I reviewed the question I’d just been asked, my mind latching on to the strange way it had been presented to me.

The Boglands takes note of your willingness to vanquish your foes.

To which domain would you like to dedicate your kill?

The Bog?

Yourself?

Or to none at all?

I was…well, for one, I was damn exhausted—just all manner of stomped. My ribs hurt, the back of my head hurt, I’m pretty sure my soul hurt. I was a mess, and now this voice wanted to know how I was planning to…dedicate my kill?

Right there, in the thick of the bog, that question hung in the air like smoke in a backwoods honky-tonk. I chewed on it.

What in the hell does that mean?

I raked a hand through my hair, still dripping with the essence of swamp and struggle, and squinted my eyes at nothing in particular. The nature of such a query was strange, wasn’t it? Best left to someone a lot more philosophical, not Leo Trask—plague-ridden know-nothing who’s knee-deep in some shit with a monster's ichor spattered on his boots.

"Well…got dang," I mumbled to myself, trying to apply any bit of reason to the situation. "If I choose to…hand it over to the Bog, what's that gonna do? Make me some kind of swamp saint?" The idea tickled me, but not enough to laugh out loud. "And if I say it's for me, well, that's just…I dunno what that is, but it sounds arrogant, if nothing else."

I took a moment, listening to the sounds of the swamp settling back into its usual rhythm, as if it'd just been waiting for the show to end to get back to its regular programming. The animals and other critters didn't care about no…dedications, did they? I had the feeling they were just living, same as me.

I cocked my head to the side, looking across the expanse of swamp from my position on the apex of the bridge. The Boglands were supposed to be my ancestral stomping grounds, right? So, would that mean I could give it the ole Southern holler? Maybe a bit of a front porch wave? Could I do something like that? I didn’t actually think they’d be from the South—nothing like that. More of a ‘fam recognize fam’ sorta vibe, you know?

So, as an experiment, I put on my best good ol’ boy charm, straightened my back despite my injuries, and looked around at the swamp.

"You know, I reckon I don't have a clue what you’re saying, ancestral domain o’ mine. Can a fella know what that means?" I asked.

I waited a few moments, half-expecting a response. The swamp simply kept at its usual noises, but no voice answered me.

“Well, damn,” I said. “Guess I’m on my own, huh?”

So, I got to thinking.

I stood there, between the whispering reeds and the sighing willows, my decision looming over me. The Bog, myself, or none at all? Each choice was peculiar. But I didn’t have the information needed to suss out a proper answer yet.

Dedicating my kill to the Bog would likely be tipping my hat to the very earth that apparently bore me. But that sat with me about as well as a bad oyster. What kind of man becomes beholden to the mud and muck? I wasn't about to start owing any part of my soul to the land, even if it was my birthplace.

To dedicate it to myself, now that'd be the obvious thing, wouldn't it? A boastful claim, a notch on my belt. But as I spent more time away from where I’d been raised, it seemed like more of the woodsy wisdom I’d grown up around came back to me. ‘Boasting's for men with more pride than sense,’ the adage was. And, hell, I didn’t think of myself as much, but I did happen to fancy myself as sensible. I wasn't looking to count myself among the foolish, in any case. Plus, the very notion felt like I’d be tempting fate with arrogance.

Or…I could choose none at all. That choice was the joker in the deck. It was a choice, yeah, but it was also not one. It was the lukewarm option. While I didn’t exactly like not knowing where I’d stand on a particular subject, I also didn’t like the idea of making a decision without proper information. Selecting to step back, a refusal to dance to a tune I couldn't hear. Maybe this damn voice and the trial would consider it a surrender? Or maybe it was the purest form of defiance.

Shit, this is a head scratcher, I thought.

I mulled over my options, the weight of each one bearing down on me. The swamp itself seemed to be holding its breath, the chorus of frog calls and insect hums falling to a hush. I felt a kinship with the silence, a sense of peace.

There was nothing for it, though. It wasn’t fair to me to not have enough information to make a decision, and that was really what brought me to my solution.

"All right," I finally declared. "None of these…offerings sit right with me. So I dedicate this kill to none. Not to the Bog, not to myself. Nobody."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

The moment the words left my lips, the swamp stirred. A soft breeze whispered through the cypress trees, sending ripples across the water's surface. The pattern of them caught my eye—circular, yes, but with a rhythm, almost like a message.

I couldn't decipher it, but it felt like an acknowledgment, or maybe a subtle nod from the swamp itself. The cacophony of swamp life slowly picked back up, like the creatures were all tuning their instruments or something before the night's, I dunno…symphony?

I couldn't shake the feeling that the swamp had been watching, waiting. There I stood, a man with no answers, but for the first time since I'd set foot in the Boglands, I felt like that was going to have to be good enough.

Then, just as I was making my move across the bridge to the other side once more, the voice returned, stopping me in my tracks.

The Boglands take note of your choice.

“Alright, you do that, Bog,” I said after a moment. “I’m just going to keep trying to get my ass to that mangrove of yours.”

Then I paused.

“Don’t suppose you’d take pity on one of your own and give me a hint which way I should be going, would ya?”

There was no answer, but I figured there wouldn’t be.

“Yeah, alright,” I said aloud. “Not to worry—I can figure it out.”

Then, under my breath I muttered, “...probably.”

There was a startle of birds perhaps a quarter mile away in the trees that spread out over the water. I hadn’t actually been paying much attention to it, but my focus suddenly shifted as I caught a blur of motion to my left. A sleek silhouette sliced through the air with an ease that made my aching body envy its grace. The creature was an arrow in flight, its path unerring, until it came to rest on a branch aways off from where I stood.

Its plumage was like an avatar of nature's very essence, hues of deep foliage-like green and the subdued earthy browns. Its eyes were sharp and discerning, taking me in with an intelligence, and I was reminded for a moment of the owl-goats I’d encountered earlier. This wasn’t one of those, though. It was a heron, a green heron to be exact.

It sounded off with a 'kuk' that seemed to be for me alone, and I felt a shiver. The bird's sudden appearance right after my plea for guidance couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Was the swamp answering me, or was this yet another challenge laid out to eventually piss me off? I approached with a careful respect, not wanting to spook the bird, my gaze fixed on it, stepping closer until the distance between us was a mere twenty feet.

In an instant, the bird took flight again.

A flicker of foolishness washed over me as I stood there, chastising myself for thinking this was anything more than chance—until the heron's call echoed once more. My eyes lifted to find it perched further in, deeper within the thicket, as if beckoning me to follow. A smile broke through my weariness; the path it urged me onto was narrow, almost reclaimed by the swamp, but it was a path nonetheless.

“Well, how about that?” I muttered. I looked back at the stretch of water behind me—which seemed the most appropriate to aim my words, and nodded. “Thanks, Bog,” I said.

Then, turning back, I began to follow the trail.

—

Stumbling out of the thick underbrush, my lungs heaved as I tried to catch my breath. Every muscle ached, and every joint throbbed. I was beat all to hell and was soaked through again, my graverobbed clothing clinging to my frame, and my hair plastered against my forehead. I’d followed the heron for—near as I could tell—about three hours. I’d tramped through mud and shallow water, along banks and invaded tall grasses and other marshy flora until it had suddenly disappeared about twenty minutes before. But, I kept at it, mowing along the direction I’d last been headed, because, hey, the only bad direction would be no direction at this point.

I finally emerged into a clearing, and the sight that met my eyes took whatever breath I had left away. Along the bank of another larger pool of water, towering above everything else, was the single largest tree I had ever seen. Its immense size dwarfed every other tree in the swamp—and they were no small things themselves. The trunk was gnarled and ancient, wider than most city blocks, its bark dark and toughened. Vast, twisting roots sprawled out in every direction, some disappearing beneath the water's surface, others stretching out like the arms of a giant, reaching out to embrace the world. It was clearly a mangrove—I’d seen pictures of them before, so I’d had an idea what to look out for. So, based on the fact that this seemed like the most special tree in all the swamp, I’d go ahead and gamble on this thing being the ‘Ancestral Mangrove.’

But…sheesh. The sheer size made me feel tiny; I’d even go so far as to say insignificant. The vast canopy of the Mangrove stretched upwards, blocking out most of the twilit sky, its leaves shimmering as if kissed by starlight. The air around it felt charged, making the hair on my arms stand on end. Probably magic, I had to imagine.

Scattered around the base of the tree were ruins. Crumbled walls, once part of grand structures, now lay overtaken by moss and vines. Stone pillars, some still standing tall, others fallen and broken, hinted at a grandeur long past. Statues, eroded by time, were still discernible—figures of warriors—or maybe Knights, perhaps even ancestors of mine, stood sentinel around the tree, silent witnesses to the passage of time.

Then, my eyes landed on it—Myri.

“Hell…yeah…” I huffed, “...finally…found ya.”

The metallic rhombus diamond hovered gracefully over a massive stone altar, which stood at the top of a ruined staircase. The steps were a travesty of what might have been something splendid once, likely worn down by countless feet and ravaged by time. They led up to the open-air altar, where Myri's soft glow highlighted the surrounding stone—the only actual light I could make out.

“Christ…” I muttered, still winded. “There’s…a lot of steps…on that…sumbitch.”

With a sigh, I ascended the stairs—but, damn if I wasn’t exhausted. The last few hours had really done a number on my body considering it was protesting my climb with every movement. I was really gonna need a massage after this trial finished. This was the most activity I’d gotten outta these muscles in a long time.

Reaching the top, I paused to catch my breath, looking around at the remnants of what was once, perhaps, a place of great significance. Was this structure important to the…well, my family? Clan Trask, if it could be believed. I didn’t even know what that meant, really, to be a Trask. All my life, it’s just been a meaningless last name, one I’d just assumed it was some…I dunno, vestige? The only link remaining from my birth parents after they’d abandoned me or something. Apparently, I’d been a bit off the mark.

“Leoni—erm, Leo!” Myri announced jubilantly. “You made it here! This is wonderful news. How was your journey?”

I chuckled, despite myself.

“Oh, weren’t nothin’ but a frolick,” I said, my chest still rising and falling from my previous exertion. “Easy, breezy, you know? Only a minor setback with the giant crocogator and some kind of…vine zombie. Happy to reach the end though.”

“...What do you mean?” Myri wondered.

“Well, you saw the crocogator, but the viney…I dunno…flesh mannequin thing…well, honestly I don’t quite know how to describe it, really, except—”

“I apologize, Leo,” Myri said, and the flash from its diamond was low, muted. “My query was about your statement of ‘end.’ What end have you reached?”

Oh, hell no… I thought. Please don’t tell me it’s saying what I think it’s saying…

“The, uh, Trial?” I said, wincing.

“...Leo,” Myri started, but I cut the entity off.

“...you’re about to tell me the Trial hasn’t ended, aren’t you?” I sighed, shoulders drooping.

“Well…yes,” Myri said. “But more than that—the journey here was just the preliminary leg of the Trial. Technically, the main portion hasn’t even begun.”

I stared at the rhombus for a long moment, and fortunately, it gave me enough courtesy to not say anything while I let my exhaustion turn into understanding. Which then gave way to an overwhelming sinking feeling. Then I released a long, long, sigh.

“Alright,” I said, feeling a bit defeated and deflated. “Well, go ahead, Myri. What’s next?”