.

A sense of foreboding crept up the older man’s spine.

He took another step forward—

A branch snapped behind him.

He turned sharply, heart hammering against his ribs.

The mist thickened.

He wasn’t alone.

He sucked in a breath, every hair on his body standing on end—

Something moved in the corner of his vision.

And then—

Everything went dark.

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Inside the Village

The village was mostly asleep. Fires burned low in their pits, casting deep shadows across the longhouses. A few figures still moved—warriors patrolling in quiet shifts, a mother hushing a restless child.

Inside one of the smaller dwellings, Orinai lay awake.

He stared at the ceiling, unable to find rest.

Nyri shifted beside him, still but not quite asleep either. He could tell from the way her breathing wasn’t yet deep enough.

The silence stretched between them.

“I can’t stop thinking about them,” Orinai whispered.

Nyri turned her head slightly toward him. “The others?”

He swallowed. “We made it back. But they didn’t.”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to.

The weight of those words hung between them like smoke.

Orinai turned onto his side, facing her in the dark. “Do you think… they’re still out there?”

Nyri was quiet for a long time. “I don’t know.”

Orinai’s fingers curled into the blanket. “Daelin said it was too dangerous to go back for them.”

“Because it is.”

“I know,” Orinai muttered. “But—”

A soft knock at the door interrupted him.

Both of them tensed.

Then, Daelin’s voice: “You two still awake?”

Orinai sat up, exhaling slowly. “Yeah.”

The door pushed open slightly, and Daelin stepped in, his face shadowed in the dim lantern glow.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Orinai gave a dry chuckle. “What gave it away?”

Daelin drew a slow, controlled breath through his nose and sat on the edge of the bed. “You’re not the only one.”

A pause.

Then, quieter: “You’re thinking about the dead.”

Orinai swallowed, nodding.

Daelin smoothed back disheveled strands. “You think I don’t feel it too?”

Orinai looked at him.

Daelin’s jaw was tight, his eyes weary. “We left them behind. Doesn’t sit right with me either.”

“So why don’t we go back?”

Daelin let out a slow breath. “Because it’s a trap waiting to happen.”

Orinai clenched his fists. “They deserve to be buried.”

“They do.” Daelin’s voice was firm but sad. “But we have to be smart about it.”

Orinai shook his head. He knew Daelin was right.

But it didn’t feel right.

That was the difference.

Daelin exhaled, glancing toward the doorway. “I need to talk to the Elder.” He pushed himself to his feet. “I’m glad you two are back. Try to get some rest.”

As he stepped outside, a distant scream split the night.

All three of them snapped their heads toward the sound.

Another scream.

Then silence.

Orinai’s heart pounded.

Nyri sat up slowly, eyes wide.

Daelin muttered a curse.

The night was no longer quiet.

And suddenly, they were all very awake.

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Ren shivered slightly as he walked along the narrow path, muttering under his breath. The night air was crisp, carrying the damp scent of earth and wood smoke.

“Of course, it’s gotta be all the way out here,” he grumbled, kicking a loose stone aside. “Not enough we almost got gutted earlier—nah, gotta hike in the dark just to take a damn piss.”

The torches along the main village paths flickered, their light struggling against the creeping mist. Further out, near the tree line, the light barely reached. Ren hated how the shadows danced here, always shifting at the edges of his vision.

“Should’ve pissed in a bucket,” he muttered.

It wasn’t just the distance that annoyed him. It was eerily quiet.

“I can't wait for this to be over and be back in my own bed.” he sighed dreamily.

The kind of silence that made his own breathing seem too loud. The kind that made the rustling of leaves sound deliberate.

His injured shoulder ached, and he rolled it with a wince. The wound was healing, but not fast enough. Another reminder of how fragile this job had made him feel.

The latrine was ahead, a small wooden structure propped over a deep pit. He wrinkled his nose at the faint stench.

Ren stepped inside, sighing as he braced one hand against the wall for balance.

That’s when he noticed it.

A shape.

Hunched in the corner of the latrine, crammed awkwardly against the wooden beams.

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At first, his brain refused to process it.

It wasn’t moving.

Ren blinked. His first thought was that someone had passed out drunk.

“The hell are you doing in he—”

His words caught in his throat.

The head lolled unnaturally. The body sagged in a way that wasn’t right.

Ren’s stomach lurched.

That wasn’t someone sleeping.

It was a corpse.

His breath hitched, a cold sweat prickling down his back. His knees locked, his fingers numbed against the wooden frame.

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen.

The flame winking in the mist just enough to illuminate the gaping wound at the corpse’s throat. Dark, dried blood streaked the walls. The body was stiff, unnatural.

A dead man.

A dead man sitting in the latrine.

Ren inhaled sharply—

And bolted.

He tripped over himself scrambling backward, nearly falling into the dirt as he burst out of the latrine. His legs didn’t stop moving.

“FUCK!”

His heart slammed against his ribs as he sprinted down the path.

He didn’t care how loud he was.

He didn’t care who heard him.

He just needed to get away from that thing.

The village wasn’t far, and he could already see the darkness wavering ahead.

Taren and Elda were still awake. They were talking near one of the longhouses when he came barreling toward them.

He nearly collided into Elda, breathless, wild-eyed.

Taren’s brows furrowed. “What the hell are you doing?”

Ren could barely get the words out. “Body—there’s a fucking body in the latrine!”

Elda blinked. “…What?”

Ren turned, pointing toward the path. His hand shook. “I was just—just going to take a piss, and there was someone in there! Just—just sitting there!”

Taren and Elda exchanged glances.

“You sure you weren’t just—” Elda started.

“I KNOW WHAT I FUCKING SAW!” Ren snapped, voice cracking.

Silence.

Taren’s expression hardened. He nodded once. “Show us.”

Ren hesitated.

Every part of his body screamed at him not to go back.

But if he didn’t, no one would believe him.

He swallowed hard, forcing himself to turn. “Fine. But if it moves, I’m pissing myself.”

Taren exhaled sharply. “Noted.”

Together, they headed back toward the latrine.

The torchlight barely cut through the pitch.

The path felt longer now.

The silence felt heavier.

Ren’s heart pounded as he stepped forward, gesturing toward the door. “Right there. Look for yourself.”

Taren pushed the door open.

The firelight flickered.

Inside, the latrine was empty.

Ren stopped breathing.

The body was gone.

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The glow flickered over Taren’s sharp features as he stood at the entrance of the empty latrine. His fingers flexed slightly on the hilt of his sword, though he hadn’t drawn it.

Elda, standing just behind him, clicked her tongue. “So, let me get this straight.”

She turned to Ren, who was still pale, his breath uneven.

“You’re saying there was a corpse sitting in the latrine.”

Ren scowled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yes. A dead man. Just sitting there, stiff as a fucking log!” He gestured wildly. “I didn’t imagine that, I know what I saw!”

Taren didn’t look at him. His gaze remained on the empty wooden structure. The pit below. The walls. Not a single trace of blood.

Nothing.

He finally turned back to Ren. “And you didn’t touch it?”

“NO, I didn’t touch it!” Ren snapped. “I barely had time to fucking breathe before I bolted out of there!”

Elda released breath that fogged in the cold air. “Then where is it now?”

Ren opened his mouth—then closed it. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

That was the problem, wasn’t it?

He knew what he saw. He knew it was real. But now, looking at the empty latrine, what the hell was he supposed to say?

“Something’s wrong,” Taren muttered.

Elda crossed her arms. “So what now? Do we wake the whole damn village because Ren saw a ghost?”

Ren threw up his arms. “Oh, fuck you—”

A scream.

Sharp. Distant. From deeper inside the village.

They all turned their heads toward the sound.

A second scream tore through the night.

Taren didn’t hesitate. “Move.”

They broke into a sprint.

----------------------------------------

The second scream had come from near the longhouses, closer to the village center.

By the time Taren, Elda, and Ren reached the scene, Daelin was already there. His spear in hand, his stance tense.

The firelight barely reached the edges of the lifeless body, the flickering glow making the dark stains of blood look almost like shifting shadows. The group stood in uneasy silence, the cold wind carrying the lingering scent of sodden underbrush and something else—something metallic.

Ren swallowed, still catching his breath. He opened his mouth to speak, but his throat was dry.

Then, finally, he blurted out:

“That’s not the body I saw.”

All eyes snapped toward him.

Vyn’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Ren’s breathing stuttered in his chest as his hands were still twitching at his sides. “I swear to you—the one I saw? It was in the latrine. Sitting up. This ain’t him.”

A pause in the night..

Elda clicked her tongue, rubbing the back of her neck. “So, what? You think we got multiple bodies moving around?”

A chill ran through the group.

Varis let out a humorless chuckle, shifting uneasily on his feet. “I don’t like where this is going.”

A villager in the growing crowd murmured something under their breath.

“That’s not natural,” a woman whispered, clutching at the beads around her neck.

“It’s spirits,” an older man muttered. “We left our dead out there. This is their anger.”

“Tch.” Vyn rolled his eyes. “It’s not spirits. It’s someone playing damn games with us.”

“Then why haven’t we seen them?” Another villager countered. “If it was the mercenaries, they would’ve attacked by now.”

Vyn shook his head. “Maybe they’re testing us.”

Varis scoffed. “Or maybe this whole place is cursed.”

A ripple of unease passed through the villagers. Daelin frowned. The last thing they needed was fear feeding itself.

Daelin's temples throbbed, battle-worn body protesting each movement. The situation spiraled, crushing him under its weight as others looked to him for answers.

Air hissed between pursed lips, forcing his shoulders to steady. The village was watching. He had no room to falter.

This wasn’t like fighting an enemy in front of him. It was worse.

A good fight was simple—blade against blade, survival reduced to instinct. But this? This creeping, unseen threat? It gnawed at the edges of reason. It turned warriors into paranoiacs and left even the strongest looking over their shoulders.

For the first time in a long while, Daelin wasn’t sure what he was dealing with.

The crowd quieted, A heavy stillness filled the silence.

Taren, still stiff from his cracked ribs, adjusted his posture as he stepped closer. His eyes flicked toward Daelin.

Daelin looked… tired. His jaw was tight, his shoulders rigid. His patience—already worn thin from the day’s losses—was being stretched even further.

Taren hesitated. This wasn’t his fight.

But the unease in his gut told him that if he didn’t step in, they’d lose control of the situation.

He exhaled, voice even. “We need to focus.”

Daelin’s gaze snapped to him. For a brief moment, there was something unreadable in the warrior’s eyes. Mistrust? Wariness?

Then, finally, he gave a slight nod.

Taren continued, “First, we secure the village. We don’t know what’s moving these bodies, but we know one thing: It’s trying to keep us unsteady.” His eyes flicked across the group. “So we don’t give it that advantage.”

Daelin nodded. “We check everything. Every path, every post. If there’s someone—or something—moving bodies, it’s doing so unseen.”

Taren added, “Then we confirm what’s missing. We check for break-ins, missing supplies, anything disturbed.”

Daelin’s fingers flexed at his sides. “The guards at the perimeter will remain in place. We’ll reinforce them with rotations.”

“We should check the traps too,” Vyn spoke up. “If something’s out there, we might catch it moving.”

“Fine,” Daelin agreed. “You take one of the hunters and go.”

Elda clicked her tongue. “And if this is some kind of sick mind game?”

Daelin’s eyes darkened. “Then we make sure it ends.”

“Get everyone inside. Now. No one wanders off alone.”

The crowd moved quickly, fear outweighing any hesitation.

Daelin’s eyes swept over the gathered warriors. The weight of command settled heavy on his shoulders, but his voice was steady.

“Elda, you’re with Ren. Sweep the village center. Check for anything out of place. If someone’s been moving unseen, we need to know how.”

Ren nodded, his hand still resting over his injured shoulder. Elda barely looked at him, already scanning the paths ahead.

“Vyn,” Daelin continued, “Take Joran. Check the traps. If something’s moving out there, we need to know where.”

Vyn’s lips pressed into a bloodless line,but he only gave a short nod. He didn’t believe in spirits—but he did believe in predators.

“Jaska, Harl—hold your patrol.” Daelin’s gaze was firm. “Stay moving, stay sharp. You’re our eyes between the gaps.”

The two guards exchanged a look before nodding.

Then Daelin turned to Varis & Kai. “You two, check the storehouse. If anything is missing, I want to know. If someone’s been inside, I want to know even faster.”

Varis' nostrils flared, rubbing a hand over his face, but Kai’s back straightened. He met Daelin’s gaze and nodded, sharp and disciplined. Even with his age, he understood the weight of the task.

“And the Hall?” Elda asked, cracking her knuckles.

Daelin gestured toward the warriors already positioning themselves at the entrance.

“We’ve got guards. No one unaccounted for gets in or out.”

Before splitting, Daelin does one final check, looking over the warriors. His voice is firm but quieter now.

“Stay sharp. Watch each other’s backs.”

Taren exhales, rolling his shoulders. “We’ll meet at the rendezvous. Be safe.”

Elda crosses her arms, eyes flicking toward Ren, but she nods. “Same to you.”

Vyn scoffs but grips his weapon tighter. “Don’t get eaten.”

Kai, the youngest, nods once, expression steady despite the tension.

There’s a brief pause—With that, the group began to disperse, tension thick in the air.

Daelin turned to Taren. “We’re heading to the gate.”

Taren gave a slow nod. “Right.”

The night sprawled around them, mist weaving between their steps. The ground drank in their footfalls, muffling the sound of their passage.

For a moment, they walked in utter silence.

Then, Daelin exhaled. “Been a long time since I’ve had to deal with a situation like this.”

Taren glanced at him. “You mean the missing men? Or paranoia?”

A faint, humorless chuckle. “Both.” Daelin’s fingers flexed at his side. “Men don’t do well when they can’t see the thing hunting them.”

Taren nodded, his ribs aching as they moved. “Fear eats away at the strong faster than a blade does.”

Daelin shot him a glance. Something unreadable in his expression. “That what you tell yourself?”

Taren shrugged. “That’s what I’ve seen.”

Daelin sighed sharply. Then, quieter, “Yeah. Me too.”

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their boots in the dirt.

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Ny’Kelos Entrance

The perimeter torches flickered weakly. Shadows shifted with the mist, making every movement seem unnatural.

Three men stood near the gate.

Daelin frowned. That wasn’t right. There should have only been two.

As they got closer, he spotted the problem.

Bren—the remaining gate guard—stood rigid at his post, his grip too tight on his spear. The normally unshakable man looked uneasy, his eyes flicking between the abyss beyond the gate and the two men standing near him.

Jaska & Harl—the roving patrol—stood nearby, hovering instead of patrolling. Their usual ease was gone, replaced by tense, low-voiced discussion. They weren’t moving. They were waiting.

Daelin’s steps slowed.

Taren, catching the shift in his demeanor, kept one hand near his sword.

“Report” Daelin made his presence known.

Bren spotted them first. His shoulders stiffened.

Jaska turned next, exhaling sharply. “You two are just in time.”

Daelin’s gaze swept over the three men. “What’s going on?”

Tension rippled across Bren’s features. He didn’t answer immediately.

Jaska did. “Orik’s gone.”

Daelin's breath caught like ice was in his throat as Taren scanned the void.

That made the three guards exchange looks.

Daelin spoke next. “We need to know everything. When did you last see him?”

Bren adjusted his stance, shifting his spear. “Last time we spoke was when the rovers passed by on their earlier check-in. He had heard something out there and decided to check on it and never came back.

Harl, the younger of the two roving guards, added, “We came back around on our next pass, and Bren was standing alone.”

Daelin nodded slowly. “And?”

Bren licked his lips. “No sign of struggle. His torch was still burning in the dirt, but he was just… gone.”

Taren’s fingers drummed lightly against his belt. “Same pattern.”

The others gave him questioning looks.

Daelin answered, “This isn’t the first disappearance tonight.”

Jaska’s face darkened. “You mean—”

“We just had a body show up in the middle of the village,” Daelin said bluntly. “And another one disappeared before we could confirm it.”

A heavy silence settled over the guards.

Bren muttered a curse. “So it’s not just us.”

“No,” Daelin said, “but that means we have a bigger problem.”

He let that settle before getting to the point.

“We’re organizing a full sweep of the village. Every inch gets checked. But before we go back to report this, we need to figure out whether Orik is still close by.”

That made Jaska tense. “You mean—”

“We need to check the treeline,” Taren finished for him.

Harl shifted uneasily. “If Orik got taken—”

“Then we need to know,” Daelin said. “If he’s alive, we bring him back. If he’s not, we don’t leave his body out there.”

No one liked it.

But none of them argued.

The torches burned weak at their backs, their glow faltering before it could reach the treeline. Beyond, the woods stood as an unbroken wall of black.

Daelin and Taren didn’t speak as they moved. They weren’t far from the gate, but already the light felt distant—like they had stepped just far enough into another world.

The woods were too quiet. No nocturnal creatures stirred. No wind rustled the trees.

And yet, something was here.

Daelin slowed his steps, his grip adjusting on his spear. “Do you feel that?”

Taren gave a slow nod, one hand resting lightly on the hilt of his blade. His breath was even,

measured—but his eyes moved sharply over the terrain. “Something’s off.”

A few feet ahead, something glinted against the dirt.

Orik’s gear.

Neatly placed.

Not scattered. Not dropped in a struggle.

Laid out.

Taren’s brow furrowed as he crouched down. “This isn’t right.”

Daelin knelt beside him, his expression tightening as he scanned the scene. The missing guard’s spear rested against a fallen log, his helmet beside it, placed as if someone had taken the time to arrange them.

Too precise. Too human.

Taren exhaled slowly, his voice low. “It’s a message.”

Daelin’s expressions turned to granite. His instincts screamed trap. Someone wanted them to see this—but why? To taunt them? To lure them deeper?

He shifted slightly, eyes scanning the shadows. The torchlight from the gate barely reached this far, the trees swallowing what little visibility they had.

Then—

A sound.

Not movement.

Not an animal.

Breathing.

Daelin’s grip tightened around his spear. The noise was faint, coming from beyond the arranged gear. A measured inhale, followed by the slightest exhale.

Taren heard it too. He didn’t move, didn’t shift, but his fingers flexed over the handle of his sword.

The breathing continued—slow, careful. Someone was watching them.

Daelin didn’t turn toward it. He didn’t lunge. That’s what they wanted.

Instead, he exchanged a glance with Taren. A silent decision.

They stood.

Backed up.

Slow. Controlled.

They didn’t run. Didn’t give whoever was out there the satisfaction.

The breathing didn't stop. It stayed there–just beyond their sight. Waiting.

The moment they crossed the invisible threshold back toward the gate, the sound stopped.

Like it had never been there.

Like it had never been real.

Taren didn’t speak until they were within range of the torches again. “They’re playing with us.”

Daelin exhaled through his nose. “Not for long.”

The guards stiffened as they approached. Bren, still standing rigid at his post, furrowed his brow.

Bren straightened, his knuckles still pale around his spear. Jaska and Harl weren’t far, their roving patrol lingering closer than usual, a silent acknowledgment that none of them liked this.

“What did you find?”

Daelin’s expression was unreadable as he stopped in front of them. His grip on his spear was steady, his voice low and firm. Controlled.

“They left us a warning.”

The air seemed to thicken.

Taren exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face before turning to the others. “We found Orik’s gear. Arranged. Not scattered, not dropped.” His gaze flicked between them. “Someone wanted us to see it.”

Jaska’s face darkened. Harl muttered something under his breath.

Bren’s grip turned to iron. “So what does that mean?”

Daelin’s eyes flicked toward the treeline, where the void swallowed everything beyond the torchlight.

“It means,” he said quietly, “they’re still out there.”

A void where sound should be.

Then Daelin spoke again, sharper this time, cutting through the tension like a blade.

“Stay alert. No one leaves the post. If anything—anything—moves out there, you sound the alarm. I don’t care if it’s a branch snapping, you wake the entire damn village.”

Jaska gave a tight nod. “Understood.”

Daelin’s gaze shifted toward Bren. The man had stood alone since Orik vanished—had held his post even when everything in him was likely screaming to run. Daelin didn’t ignore that.

“You stay here,” he told him, “but you’re not alone anymore.” His voice dropped slightly, quieter but firm. “We’ll send another warrior to hold the gate with you.”

Bren exhaled, something like relief flashing through his tense frame before he nodded once.

Taren shifted, eyes scanning the distance. “The others need to know.”

Daelin nodded. “We head back. Now.”

They turned, steps measured but swift as they moved toward the village center.

And just as they crossed the torchlight’s edge, it happened.

A sound drifted through from the trees–muted, calculated. Not a cry of pain. Not a scuffle of movement. A voice.

Low, distant. Twisting through the trees like a whisper meant only for them.

It was too faint to catch the words. But the tone—the mocking, knowing lilt—sent ice through Daelin’s veins.

Taren heard it too. His hand went to his sword instantly, but he didn’t draw.

They didn’t turn back.

They didn’t run.

And just as they reached the village path.

A bell rang.

Soft. High.

A delicate chime, carried on the wind like a whisper.

Daelin stiffened.

Taren’s breath came short. “That wasn’t from the village.”

No.

It came from the dark.

Behind them.

Right where the trees swallowed their footprints.

Where something—or someone—stood unseen.

Waiting.

Watching.