Ch 23: Blood on the Leaves

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Abandoned Outpost

The fog thickened like the final breath in a dying man’s lungs.

Korvan could barely see past the treeline now, the world outside the outpost dissolving into a sea of shapeless ghosts.

The torches they’d set along the perimeter flickered dimly, their glow smothered by the heavy air.

Inside, the stench was unbearable.

Sweat, rot, something metallic and wrong. Uneaten food sat untouched in the corner, gathering flies. Even the ones who weren’t infected by the Catalyst were too sick with exhaustion to stomach anything.

The outpost exhaled a slow, wooden sigh—half-collapsed, ribs of splintered beams bared to the moonlight like exposed bones.

Once, this had been a hunting outpost, a place for trappers and scouts.

In the back room, rusted tools and broken crates lay scattered, remnants of a storeroom that had been ransacked long ago. Dried animal hides, stiff with age, hung in tatters from old iron hooks.

And then there was the stench.

The stench was layered. It wasn’t just theirs. It was old, soaked into the walls, something that had rotted so deeply it had forgotten it was ever alive.

Korvan sat by the window, his fingers idly tapping against his belt. His knife was there—his fingers knew the shape of the hilt, the weight of it. A familiar comfort.

Something was off.

Melo still hadn’t come back.

The silence inside the outpost was turning thick, pressing against their skulls like a slow-building migraine.

It wasn’t just exhaustion.

It wasn’t just the Catalyst.

It was the fact that they all knew what was coming.

Korvan kept his fingers against his knife hilt, not gripping it, just resting there. A reminder. A warning.

Across the room, Havrin’s breathing grew heavier.

“That’s two now,” he muttered under his breath. His voice was low, strained—like he was trying to hold something back. “First Faro, now Melo. Who’s next?”

No one answered.

Because they already knew.

Havrin was shaking again.

Not from the cold. Not from exhaustion.

His Catalyst gnawed at him from the inside, sinking teeth into the meat of his bones.

His fingers twitched—spasms, barely human, like something inside was trying to break out.

His jaw flexed, grinding his teeth together. Breath too fast. Shoulders too tight.

Korvan had seen it before.

The edge before the fall.

But not like this.

Havrin’s Catalyst wasn’t a descent—it was a spark in a drought, the first flame licking dry timber before the forest went up in smoke.

Korvan could see it in his pulse hammering against his throat, in the way his muscles tensed like a bow pulled too tight.

His veins howled for blood.

And he wasn’t alone.

They didn’t speak it. Didn’t name it. But they all knew.

This was how Faro had snapped.

This was how Melo had vanished.

This was how they would die, one by one.

And now Havrin was next.

A low voice broke the silence.

“…We need to leave.”

The words came from the youngest mercenary—one of the newer ones, the least hardened, the least loyal.

Korvan barely turned his head.

The mercenary was pale, his fingers tightening around his own belt like he expected a blade to be drawn on him any second.

“We’re not winning this,” the mercenary continued, his voice barely above a whisper.

He was trying to sound reasonable. Trying to make it seem like he was just thinking ahead.

But his eyes darted too much.

His hands jittered, restless.

He was terrified.

“We all saw what happened to Faro,” the mercenary said. “And now Melo’s missing. We can’t just—”

Silence.

A breath.

The sound of fabric shifting–

sshhhk—

A wet snap of flesh parting—and suddenly the room smelled like iron and open wounds.

Havrin’s axe bit deep, wedged in the mercenary’s throat. The handle trembled like a tuning fork, still vibrating with the force of the swing.

The mercenary’s breath hitched, a garbled sound, fingers clawing at the weapon embedded in his neck. Blood spilled down his chest in thick, sluggish rivers.

His eyes darted wildly, looking to the others for help.

None came.

Havrin exhaled sharply, his whole body shuddering as if the kill had given him something he’d been

craving.

Relief.

Korvan sighed, rubbing a hand down his face.

That was one less mouth to feed.

One less burden

It should have bothered him more than it did.

“Was that necessary?”

Havrin’s breath was ragged, uneven, his grip on the handle tightening instead of loosening. His pupils were blown wide, his expression somewhere between fury and euphoria.

Finally, he let the body drop to the floor.

”…Felt necessary.”

Korvan’s grip tightened on his knife.

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But he didn’t move.

Because this was it.

This was the moment—where they’d either fall apart or fall in line.

He could feel the others watching.

Waiting.

A test of leadership.

A test of who was truly in control.

Korvan let the silence stretch a little longer, then said, calm and controlled.

“You want to lose control?” His voice was steady. Unyielding. “Fine. But not here.”

Havrin stared at him for a long moment, chest still rising and falling like a man standing at the edge of a killing field.

Then he exhaled sharply, cracking his neck, rolling his shoulders like he was trying to shake the tension loose.

”…Then let’s move already,” he muttered.

Korvan didn’t argue.

“Soon.”

His gaze drifted toward the slumped guard in the corner, barely breathing, barely conscious.

An offering. A tool. A message.

“They took the dead…” Korvan murmured. His fingers drummed once against his knee. “Let’s see if they’ll take one more.”

The others didn’t move.

They only stared at the body cooling on the floor.

At the blood pooling between the cracks.

At Korvan.

Waiting for the next order.

Some of them looked afraid.

Others looked resigned.

None of them looked hopeful.

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Hall Of Talking Fire

The doors pushed open, and Varis and Kai stepped inside first.

The cold air followed them, curling along the wooden floors like something alive.

A few minutes later, Elda, Ren, Daelin, and Taren entered behind them, the firelight flickering against their tired, dirt-streaked faces.

They were exhausted—but more than that, they were wary.

Something had shaken them.

And it wasn’t just the fog.

Taren unhooked his belt, dropping his shield and sword onto the table with a dull thud. He exhaled through his nose, rolling his shoulders, letting the weight of it all settle.

For a few moments, no one spoke.

The survivors who had remained behind watched them carefully, waiting.

They’d been holding onto the fragile hope that something—anything—would shift this situation in their favor.

The expressions on Varis and Kai’s faces said enough.

“The bodies were moved.”

Daelin spoke softly, but his words cut like steel.

A ripple passed through the room.

Taren stood there firm. Ren exhaled sharply. Elda folded her arms, expression unreadable.

“They weren’t where we left them,” Taren continued. “And there were signs of traps. Signs they’ve been watching.”

He let that sit for a moment.

“They’re waiting.”

Elda didn’t move at first. She only tapped a finger against her arm, her sharp gaze flicking toward Ren.

“We found something else.”

That got more attention. A few heads turned.

Ren exhaled, his jaw tightening. “One of the homes was… used.”

Daelin’s brow furrowed. “It's residential of course it’s going to be used.”

Ren shifted, rubbing at his wrist. “Someone was inside. The bedding was disturbed. And food was missing.”

Elda nodded. “That’s not all. The food wasn’t just taken—it was eaten there.”

That got a reaction. A few of the villagers stiffened, glancing at one another.

Elder N’Kari’s expression darkened. “That doesn’t happen.”

Varis frowned. “What do you mean?”

The elder’s gaze swept the room. “We don’t eat in our homes. Meals are shared, prepared and eaten together in the communal area. That is our way.”

Silence.

Kai exhaled sharply. “Then whoever was in that house wasn’t from here.”

Elda’s voice was quiet, but firm. “Exactly.”

The fire crackled, filling the silence.

Elda’s voice cut through it next—precise, calculated, sharp as a knife.

“They want us to break first.”

She shifted, eyes dark in the flickering light.

“They’re using the bodies as bait. Psychological warfare. They don’t need swords when fear does the bleeding for them.”

Ren sat near the fire, rubbing his arm absently.

He didn’t say anything.

Daelin’s gaze flickered toward the far side of the room, where Orinai and Nyri sat near the window.

The debriefing should have continued.

But there was something still hanging in the air.

A chair scraped against the wood.

Varis was the first to speak up.

“We need to talk about supplies.”

Kai nodded. “The rations are lower than expected.”

Daelin’s brow furrowed. “Lower?”

Kai hesitated.

“…We think someone’s been taking extra.”

That was all it took.

A murmur rippled through the room.

Some of the villagers standing near the back stiffened, their expressions flickering.

Ren’s fingers curled against the table. “You’re saying someone’s stealing?”

“We don’t know yet,” Varis said carefully. “But we need to account for it before we run out faster than planned.”

A voice cut through the room.

One of the older villagers—a woman with graying hair, arms crossed, eyes sharp with accusation.

“You’re saying it like you don’t already suspect someone.”

Silence.

That was the problem.

It wasn’t just paranoia.

It wasn’t just a mistake.

Everyone in this hall was thinking the same thing.

Taren’s expression darkened. “And there’s another problem.”

Ren turned to him. “What now?”

Daelin sighed. “One of the gate guards went missing.”

That sent another ripple through the room.

Kai frowned. “Missing? The gate should always be guarded.”

“Exactly.” Daelin’s fingers tapped against the wood of the table, his movements tense. “A replacement must be dispatched immediately to reinforce the remaining guard. Standard protocol dictates that watch duty is maintained in pairs, and we can’t afford to leave a post undermanned—especially now”

Elder N’Kari’s face was unreadable. “Do we know where they went?”

Elda’s voice was cold. “If they were taken, we would have found a body.”

Taren’s expression darkened. “That’s not all.”

He reached into his coat, pulling out a folded piece of cloth, stiff with dried blood. He tossed it onto the table.

The room went still.

It was a guard’s sash.

“We found this right outside the gate,” Daelin said, voice clipped. “No sign of the man who wore it.”

Silence stretched thin between them.

Varis shifted uncomfortably. “Or they ran.”

Daelin shook his head. “If he ran, why leave his gear behind? His spear was still there. His belt. Even his damn boots.” His expression darkened. “And we didn’t find them at his post.”

That made a few heads turn.

Kai frowned. “Where did you find them?”

Daelin exhaled. “Outside the gate. A ways into the forest.” His fingers tapped against the wood of the table, jaw tight. “Like he went out there willingly… or was taken.”

A murmur rippled through the room, uneasy and low.

Kai’s brow furrowed. “Why would he leave his post?”

Taren’s voice was calm, but firm. “The other guard said he heard something.” He glanced toward Elder N’Kari. “That’s why he left—to check it out.”

Daelin’s jaw clenched. “And never came back.”

No one spoke. The fire crackled in the tense silence.

Then—

“The bell,” Elder N’Kari murmured. His gaze flicked toward Daelin. “You heard it too.”

Daelin’s jaw tightened. “Loud. Distant. Came from the east side. We didn’t have time to investigate.”

That sent another ripple through the room.

Elda exhaled sharply. “Then it wasn’t just him that heard something.”

Varis glanced between them, expression wary. “Are we sure it wasn’t a signal?”

Ren shook his head. “If it was, it wasn’t one of ours.”

Another heavy silence.

Taren’s fingers tapped against the table once. “The bell rang. Then a guard left his post. Then we found his gear abandoned in the forest.” His voice was even, but weighted. “That’s not a coincidence.”

Varis leaned forward. “And we don’t know what caused it?”

Taren shook his head. “No. But I don’t like the timing.” His gaze swept over the room, steady and firm. “The bell rang. Then a guard went missing. Then we found his gear left behind like a damn offering.”

The fire crackled, shadows shifting over their faces.

Kai exhaled sharply. “Then what the hell was the bell for?”

No one had an answer.

Taren’s voice was calm but firm.

“Are you sure you want to have this conversation in front of everyone?”

His gaze swept across the room, over the villagers who had already begun whispering amongst themselves.

“This kind of thing leads to accusations. Panic. You don’t want that.”

Varis exhaled through his nose. “No. But we need to—”

Another voice interrupted.

Elder N’Kari.

He stepped forward, his presence immediately shifting the room. His expression was calm, but his voice carried weight.

“In the Hall of the Talking Fire, we do not whisper behind closed doors.”

His gaze swept over the gathered survivors.

“We do not hide things from our people.”

He turned to Taren, meeting his gaze evenly.

“We have traditions here. And one of them is honesty.”

The conversation should have continued.

But it had already been going on too long.

And at some point, the question had to be asked.

Kai was the one who broke the silence.

“…Vyn and Joran should’ve been back by now.”

A pause.

Varis frowned. “They were checking the furthest edge. If they ran into something—”

“We don’t know that.” Ren’s voice was sharper than intended. But even he didn’t sound sure.

Elda exhaled through her nose, arms still crossed.

“How long do we give them before we go looking?”

That question sat heavy in the room.

Taren’s jaw clenched.

Daelin was the first to answer.

“Ten minutes.”

His voice was level. Unreadable.

“If they aren’t back by then, we move.”

No one argued.

Across the hall, Orinai was sitting in front of a window, staring into the mist.

“Do you see that?”

Nyri’s voice was barely above a whisper.

At first, it was only a smear in the fog.

A shape that wasn’t quite real—not walking, not floating—just there. Watching.

The mist curled thick around him, swallowing edges, making it hard to tell where his body began and ended.

For a second, he almost looked like he was floating.

Orinai squinted. His fingers curled against the windowsill.

Then, the figure lurched forward.

Not a step. A tug.

Like something unseen yanked him by the spine.

Orinai’s stomach clenched.

“They’re not walking right,” he murmured.

Nyri leaned closer. She saw it too.

His arms dangled, boneless.

His head lolled forward, the weight of it too much for his neck to hold.

Then, in the dim firelight—

They saw his face.

Or what was left of it.

One of his eyes was swollen shut, a contusion of blackened flesh and ruptured vessels.

His lip—split so wide it looked like someone had tried to carve a second mouth.

Blood crusted in cracks along his cheekbones, staining his temple.

Then—

He stumbled.

His knees buckled.

He collapsed in pieces.

One knee. Then the other. Hands. Chest.

Like a marionette, strings severed, crumpling lifelessly.

A sound broke the silence.

Thin. Wet. Barely human.

“D-don’t…”

The word cracked in his throat.

His mouth trembled, his lips split and raw.

Blood frothed at his lips thick as molasses, choking him.

His fingers twitched. A failed attempt to crawl forward.

But his body had already given up.

The torchlight flickered—

And for the first time, they saw the full extent of his injuries.

His knees weren’t just shattered—they had been pulped, crushed like overripe fruit rotting in heat.

Orinai’s breath caught.

His gut twisted.

Then—

The guard jerked violently, body convulsing as if something unseen had yanked him from within.

Nyri gasped.

This wasn’t just torture.

This was something else.

Something worse.

The scene hit like a blade.

Daelin’s breath came sharp, his hands clenching into fists.

“They don’t need to strike first,” Taren repeated, voice calm but firm.

Daelin turned on him, eyes blazing.

“He’s dying out there.” His voice was raw. Frustrated. “And you’re standing here, calculating?”

Taren didn’t flinch.

Nyri grabbed Orinai’s sleeve. “Please—”

Orinai didn’t move. His jaw clenched. His body tremored.

“He’s one of ours,” he said.

His voice wasn’t loud.

But it was clear.

Elder N’Kari stepped forward. “And if they want you to step outside, what then?”

“Then I step outside.”

Nyri’s grip tightened.

Orinai ripped free.

His boots slammed against the wooden floor as he stormed toward the door.

“Orinai, wait—”

Nyri reached for him, but he was already halfway to the door.

“Orinai, wait—”

He shook her off, already halfway to the door.

His boots hit the wooden floor hard as he shoved the doors open, stepping into the mist.

“Wait—”

A hand caught his shoulder.

Not Nyri this time.

Taren.

Orinai whirled, yanking his arm free.

“Get off me.”

Taren’s expression was unreadable. “Look at him. They didn’t let him go. They sent him.”

Daelin was already moving toward the door.

Kai stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. “You don’t know that yet.”

“You saw his face!” Orinai snapped. “They did that to him! And you want to just stand here?”

Taren didn’t move.

His silence was answer enough.

Orinai’s voice dropped lower, his breath ragged.

“You’re an outsider. Stay out of this.”

That got a reaction.

A few heads turned.

Taren’s jaw tightened—but before he could answer, Varis spoke.

“They wouldn’t just let someone go unless they wanted us to see him.”

The room split.

The villagers were tense.

The outsiders were calculating.

Elder N’Kari turned toward the guard again. His injuries were real. His suffering was real.

But was this mercy or cruelty?

Daelin exhaled sharply. “If that was your brother out there, you wouldn’t be hesitating.”

Silence.

Then—

A shift in the mist.

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Vyn and Joran

The jungle had become eerily quiet.

Vyn moved quickly, boots pressing into damp soil, his breath even but tense. Joran was a step behind, quieter, but just as urgent.

They should’ve been back by now.

The Hall of the Talking Fire was waiting on them.

But something wasn’t sitting right.

They had taken the most direct path—the one they knew was clear. The one that should’ve been empty.

Instead, Vyn felt it creeping up his spine.

A wrongness in the air.

Like the jungle was holding its breath.

Joran shifted, rubbing at his arm. “You feel that?”

Vyn didn’t answer right away.

Because he did.

The air was charged, humming with something beneath the surface.

Like lightning before a strike.

Like a storm waiting to break.

A pressure.

The kind that told you something was watching.

His lips moved.

But the words came out wrong.

A whisper.

A breath.

A sound that barely belonged to him.

“It won’t stop.”

The words drifted through the dark—weightless, fractured, like a hymn that had forgotten its own meaning.

Joran took a step back. His fingers brushed his weapon.

Vyn didn’t move.

He could hear it now.

The voice wavered—unsteady, frayed at the edges. Not just weak, but wrong.

Something breaking apart at the seams.

Something losing itself.

Vyn swallowed, his voice calm, controlled.

“Hey.” His fingers stayed loose on his blade. “You lost?”

His fingers twitched.

His shoulders jerked.

His breath hitched, too sharp, too wrong.

Then, barely audible—

“It won’t stop.”

And then—

Melo’s head snapped up.

His eyes locked onto them.

And then—

He lunged.

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In the shadows, where the fog hung heavier, Havrin stood still.

His breath came ragged.

His fingers twitched.

Something inside him was screaming.

The Catalyst pounded in his skull, in his ribs, in the marrow of his bones.

A thirst for blood.

Korvan saw it too late.

“Havrin,” he warned, his voice edged with command.

Havrin’s shoulders jerked.

A tremor ran through him, too sharp, too unnatural.

Korvan’s eyes hardened.

He knew that look.

He’d seen it before—

Right before a man lost himself completely.

Korvan saw it too late.

“Havrin,” he warned, his voice edged with command.

Havrin’s fingers twitched.

His breath came short, ragged.

Somewhere deep inside, a sliver of control remained—

A thin thread. A single moment where he might have stopped.

But then—

One of the mercenaries shifted.

The movement was small. A hand adjusting on a belt. Nothing threatening.

But to Havrin—

It was a spark in a dry forest.

His pupils weren’t just wide.

They were voids.

Deep, cavernous—black pits swallowing whatever was left of him.

Then—

The fog lurched—coiling, splitting apart like flesh under a blade.

Something came rushing from the mist—

Fast. Too fast.

A blur of silver and shadow—steel flashing like lightning—the world shattering into screams and blood.

Figures breaking from the dark.

And then—

Chaos.

Somewhere, beneath it all—Nyri’s scream split the night, thin and fragile, like glass breaking underwater.