The forest was endless, a thick blanket of shadows and twisted branches stretching as far as Mihai’s eyes could see. Dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy, casting shifting patterns on the leaf-strewn ground. They had been traveling for days, leaving the familiarity of the village far behind.

Mihai adjusted the straps of his armor, feeling the weight settle comfortably against his frame. The studded leather, a gift from Brokk, provided just enough protection while keeping his movements fluid. He had grown rugged in this world, his face carrying the roughness of someone constantly braving the wilderness. At 1.80 meters tall with an average build, Mihai had the look of a seasoned traveler, his body adapting to the demands of this world, both physically and mentally.

Beside him, Cian moved with quiet agility, his steps nearly silent as he slipped through the underbrush. Smaller and slender, not quite reaching 1.70 meters, Cian had a natural grace in the forest that made him nearly invisible. He wore his late father’s clothes, an old set of hunter’s gear made from leather and durable wool, fitting him like a second skin. The dark greens and browns melded with the trees around him, evoking the look of a ranger—Brokk had even remarked that he had the bearing of an “old wood ghost.”

Strapped across Cian’s back was an ashwood bow, its dark grain and expert craftsmanship evident in every curve. At his side were two short swords, almost like large hunting knives, which he handled with the practiced familiarity of someone who had spent his life wielding them.

Raven, their ever-faithful companion, prowled slightly ahead, his dark fur blending into the shadows. Every so often, he would pause, ears pricked, nose twitching as he scanned their surroundings.

As they moved deeper into the forest, Mihai took stock of their provisions and gear. In addition to the armor, Brokk had supplied him with a few useful items: a set of well-worn gloves, soft and sturdy, that allowed him to grip his twin swords without slipping, and a small leather flask attached to his belt, its burnished metal cap gleaming in the filtered sunlight. He also had a compact knife for utility and a handful of leather straps for binding his gear.

“I still can’t believe Brokk parted with this armor,” Mihai murmured as he glanced down at the studded leather, tracing the intricate stitching that held the metal studs in place.

Cian grinned, glancing over at him. “He practically had to pry it off himself,” he chuckled. “Not to mention the flask—he might have shed a tear giving that away.”

The warmth of the moment faded as they approached a darker stretch of forest, the trees pressing closer together. Shadows lengthened, and the air felt heavy, as though the land held its breath.

Raven stopped abruptly, a low growl rumbling in his throat. Mihai’s senses sharpened, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

“Something’s here,” Cian whispered, his voice barely audible. He slipped his bow from his shoulder, nocking an arrow, his eyes scanning the dense trees.

Stolen novel; please report.

From the darkness ahead, a figure slowly emerged. It was tall, its body composed of twisting branches, moss, and gnarled roots woven into a vaguely humanoid shape. Dark veins pulsed through its bark-like skin, and its eyes glowed a sickly green, filled with malice. Mihai recognized it from legends he’d heard—this was a Leshy, one of the forest guardians, but twisted and corrupted.

The Leshy’s hollow eyes fixed on them, and with a guttural groan, it raised its long, branch-like arms. The ground trembled as roots and vines sprang to life, writhing toward them with surprising speed.

Mihai moved quickly, slicing through the reaching vines with precise strikes, the studded leather armor allowing him to pivot freely. “Cian, aim for its core!” he shouted, spotting a dark knot in the creature’s chest where the corruption seemed to pulse strongest.

Cian drew his bowstring, focusing on the target, and released an arrow. The arrow sliced through the air, striking the Leshy’s core and causing it to recoil. Its arms swung toward them, a barrage of branches and roots sweeping in their direction.

Mihai sidestepped, using his swords to deflect the branches as best as he could, but the Leshy’s strength was relentless. Cian, using his agility, darted to the side, drawing another arrow, and Raven circled the creature, waiting for an opening.

With a final push, Mihai lunged forward, his swords flashing as he drove them deep into the Leshy’s core. The creature let out a low, echoing groan before collapsing into a pile of darkened wood and leaves, the corruption dissipating into the air.

They took a moment to catch their breaths, the eerie stillness returning to the forest.

“These creatures are changing,” Mihai said, frowning. “Whatever’s corrupting them is spreading fast.”

Cian nodded, his expression troubled. “If the guardians of the forest are turning, there’s no telling what else we’ll face.”

The Murky Marshlands

As they continued, the forest gradually gave way to a low, fog-laden marshland, its still pools of water reflecting the overcast sky. The air was thick with the scent of moss and stagnant water, and the ground was spongy beneath their feet.

They waded cautiously through the bog, trying to avoid the deeper pools, but the mist made it hard to see further than a few meters ahead. Raven’s ears were flattened, his posture tense, as he padded silently through the mud, eyes fixed on the shifting shadows.

A soft, melodic sound drifted toward them through the fog, a voice carrying a haunting tune that seemed to wrap around them like the mist. Mihai felt a strange pull, as though the melody were calling to him, drawing him forward.

Cian’s grip on his bow tightened. “Stay close,” he warned, his voice barely a whisper. “That… doesn’t sound natural.”

Through the haze, they saw her—a figure at the water’s edge, half-obscured by fog. She looked like a young woman, her hair flowing over her shoulders, her gaze distant and empty. But her eyes glowed with an unnatural light, and her skin seemed to fade into the mist around her.

Mihai felt a chill, recognizing her from the old stories—a Rusalka, a spirit of the water, but twisted by darkness. She sang softly, her voice like a siren’s call, beckoning them closer to the water’s edge.

The Rusalka’s eyes fixed on Mihai, her voice turning from a gentle song to a sharp, keening wail that pierced the silence. The water around her rippled, and thin, mist-like tendrils stretched out toward them, curling through the fog.

“Don’t let her lure you in,” Cian shouted, drawing his bow and aiming for her heart. He released the arrow, slowing it just before impact to increase its power.

The arrow struck, piercing her chest, and the Rusalka let out a final, anguished wail as her form dissolved into mist, the darkened aura lifting from the marsh. The mist around them cleared, and the stillness of the marsh returned.

“Each creature we face is worse than the last,” Cian said, his face pale. “If this corruption can reach them, it can reach anything.”

Mihai nodded, gripping his swords as he stared into the distance, his mind on the path ahead. “We’ll have to be ready for whatever comes next.”