If they noticed its arrival, the three soldiers didn't react as the shadow materialized in the clearing, growing directly out the surrounding trunks and appearing in their midst without a sound. At first, Oswald thought it a simple trick of the light – a sharp breeze spinning figments as it realigned the tightly threaded branches overhead. As the choked light sputtered and vanished, the shadow took its place among them like the specter of death itself.

Hot blood spattered a gruesome line across Oswald's lips before he could part them in warning.

The first of his companions, a foul-smelling cooper named Hector, clawed at his throat and stumbled to a stop. A neat red line split the clean, hairless part of his neck away from his close-cropped beard. The front of his sweat-stained tunic darkened almost immediately as he dropped to his knees and disappeared beneath the ferns.

The second of his companions, a forgettable soldier with more hair in his ears than on his chin, grunted softly and cradled his stomach as he toppled forward. Oswald never saw the man's insides spill out onto the forest floor, but the wet squelch that preceded him as he was swallowed by the hungry ferns recounted the story his eyes had failed to see.

And just like that, the shadow had materialized from nothing, from nowhere in particular, and in a blink Oswald found himself alone, his two companions wholly consumed by the woods' prolific ground cover.

It wasn't supposed to go this way.

A fairly straight-forward find-and-retrieve mission, Vincht had said. Some searching. Some threatening. Some strong-arming. As far as their commander was concerned, nothing was off-limits when it came to their mission. If that meant leaving the peninsula with naught but trees and dirt and smoldering piles of ash and bones in their wake, he had a feeling that Vincht was the type to not even look back over his shoulder as they rode away. And if the man was to be believed, there wasn't a single person in the whole of Elbin who could stand against them should they decide that drastic measures were necessary. Farmers and trappers, the lot of them.

Putting the hurt on some dirt-necked hicks didn't bother him in the least. As a career soldier for the Lancowls, he'd learned long ago that the people at the economic bottom only cared for the barony when they stood to gain something of it. Rarely did they respect or even recognize the sacrifices made by the constabulary in their name, reacting to simple attempts to maintain peace and order with rudeness and outrage. Their lack of gratitude disgusted him, so he'd jumped at the opportunity to join a mission where he might relieve some of his pent-up aggression.

But this...he hadn't signed up for this.

This was madness.

Reflex brought his cudgel up before him, a knotty oaken rod wrapped in waxy leather strips and notched from use. In response, the shadow jolted forward, and something unseen lashed out and struck his weapon hard enough to rip it from his grasp and leave his arm ringing and numb. He sucked air in surprise, and just in time, as the shadow jolted forward again. Leather-clad fingers tightened around his throat and the ground disappeared beneath his boots.

“Why have the baron's soldiers come to Elbin?” the shadow barked in a voice overflowing with gravel and malice.

Oswald struggled to breathe against the vice-like grip. Blackness washed over his vision as unconsciousness descended. At least I'll die sleeping.

The shadow slammed him into a nearby tree trunk. The collision brought down a shower of leaves and splintered bark. A reflexive squeal of protest broke his lips, silencing what little wildlife had been brave enough to vocalize their presence during the slaughter of his companions.

“Tell me...why...you're here.”

The grip on his throat relaxed and the darkness receded, but the blow to his back had paralyzed his lungs. His lips went through the motions, but no sound would come.

The shadow drew closer, and Oswald realized that this being of solid shadows was actually nothing but a man in a hooded cloak. Dull black leather covered in jagged stitching and misshaped patchwork encompassed the stranger from head to toe, an impenetrable sheath of lusterless hide. In the darkness under the trees, he still couldn't see into the hood.

“Breathe,” the man whispered. “Or join your friends in the dirt.”

Eyes wide and unblinking, Oswald strained against his protesting lungs, struggling fruitlessly against his body's inability to bend to the frantic urgings of his mind.

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“Breeeeeeeeathe.”

His lungs finally relaxed, allowing a welcome rush of air to pour down his throat. Oswald heaved and coughed, fighting to find at least one word to give the man, one word to delay his death for another moment or two.

“P--” he choked out, succumbing to another coughing fit. “Yes?”

Oswald frantically shook his head. I'm trying! “P...p...ple...”

Fingers like five individual steel bars tightened once again around his throat. “Had better start making sense, and quick.”

“Please,” he wheezed, squeezing the shadow's leather-wrapped wrist with both hands. The tension on his throat loosened, but only just. “Don't kill me. Please!”

A low growl rumbled from within the drooping cowl. “After all you've done today, you somehow think you deserve mercy?”

“I don't know.” Thick tears streamed down Oswald's face. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean it.”

“Didn't mean it?” The pressure on his throat increased, and Oswald's leaking eyes bulged in their sockets. “Meant every bit of it, cur. You all knew exactly what you were doing, just didn't expect any consequences. Thought you could get away with it, out here in the middle of nowhere.

“But you never expected your actions would summon me.”

Oswald violently shook his head. “I'm sor-”

The man slammed him back against the tree again, though less violently than before. “Save it. Now, for the last time, tell me why there are soldiers in these woods or I'll tear your lying tongue out through your throat.”

Reaching beneath his leather cuirass, Oswald withdrew a crumpled vellum swatch. “We're looking for something,” he said, the words forced out through snot-coated lips. “Something the baron thinks was lost in Elbin almost a decade ago. I've looked at that drawing over and over again, but it doesn't look like anything really, and none of the villagers have recognized it either.”

The shadow snatched the vellum sheet from his grasp, dumping him into the ferns and turning away to examine the slip of paper. Oswald squeezed his eyes shut and coughed uncontrollably, rocking back and forth as he massaged his tender neck.

“He said,” he continued, pausing to cough some more. “He said it was likely hidden, that someone had probably buried it or put it in a vault or something.”

The shadow poured over the small drawing like it was a riddle to be solved. Something bathed the paper in a faint blue glow, but Oswald was more concerned with telling the man whatever he needed to survive the day.

“Who is 'he'?”

Oswald rubbed his tender throat. “He said his name was Vincht. He's not a soldier. At least, not one of ours. All I know is, we were explicitly ordered to do everything he says, and he said we weren't leaving this forest without...” He waved to the slip of paper. “...whatever the blazes that's supposed to be.”

The man in black crumpled the sheet of vellum into a tight ball. He lifted his head but didn't turn around. “Then why are you...here?”

Oswald frowned, his worry increasing. “I...I already told you.”

“No. Why are you here? In this spot? Town's about a mile in the other direction. What are you doing out here, bumbling about in the woods?”

The fallen soldier nodded emphatically. “One of the town's folk mentioned an old hermit living out here alone. With everyone else scouring the town, we thought it made sense to seek him out. If there was even a cha-”

Faster than thought, the shadow twisted toward him, and something cold entered the tender flesh just above his belly button. All feeling left his legs, as though the ferns coiling about his midsection had finally made a of meal of his lower half.

Oswald's mouth opened and closed in confusion, an overwhelming tingling sensation crawling up his chest. He looked down, his trembling hands sliding over the hardened leather cuirass protecting his torso.

Am I...am I stabbed?

A thin, curved blade grew out from the folds of the leather cloak, its lethal end effortlessly penetrating his inadequate armor and the helpless flesh beneath. Blood, black as pitch, oozed from the wound in a single, pulsing rivulet.

“Why would you-?” he mumbled, wide eyes turning to face his attacker, but the question died in his throat as he stared up and into the shadow's hood for the first time.

Eyes like twin blue suns stared into his own, burning with a cold indifference to the suffering their owner had caused.

“It's you. You're...real.”

The blade in his gut twisted sideways, and Oswald wailed in response. Hot agony replaced the growing tingle, exploding outward from the wound until it was all he could feel, all he knew, and all that existed was white-hot fire. He stared into those terrible blue eyes as the shadow withdrew his narrow blade and stood.

Oswald slid down the tree trunk and sank beneath the hungry ferns. The man in black faded back into the shadowed treeline, and the clearing was empty once more.