The fire sputtered and hissed as the drizzle crept through the canopy, drops of water pattering onto the flames like impatient fingers. The clearing was small and uneven, a rare break in the thick tangle of wilderness they had been riding through all day. Damp logs and mossy rocks bordered their camp, and the forest loomed in every direction—dark, close, and oddly still.

Kael sat near the fire, legs stretched out, boots steaming as the heat chased the rain from them. He poked idly at the coals with a stick, watching the embers pulse orange before fading into gray. The journey had been relentless, the road twisting through hills and dense woods, a hard path leading toward the city of Varenth. They had stopped here more out of necessity than choice—riding in the dark was asking for broken necks and lame horses.

Across from him, Aric crouched by the fire, stirring the contents of a dented pot. His hair hung wet against his forehead, and mud streaked his sleeves, but the grin he shot Kael was full of mischief. “You’re quiet. Thinking about your next grand adventure? Or just brooding about how your cloak got ruined?”

Kael smirked, though it was faint. “If this stew’s as bad as the last one, I’ll be brooding about my stomach.”

“It’s better this time,” Aric said, scraping the bottom of the pot for emphasis. The sound was unsettling—like someone sharpening a blade far too close to Kael’s ear. “I found extra roots.”

“Oh good,” Lyra muttered from her perch on a log, where she was methodically oiling her sword. “We’re saved by roots.”

Kael chuckled and leaned back on his elbows. “At least it’s hot. Could be worse.” He glanced at Lyra. “You’re awfully cheerful tonight.”

Lyra’s silver hair was tied back loosely, stray strands catching the firelight as she glared at him. “It’s the wilderness. Something about endless trees and rain makes me positively radiant.”

Aric snorted. “Lyra would rather fight a band of cutthroats than camp another night in the woods.”

“Because cutthroats are predictable,” Lyra shot back. “The forest isn’t.”

Kael tilted his head, grinning faintly. “You say that like you’ve been on speaking terms with every cutthroat you’ve met.”

“They usually only get one word out,” Lyra replied, her tone dry as old parchment. “It’s either ‘please’ or ‘wait.’ Neither works very well on me.”

Aric let out a sharp laugh, nearly spilling the pot as he adjusted it. “If you ever retire from soldiering, Lyra, you could scare half of Varenth’s merchants into giving you free wares. I’d pay to watch.”

Lyra lifted her blade, inspecting its edge with narrowed eyes. “Why pay when I could just ask nicely?”

“‘Nicely’ for you is threatening to turn someone into stew,” Aric said, stirring his pot again. His voice dipped into a mockingly low growl. “‘Salted or boiled, your choice.’”

Kael chuckled, shaking his head. The lightness of their banter felt fragile tonight, like a thin sheet of glass covering the unease they were all trying to ignore. Even the fire didn’t crackle with its usual warmth—it hissed and spat, struggling to hold its shape against the damp air.

“What’s actually in that stew?” Kael asked, leaning forward slightly. “You said roots, but I saw you scrounging around the edge of the clearing earlier.”

Aric looked up with the most innocent expression Kael had ever seen. “Herbs.”

“What kind of herbs?” Lyra asked flatly.

“The helpful kind,” Aric said, stirring faster.

Kael arched a brow. “And by helpful, you mean…”

“They won’t kill you. Probably.”

“Probably?” Lyra’s voice had that dangerous edge that made even Kael wary.

Aric threw up his hands. “You’re both hopeless. You don’t trust me to cook, and yet you refuse to do it yourselves. If I’m going to be insulted, I’ll just eat this whole pot myself.”

“Please don’t,” Kael said, holding up a hand. “I’m worried about your digestive system as it is.”

“You should be worried about yours,” Aric muttered.

Lyra stood up, stretching her arms as her cloak flared slightly in the firelight. “One of these days, Aric, your stew is going to bring us all to our knees in the middle of a battlefield.”

“Better to fall from my cooking than someone’s sword,” Aric shot back, grinning. “Besides, I did see something green. If it’s not an herb, it’s a garnish.”

Lyra gave him a blank look. “Garnish?”

Kael raised a hand again, feigning surrender. “Let’s all agree to be grateful. Warm food is warm food.”

“That’s suspiciously diplomatic,” Aric said, pointing his spoon at Kael. “It’s always the brooding ones that come up with last words like that before something horrible happens. Just saying.”

“You know,” Kael said, ignoring him, “for someone so confident in their stew, you haven’t taken a bite yet.”

Aric froze mid-stir. His gaze flicked to the pot. “Someone has to make sure it stays… even. Balanced.”

“That’s what I thought,” Kael said, unable to stop himself from grinning.

Lyra huffed a quiet laugh as she turned away from the fire, her sword now cleaned and sheathed. Her smile didn’t linger long, though. Her gaze drifted past the flickering firelight, out into the gloom of the surrounding trees.

Kael followed her line of sight, his grin faltering as the familiar unease crept back into his chest. The shadows at the edge of the clearing seemed darker now, more oppressive. He could hear the faint sound of rain tapping against leaves, the fire spitting in protest, but that was all. Nothing else. No birds, no distant howls.

“You feel it too,” Lyra said quietly.

Kael didn’t look at her, keeping his eyes trained on the darkness. “Yeah.”

“Feel what?” Aric asked, though the humor in his voice had dimmed.

Kael didn’t answer immediately. He couldn’t explain it—couldn’t find words for the pressure that seemed to push at the edges of the clearing, like something immense was holding its breath just beyond the reach of the fire.

“The stillness,” Lyra said finally. She turned toward the horses, who stood tethered to a tree nearby. The animals shifted uneasily, their heads tossing and ears flicking as though they too could sense something Kael couldn’t yet see. “They know it’s not right.”

Aric scoffed, though his voice was quieter now. “Not right? It’s the woods. It’s always still at night.”

“Not like this,” Kael said softly.

The fire popped sharply, and all three of them flinched.

Aric straightened up, trying to regain his swagger. “You two are worse than an old sailor on his fifth drink. If the woods are too quiet for you, I’ll hum a tune and fill the silence.”

Lyra shot him a look. “If you sing, I’m going to throw your stew into the forest.”

Kael shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “That’s a bit harsh.”

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“It’s what the forest deserves,” Lyra replied, her expression deadpan.

Aric opened his mouth to retort, but Kael didn’t hear it. Something else cut through—the sound of his own heartbeat in his ears, suddenly loud and insistent. The weight in the air had grown thicker, pressing down on him like a smothering blanket.

The fire sputtered again, as if the air itself had been sucked from the clearing.

Kael turned his head toward the treeline. The fire’s glow reached only so far, leaving the edges of the clearing swallowed in shadow.

The banter died with the firelight.

Kael’s hand drifted toward the hilt of his dagger—a habit, but one that made him feel less exposed.

“You hear that?” he asked softly.

The comment settled over them, heavier than the mist. Kael shifted, suddenly aware of the quiet that pressed in from the trees. There was no wind, no rustle of leaves, just the soft crackle of the fire and the distant drip of water on wood. Even the horses, tethered nearby, were still.

He turned his head toward the darkness. The fire’s glow reached only so far, leaving the edges of the clearing swallowed in shadow. Kael’s hand drifted toward the hilt of his dagger—a habit, but one that made him feel less exposed.

“You hear that?” he asked softly.

Aric frowned. “Hear what?”

“Exactly.” Kael’s eyes scanned the treeline. “It’s too quiet.”

Lyra looked up from her sword, her expression sharpening. “You think someone’s out there?”

Kael hesitated. He wasn’t sure. There was nothing obvious—no sound of footsteps, no glint of eyes—but the hairs on the back of his neck prickled. “Probably not,” he said. “But I don’t like it.”

The three of them fell silent, listening. For a long moment, there was nothing. Then, faintly, Kael thought he heard something—a low, rhythmic hum, so soft it was almost part of the wind. It was there and gone in an instant, like a whisper just out of reach.

“Did you hear that?” he asked, his voice hushed.

Aric shook his head, brow furrowing. “What?”

“A hum,” Kael said, standing up. His boots sank slightly into the damp earth. “It’s coming from the trees.”

Lyra rose as well, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. “You sure?”

Kael’s eyes narrowed as he stared into the dark. “I heard something.”

The sound came again, clearer this time—a low, pulsing hum, almost like a voice but not quite. It resonated in Kael’s chest, faint but insistent, as though it were seeping through the ground itself.

Lyra’s hand tightened around her sword. “That’s not the wind.”

Aric stood slowly, his face pale in the firelight. “What is it?”

“I don’t know,” Kael replied. “But we’re not staying to find out.”

They moved quickly, dousing the fire and gathering their things. Kael’s heart thudded in his chest, though he tried to ignore the rising tension that buzzed beneath his skin. Lyra stayed close, her gaze flicking constantly toward the darkness. Aric muttered curses under his breath as he fumbled with the straps on his saddle.

The hum grew louder.

Kael froze, his fingers hovering over his saddlebag. It wasn’t just a sound anymore—it was a pressure, low and deep, like the earth itself was humming. The vibrations slithered into his bones, an unnatural pulse that made him feel unsteady, as if the ground might shift beneath him. He turned sharply toward the treeline, his gaze piercing the shadows.

A shape moved.

It was subtle—a ripple in the darkness, barely more than a whisper of motion—but it was enough. Kael’s breath caught, and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end. The shape was there for an instant, and then it was gone, vanishing so seamlessly into the gloom that Kael wondered if his mind had betrayed him.

“Kael,” Lyra said sharply, her voice low and hard. Her fingers curled around the hilt of her sword, knuckles pale. She had seen it too.

He met her eyes across the dying campfire. For once, there was no sarcasm or steel-edged humor in her expression—only sharp, wary focus.

“Mount up,” Kael ordered, his voice clipped and quiet. “Now.”

No one argued.

The horses were already restless, their wide eyes rolling as they shifted and snorted, hooves skittering against the soft, muddy earth. The clearing, once just another forgettable patch of wilderness, now felt like a trap. The shadows beyond the fire’s reach seemed thicker, almost alive.

Aric grunted as he swung up into his saddle, tugging his sodden cloak tight against his shoulders. “Let’s move,” he muttered, his usual sarcasm stripped away, leaving only the edge of tension in his voice.

Kael swung onto his horse in one smooth motion, though the unease in his gut made him clumsy. He gripped the reins tightly, forcing his breath to steady as he scanned the treeline one last time. Lyra was already mounted, her sword unsheathed and resting across her lap, the blade catching faint glimmers of firelight as it trembled in her grip.

With a sharp nudge of his heels, Kael urged his horse forward. The others followed without hesitation. The small campfire sputtered and died in their wake, the smoke curling up like a ghostly hand before dispersing into the mist.

The path ahead was little more than a narrow trail through the wilderness, choked by overgrown brush and flanked by looming trees. The forest seemed closer now, branches arching overhead like twisted fingers, heavy with moisture that dripped in steady intervals. The mist crept along the ground, curling around the horses’ legs like hungry tendrils.

The hum faded as they rode. But the silence it left behind was worse.

Kael’s eyes darted over his shoulder every few moments, unable to shake the feeling that something—or someone—was following them. The back of his neck burned with the prickling awareness of unseen eyes. His horse’s ears flicked nervously, and every time Kael thought he heard footsteps in the trees, the sound would vanish, swallowed by the heavy stillness of the forest.

“What was that?” Aric’s voice finally broke the silence. He spoke softly, as though afraid to be overheard. His face, partially shadowed beneath his hood, was set with tension.

Kael shook his head. “I don’t know,” he said truthfully, his voice low and rough. He adjusted his grip on the reins, fingers trembling just slightly. “But it wasn’t natural.”

“I don’t like this,” Aric muttered, scanning the trees with narrowed eyes. “The woods have never felt… wrong like this before.”

Lyra rode beside Kael, her gaze darting between the darkened trunks that lined the path. Her expression was pale but resolute, the line of her mouth hard. Her blade gleamed faintly in the dim light. “We should reach Varenth by midday tomorrow,” she said, her voice tight. “Whatever it was, we’re not stopping again until we get there.”

Kael nodded, though the unease in his chest coiled tighter, refusing to loosen. His free hand drifted toward the dagger on his belt—the old one, the one he had found years ago. For the briefest moment, it felt warm, as though it were reacting to something unseen, like a heartbeat pulsing faintly against his palm.

He pushed the thought away.

They pressed on, the horses moving at a quick, nervous pace. Kael’s eyes darted constantly toward the forest, where the shadows seemed to shift and ripple in ways they shouldn’t. The mist thickened as they rode, clinging to their cloaks and dampening every sound. The steady rhythm of hooves against earth should have been comforting, but instead it felt muted, as if the forest itself were swallowing the noise.

Then it returned.

The hum.

It started low, vibrating through Kael’s chest like a heartbeat out of sync with his own. At first, it was so faint he thought he might be imagining it, but when he glanced at Lyra, he saw her flinch, her head snapping toward the trees.

“You hear it too,” Kael said softly.

Lyra nodded, her fingers tightening around the hilt of her sword. “It’s louder.”

Aric cursed under his breath. “I thought it stopped.”

The hum rose, not in volume but in intensity. It felt like it was vibrating through the ground, through the trees, even through the air itself. The horses tossed their heads, hooves skittering on the muddy path, their movements frantic and unsteady. Kael fought to keep his horse under control, whispering soothing words even as the animal’s ears flattened against its skull.

“It’s not stopping,” Lyra said, her voice sharp and urgent.

“Move faster,” Kael snapped, his heart hammering in his chest.

The hum grew into a low, undulating drone. Kael swore he could feel it pulling at him—some invisible weight, like hands clutching at the edges of his cloak, trying to drag him backward. The mist thickened further, swirling like smoke in the firelight, obscuring everything but the path directly in front of them.

A sound broke through the hum.

It was faint at first—a soft whisper, like dry leaves scraping across stone. It grew louder, closer, until it was unmistakable: footsteps.

Kael’s head whipped toward the trees. Shadows moved there—shapes just beyond the mist, tall and thin, flickering in and out of view like reflections in rippling water. His throat tightened as his horse reared, nearly throwing him from the saddle.

“Ride!” he shouted.

The horses bolted as one, hooves pounding against the earth, their fear overtaking any attempt to keep pace. Kael gripped the reins desperately, his eyes locked on the path ahead. The mist closed around them, clawing at their cloaks and faces. The hum thundered in his chest now, a constant vibration that left his ears ringing.

The whispers came closer.

Kael turned his head for the briefest moment—and wished he hadn’t.

A figure moved through the trees, keeping pace with the horses. It was tall, impossibly so, its limbs elongated and unnaturally thin. Its skin—if it could be called that—was gray and stretched taut, like old parchment. Its face was shrouded in shadow, but Kael caught a glimpse of its eyes—deep, hollow sockets that seemed to pull the light into them, empty and endless.

It tilted its head toward him, and the hum sharpened into a piercing note that made Kael’s vision blur.

He tore his gaze away, urging his horse forward as fast as it could go. “Don’t look back!” he yelled, his voice hoarse.

The three of them broke free of the mist all at once, bursting onto a narrow rise where the trees thinned. The hum ceased instantly, leaving only the pounding of hooves and the ragged sound of their breathing.

Kael slowed his horse, chest heaving as he twisted in the saddle. The forest behind them was still again—dark and quiet, as though nothing had ever stirred there.

But he could still feel the pull, faint and lingering, like invisible fingers brushing against the edges of his mind.

Lyra pulled up beside him, her face pale and her eyes wide. “What… what was that?”

Kael shook his head, his hand clenching around the dagger at his belt. “I don’t know.”

Aric rode up last, his face tight with fear. “We’re not stopping again. Not until Varenth.”

Kael didn’t argue. He looked back at the forest one last time, half-expecting to see the figure step out from the darkness.

But there was nothing.

Nothing but the mist, curling low over the ground, and the whisper of the trees swaying gently in the wind.