The morning mist hung low over the marsh, clinging to the ground like wisps of smoke as Agan followed the others along the narrow path out of Murkrest. The village was still and quiet behind them, and the silence seemed to deepen as they moved further into the swamp. Agan adjusted the strap of his gathering basket, the weight of the empty container pulling uncomfortably against his shoulder.

Ahead of him, Nara trudged along, casting the occasional sideways glance his way. “Why the long face?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Already dreading getting a bit of mud on you?”

Agan rolled his eyes but managed a smile. “You know I don’t mind the mud. I just don’t see why they had to send half the village for roots. One of us could’ve gathered enough on our own.”

Nara smirked. “Maybe they just wanted the extra hands to keep an eye on you.”

As she spoke, a loud laugh broke through the quiet, and Agan’s smile faded as he looked up to see Garik striding confidently a few paces ahead, already leading the group as if the job was his. He walked close beside Aska, who was older and had been asked to keep everyone in line, but Garik was filling that role himself, making sure everyone knew how well he was handling it.

“Just don’t slow us down,” Garik was saying, his voice loud enough to carry. “We’re here to work, not sightsee.”

Agan’s shoulders tightened. He knew Garik’s type of encouragement too well: empty jabs meant to make him look good while reminding everyone else they weren’t as skilled. And maybe, on a good day, Agan could have shrugged it off—but today, Garik’s smug face, his loud boasts, made every muscle in Agan’s body clench.

“Does he ever shut up?” Agan muttered under his breath.

Nara nudged him with her elbow, her voice low. “Not when he knows you’re listening.”

They reached the inner pools, a series of murky, shallow basins surrounded by tangled roots and dense foliage. The air was thick here, heavy with the scent of damp soil and algae. The pools were dark and quiet, the surface coated with a layer of green slime that rippled as they drew closer.

Aska turned to address them, her gaze steady as she surveyed the group. “All right, spread out. Work in pairs if you can, and keep an eye on each other. The pools can be tricky, and it’s easy to lose your footing.”

Agan moved to the edge of one of the pools, crouching down as he dug his fingers into the mud. He felt the cool, slippery texture of algaeroot tangled beneath the surface, and he wrapped his hands around a thick strand, pulling carefully to avoid snapping it.

The work was hard and slow. The roots clung stubbornly to the mud, and Agan’s arms soon ached from the constant pulling. He tossed his first handful of roots into the basket, his fingers slick with mud, and wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, glancing around to check on the others.

Across the pool, Garik was already yanking up thick bundles of roots, tossing them into his basket with an easy, practiced confidence. He caught Agan watching and flashed him a smirk, giving his own basket an exaggerated look of pride.

“You still on your first handful, Agan?” Garik called, his voice carrying across the clearing. “At this rate, you’ll be here till sundown.”

Agan’s face flushed as he yanked harder at the root in his hands, forcing himself to keep his eyes on his work. He could feel Garik’s gaze on him, feel the smirk in the boy’s voice as he watched him struggle. Every inch of him wanted to prove that he could keep up, that he was just as capable.

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He worked faster, pulling root after root, feeling the ache in his fingers and shoulders intensify with each pull. His hands grew clumsier as the mud slipped between his fingers, but he gritted his teeth, refusing to give Garik the satisfaction of seeing him fall behind.

“Careful,” Nara murmured beside him, barely glancing up from her own task. “You’re pulling too hard.”

Agan ignored her, his focus narrowing as he dug deeper into the mud. The roots clung to the soil like stubborn vines, and he yanked harder, the effort making his arms burn. But his mind was elsewhere, fixed on Garik’s smug grin, on the way he worked so easily, as though the task was nothing.

Every glance he stole at Garik’s basket revealed it filling up steadily, each handful landing with a quiet thud. He could hear Garik laughing with Aska, his voice low but confident, as though he were leading some great expedition instead of a group of teenagers gathering roots.

Agan’s frustration simmered, and he bit back a curse as he pulled harder, his grip slipping as the root finally tore free, sending a spray of mud across his chest and arms. He wiped his hands on his pants, trying to keep his temper in check, but Garik’s voice cut through the silence once more.

“Having trouble there, Agan?” Garik called, his smirk widening as he tossed another handful of roots into his basket. “Maybe you should leave the heavy lifting to the rest of us.”

Agan felt a hot surge of anger, and his fingers tightened around the root in his hand. He wanted to snap back, to throw Garik’s words right back at him, but he held his tongue, forcing himself to focus on his work. He couldn’t let Garik get to him, not now.

He dug his hands into the mud again, his fingers searching for more roots, and felt the wiry tendrils catch against his skin. He pulled slowly, letting the roots come free in a thick, muddy bundle, and tossed them into his basket with a faint sense of satisfaction.

Garik might be faster, but Agan would finish just as strong. He was sure of it.

As the day wore on, the group worked in relative silence, each of them focused on filling their baskets as quickly as possible. Agan lost track of time, his world shrinking to the feel of the mud beneath his hands, the weight of each handful of roots, and the quiet rhythm of his own breathing.

But every so often, he glanced up, catching sight of Garik across the pool, his movements steady and confident, his basket nearly full. Agan’s irritation deepened with each glance, and he felt his own pace quicken, his hands moving faster, rougher, as he tried to keep up.

The afternoon sun began to filter through the trees, casting dappled patterns across the clearing, and Agan could feel the strain in his muscles, the dull ache in his shoulders. He knew he was pushing himself too hard, knew he should slow down. But the thought of falling behind, of giving Garik another reason to sneer, was enough to keep him going.

Just as he was pulling up another handful of roots, a faint rustling came from the edge of the clearing. Agan paused, his fingers still tangled in the mud, and glanced up, his gaze drawn to the shadowed trees beyond the pool.

There, barely visible among the thick foliage, was a dark shape moving slowly, its low, muscular form blending almost perfectly with the shadows. Agan’s breath caught as he recognized the creature—a drake, its scales glinting faintly as it prowled at the edge of the clearing.

Aska had noticed it too. She raised a hand, her voice barely a whisper as she addressed the group. “Everyone, back up slowly,” she murmured. “If we don’t move too fast, it won’t see us as a threat.”

Agan’s heart pounded as he took a careful step back, his eyes locked on the drake. It moved with a predator’s quiet grace, its head low, its eyes narrow as it watched the water. He could see the tension in its body, the faint twitch of its tail as it crouched, ready to spring at any moment.

The others began to back away, their footsteps soft against the muddy ground, and Agan followed suit, his movements slow and deliberate. His breath was shallow, his pulse loud in his ears as he kept his gaze fixed on the drake, every muscle in his body tense.

But just as he took another step, the sharp crack of breaking wood shattered the silence, and Agan’s stomach dropped.

Garik had stumbled, his foot catching on a root, and the noise echoed through the clearing like a warning shot. The drake’s head snapped up, its eyes narrowing as it locked onto the group, its body coiling as it prepared to strike.

Agan’s breath caught, and he felt a jolt of fear lance through him as he met the creature’s gaze. Its eyes were dark, hungry, filled with a cold, predatory intent.

The drake had seen them. And there was no escaping its focus now.