Lukas bolted, heart hammering as he raced through the swamp. He barely noticed the clawing mud pulling at his boots or the tangled branches snagging his clothes. His mind reeled with the memory of that thing—the giant, pulsing heart surrounded by roots, looming like some terrible omen. He had to get away. Away from the swamp, away from whatever had conjured that monstrosity.

He could still hear the rhythmic, thunderous beats behind him, fading with every frantic step. His focus wavered, just for a moment, and pain shot up his leg as something sharp latched onto his ankle. He stumbled, slipping on the mud, his hand instinctively reaching for the ground. Before he could process the fall, he was up again, fueled by sheer fear, ignoring the throbbing pain.

The swamp blurred around him in a dizzying mess of twisted trees and dark water until, finally, he broke through to the swamp’s edge. His legs buckled, and he leaned back against the cold, wet stone of the caldera wall, breathing in gasps. Rain poured down, soaking him through, but he welcomed it, letting it cool his overheated body as he scanned the swamp, looking for any sign of pursuit.

For several tense minutes, he sat there, the only sounds his labored breaths and the rain pattering around him. Gradually, his pulse slowed, the panic ebbing as he realized that nothing had followed him out.

Lukas fumbled for his pack, his hands shaking as he rummaged for food and water to steady his nerves. But as he pulled his pack open, he felt a sinking dread—his legs were covered in mud, but he could see leeches clinging stubbornly to his calves. He groaned, grabbing his skinning knife and scraping them off, one by one, their wriggling bodies splattering on the wet stone.

Then he noticed it: two red, swollen dots just above his ankle, the unmistakable mark of a bite. He hadn’t even registered the pain until he saw it, but now a sharp, pulsing ache began to throb in his leg. Gritting his teeth, he chewed a few of the herbs he’d brought from Karry’s stock, praying something in the mix would fight off the poison.

As he rested, Lukas let his mind wander over what he’d seen. The swamp had seemed surreal and twisted from the start, but whatever that heart had done… he shuddered, unwilling to think too deeply on it.

In retrospect, he couldn’t help but feel a bit embarrassed. He’d come out here alone, confident in his skills, only to be reduced to a terrified wreck, slipping in the mud and scrambling to escape. But he knew, deep down, that his fear had been justified. Whatever that heart had done, it had been enough to drive even him to flee without a second thought.

Much Later that day:

Lukas staggered onto the dirt road between the fields, every step a struggle to keep himself upright. His body felt like it was made of lead, each movement sending sharp jolts of pain from his injured leg. The village of Mar was just ahead, but the distance seemed to stretch endlessly.

As he limped forward, a familiar figure appeared in the distance, a small girl walking with a cane. It was Lucy. She noticed him immediately, her face lighting up with a smile as she began hobbling over, happy to see him return.

But her expression changed as she got closer, her bright eyes darkening with concern as she took in his haggard appearance. His clothes were caked in mud, and his skin was pale, his leg swollen and barely holding his weight. Lukas barely registered her approach, his mind focused solely on staying conscious. The world around him seemed to blur, sounds fading in and out, but he could feel her presence beside him, steady and patient.

He tried to keep going, each step dragging as he fought against the darkness creeping into his vision. Somewhere nearby, he heard her scream, the sound piercing through the haze, but he couldn’t make out the words. His focus slipped, and his head swam as new figures appeared, running toward him.

I’m safe… I’m back… finally…

With those thoughts, his last reserves of strength gave out, and everything went black.

The villagers reached him in a panic, murmuring in alarm as they gathered around his unconscious form. They lifted him carefully, carrying him toward the small herbalist’s hut on the edge of Mar. The village couldn’t afford a healer, but their herbalist, with her knowledge of plants and remedies, was as close as they had to a healer. She had treated everything from cuts to fevers, and they hoped she’d know how to help him now.

Lucy:

Lucy watched as the villagers hurried down the dirt path, Lukas’s unconscious form cradled in their arms. She wanted to follow, to be there when he woke up, but her leg made it impossible to keep up with their urgent pace. She lingered on the path, leaning on her cane, watching as the group disappeared from view.

A pang of frustration welled up in her chest, but she quickly pushed it aside. There were other ways she could help. Her thoughts drifted back to Lukas’s injuries—the paleness of his face, the swollen leg, and the tired slump of his shoulders. If he was hurt that badly, he’d need something nourishing to help him heal. Maybe she couldn’t offer medical expertise, but she could at least make sure he had something healthy to eat.

Her mind immediately went to the wild herbs and vegetables she knew grew near the village. She’d gathered them before, wandering through the fields and small clearings on days when her leg allowed. She couldn’t risk using anything from home; her parents wouldn’t be pleased if she took from their supplies, and she didn’t want to face their anger. But if she could find enough plants outside, she could make something simple yet hearty for Lukas, a small gesture of care she could offer on her own.

With a determined nod, she tightened her grip on her cane and turned toward the fields, scanning the ground for the familiar leaves and stems she’d learned to recognize. Despite her limitations, Lucy moved with a quiet confidence, her thoughts focused on helping in the way she knew best.

Lukas:

The next morning, Lukas awoke to the dim light of the herbalist’s hut, feeling disoriented. His legs were tightly bandaged, and a wet cloth rested on his forehead. The smell of herbs filled the air, overwhelming his senses as he groaned, a deep ache radiating from his injured leg.

The herbalist approached, a calm but weathered presence, and explained his situation: he’d been brought here by the villagers after collapsing on the edge of the swamp. She sat beside him, offering him a bowl of cold vegetable stew. As he took a tentative bite, she mentioned that Lucy had brought it over while he was still unconscious.

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“Such a kind girl,” the herbalist murmured. “She made this for you herself.”

Lukas nodded, the flavors of the simple meal bringing a strange comfort. Left alone for a while, he replayed the events of the swamp in his mind, a wave of humiliation and fear washing over him. His chest felt heavy with the memory of the heart, the panic that had forced him to flee.

Just then, the door burst open, and Karry rushed in, her face lined with worry. She’d already visited earlier, but he’d still been unconscious. Now, seeing him awake, she visibly relaxed, sitting beside him and gripping his hand.

“I was so worried, Lukas,” she whispered, ignoring the herbalist’s reassurances that he’d recover in time. They spoke quietly, her voice a balm to his shaken spirit. But as they talked, Twain entered the hut, bringing with him the adventurer party leader, Ulrick—a tall, steady man with a fierce determination in his eyes.

Twain explained the situation in a low voice. “Ulrick and his team are going to assess what’s happening up there in the swamp. They need your account to know what they’re up against.”

Ulrick nodded, his expression unwavering as he looked down at Lukas. “Tell us what you saw,” he said.

Lukas took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He spoke of the swamp’s dangers, its endless pools of mud and dark, twisted trees. But when he got to the heart, his voice faltered, remembering the looming shape, the terrifying pulse. “There was… this heart,” he managed. “Huge, pulsing, like it was alive. And the fear… it hit me all at once. I ran.”

Twain looked shocked, glancing at Ulrick, whose expression had grown more intense.

Ulrick’s jaw tightened, but a glint of determination shone in his eyes. “Then we’ll be ready.”

After the herbalist ushered everyone out, Lukas lay in silence, letting the quietness soothe his nerves and ease the lingering aches. He’d been given time to rest, and for the first time since entering the swamp, he felt some peace. Hours passed, and he was nearly dozing off when the door creaked open gently.

He looked up to see Lucy stepping inside, her small frame covered in a fine layer of dust, with bits of hay tangled in her messy hair. Her clothes were smeared with animal filth, her expression nervous but hopeful as she approached.

“Lucy,” he greeted her, his voice soft, surprised by her state. He shifted, sitting up to offer her a gentle smile. “Thank you for the stew—it was tasty and just what I needed.”

A shy smile spread across her face, and she seemed to brighten, relieved by his kind words. They spoke quietly, Lukas’s tone warm and grateful, but eventually, his eyes couldn’t help but wander to the dirt and straw clinging to her clothes and hair.

“Why are you so dirty, Lucy?” he asked, chuckling a little. “Were you playing with the animals in the barn?”

Her expression faltered, and she hesitated, biting her lip as she glanced away. “No… my parents made me sleep out there last night because… because I cooked for you.”

The words slipped out before she could stop them, and her face turned crimson as she realized her mistake. She quickly looked down, wishing she could take it back, but Lukas’s expression had already shifted. He was silent for a moment, his initial surprise morphing into a simmering fury.

“They made you sleep in the barn… because you made me a meal?” His voice was quiet, controlled, but laced with anger.

Lucy swallowed, nodding quickly as if to downplay it. “It’s okay. I—”

But Lukas was already struggling to his feet, his anger overpowering his exhaustion. His legs wobbled, still weak, but he steadied himself, his face set in hard lines as he made his way to the door. “Stay here, Lucy.”

Without another word, he stepped outside, crossing the village with a barely restrained fury. By now, several villagers were out and about, and they turned to stare as Lukas stormed up to Lucy’s family’s modest home, his face dark with anger.

He didn’t knock—he pounded on the door, waiting only long enough for her parents to emerge, their expressions turning defensive as they took in Lukas’s glare.

“What kind of parents are you?” Lukas shouted, his voice loud enough to draw more villagers’ attention. “How could you treat your own daughter that way? She only wanted to help me! Do you have any idea how kind she is, how thoughtful? And you punished her for it?”

Lucy’s parents shrank under his words, glancing around uncomfortably as the other villagers began to murmur, casting disapproving glances their way. Lukas didn’t relent, his voice shaking with anger. “If I ever hear of you treating her like that again, you’ll answer to me. I may be hurt now, but when I recover, don’t think I’ll forget.”

The villagers whispered, some nodding in silent agreement, while others looked on with shock. One of the elders placed a hand on Lukas’s shoulder, gently encouraging him to return to the herbalist to rest. Reluctantly, he allowed them to guide him back, though he cast one last glare at Lucy’s parents.

When he returned to the herbalist’s hut, Lucy was waiting, her eyes wide, as if uncertain of what to say. Lukas still fumed as he sat down, but his expression softened as he looked at her, a protective warmth replacing his anger.

“Don’t let anyone make you feel small, Lucy,” he murmured, his tone gentle. “You’re better than that.”

Ulrick:

Ulrick led his party through the village, their expressions serious as they prepared for their venture into the swamp. They’d already visited the herbalist and gathered several pouches of potent herbs, rumored to boost healing and ward off poisons—precautions they hoped would keep them safe from whatever had overpowered Lukas. As they headed toward the inn to gather rations, they heard Lukas’s furious shouts echoing through the village. The party exchanged glances but chose not to intervene; it seemed like a personal matter, and they had their own mission to focus on.

Inside the inn, they found Karry, her expression laced with worry as she saw them enter. She looked like she wanted to say something, but Ulrick’s group was already in the middle of discussing supplies. That’s when Vin, their healer, started speaking in his unique, backward way.

“Food, we’ll need more,” he began, his voice steady but his phrasing a bit tangled. “Healing, herbs we have, but rations—important, yes.”

Karry raised an eyebrow, but the rest of the group nodded, used to Vin’s peculiar way of talking. He was a strange one, Vin. Despite his deep knowledge of herbal remedies and survival, he couldn’t write his own name, and his communication was often confusing to outsiders. But his companions had long learned to appreciate his quirks. They knew that while his words were unusual, his skills had saved them more than once.

Once they packed away the rations, the group decided to sit down for a last beer before heading out. The inn was warm, filled with the low murmur of villagers and the clink of mugs. As they settled around a corner table, Ulrick looked around at his crew, taking in their faces.

Ulrick himself, axe and shield always within reach, had a natural talent for leadership. He carried himself with a steady presence that made the others trust him without question. His sharp eyes swept over each of them, reading their moods as they prepared for the unknown.

Beside him sat Nole, the hunter of the group, her tight leather armor drawing more than a few glances as she adjusted her bow and quiver. Good-looking and aware of it, she enjoyed the attention but kept her heart guarded. Relationships weren’t for her, but a little harmless admiration from afar? She didn’t mind that at all.

Across the table, Vin sat quietly, his hands wrapped around his mug. Often a loner, Vin had a strange way about him that set him apart. Though he communicated in an unusual manner and sometimes felt more comfortable alone with his thoughts, he’d found a place with this group. His friends accepted him for who he was, which was enough for him.

Brill, their acolyte specializing in fire magic, leaned back confidently, his fingers tapping rhythmically on his mug. He was proud—some might say too proud—but his skills with fire had proven invaluable. His high opinion of himself was matched only by his soft spot for Nole, the one person he allowed to tease him without letting his pride get in the way.

Finally, there was Gale, the newest member, and the group’s youngest at fifteen. He was still green, having only joined the adventuring business three weeks ago, and wielded a two-handed sword he could barely handle. But his heart was in the right place, and the older members looked out for him. They all knew he had a lot to learn, and they wanted to give him every chance to do so safely. Gale raised his mug enthusiastically, though they limited him to just one drink—he couldn’t hold his alcohol, and they weren’t taking any risks before heading into the swamp.

As they finished their beers, Ulrick took one last look around the table, nodding to each of them. They were ready, in as much as they could be. With supplies gathered, weapons and gear prepared, and spirits lifted, the party rose, leaving the warmth of the inn behind as they set out to face the mysteries of the swamp.