The forest had gone dead quiet again.
Not the usual hush of cautious wildlife or the soft lull of distant wind. No—this was the silence of a place that had just remembered what lived within it.
The foul bird was gone, but it had left something else behind other than the feather. A patch of moss, ashen and still smoking, hissed quietly in the ash.
They'd found a small clearing, the remains of some long-forgotten ruin. The stone pillars were mostly shattered, the moss and vines reclaiming what had once been a proud structure. It seemed like the kind of place that could give them some semblance of rest—at least for now.
Thierry sank to the ground, his legs too weary to stand. Emma followed, her face pale, eyes darting nervously. Lee, as stoic as ever, leaned against one of the crumbling pillars. Esther sat a little farther away, scanning the tree line. Veron, meanwhile, was staring into the distance to the south—the direction the bird had fled. His eyes were distant, unfocused, like he was staring at something only he could see.
"Veron?" Esther asked, a little concerned. "You okay?"
He didn't answer right away. He just kept looking south. The silence stretched, thick with something unspoken.
Then, slowly, Veron blinked, his gaze snapping back to them, and he swayed on his feet, blood trickling from his nostrils and the corners of his eyes. His knees buckled, and he collapsed into Esther's arms.
"Veron!" she gasped, lowering him gently to the ground. His face was ashen, his breath shallow, his hands trembling.
He groaned, still barely conscious, his eyes blinking slowly. "Don't... go south," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "The damn thing's still out there."
Before anyone could react, Veron's body went limp in her arms, unconscious.
"Should we wait for him to wake up?" Emma asked quietly, glancing at the others.
Lee grimaced, his eyes scanning the forest around them. "We don't have much choice."
They settled around the fire, too shaken to sleep, too tired to do anything but wait. The ruins felt hollow, like an echo of something long forgotten, but the tension in the air was anything but empty. The forest stretched out before them, oppressive and dark. The night seemed to grow heavier with each passing second.
Thierry rolled the anchor shard in his hand, still cold, still unresponsive. Should've worked by now. Should've done something. Anything.
But no, his pleading didn't work; it stayed dormant in his hand. Just more damn waiting. This is ridiculous. What are we even doing out here? Dying slowly?
Emma sat down beside him, her brow furrowed. "What do you think we should do next?"
He looked at her, paused. The words that almost slipped out were bitter and venom-laced. Instead, he gave a tight shrug.
"We hold position. Wait for Veron." Hope the next monster finishes the job quicker.
Emma seemed about to say more but fell silent.
Then came a low growl. It was close, and it sounded wrong—not one a person could make.
The fire flickered violently, casting sharp shadows against the trees. The ground beneath them rumbled, just slightly, as though the forest itself was alive.
Weapons hissed free from their sheaths. Lee and Esther were already on their feet, poised.
"What the hell is that?" Thierry asked, voice sharp. His grip on the dagger tightened.
"It's not good," Lee muttered. "Be on guard."
The creature stepped out of the darkness.
It looked like a deer—if someone had tried to recreate one from memory while having never seen one alive. Limbs too long, joints bent wrong, stretched skin like old paper, ribs jutting like knives. Its eyes gleamed like glass, vacant and endless, with moss growing out of them.
It didn't just stand there. It lunged.
Esther reacted first, her spear shooting forward with practiced grace. The creature dodged with impossible speed, screeching as it slashed at her. Lee moved in with his axe, wide arcs cutting through the firelight.
Thierry barely had time to breathe before it was on him. He lashed out with his shortsword—useless. The blade scraped off its hide like it was cutting stone.
This isn't a fight. This is suicide.
"Retreat!" Lee shouted.
They scrambled, crashing through brush, ducking claws, stumbling over roots. The thing followed, unrelenting. It screeched whilst it chased them like prey.
"We can't fight it!" Esther grunted, her spear wrenched from her hands by the creature's hooves.
They ran like cowards. No—worse than that. They were prey.
The forest swallowed them.
Only when the screeches faded did they stop, gasping, crouched in the dark, every heartbeat loud enough to echo.
Thierry slumped against a tree. His hands trembled, sweat slicking his back. We're not ready for this. We were never ready. This was a mistake. All of it. I should've never come here...
He looked at Emma, Lee, then Esther, and finally down at Veron, still out cold. And I said yes. I followed him out here. I gave Emma some hope. I played along, like some brave little fool. I should've known better.
Minutes dragged by, but Veron didn't stir.
Thierry's thoughts clawed through his head—memories of ash, of breathless terror, of screaming beasts. It would've been me. That thing would've killed me. I froze like a damn amateur. Like a useless bastard. What's the point of acting calm if you can't do anything when it matters?
Finally, Veron stirred.
His eyes fluttered open, unfocused. He stared at the canopy for a long moment, then blinked and tried to sit up. He groaned as pain stabbed through him.
"They're coming," he rasped. "The damn thing—it's a Sentinel."
Lee went still. Esther paled.
"A Sentinel?" Lee echoed, voice hoarse. "Veron, are you sure?"
Veron nodded, blood still smeared across his face. "It's not just a beast. It's something older. Alive in ways it shouldn't be, It remembers."
"It's the forest's guardian," he added. "And we're not supposed to be here."
Thierry's stomach twisted.
We were never supposed to be here.
Lee's jaw clenched. "Once we're marked by a Sentinel… we're dead. It doesn't forget. It doesn't stop."
"And that thing we fought?" Esther asked. "A scout?"
Veron gave a weak nod. "A warning."
Emma's voice trembled. "What do we do now?"
Veron's eyes half-closed again. "Can't go south. Not without facing the nest. It was watching... and something else is there. I saw it, but... it's slipping."
Thierry stared at him, jaw tight.
So what now? March to death one step at a time? Wait until one of us get ripped apart until someone's chain finally snaps? That's the plan?
But he didn't speak. He couldn't.
He just breathed in and out. He couldn't help but feel useless and it made him frustrated at himself.
Veron slumped back, unconscious again.
The silence returned—thick, suffocating. Lee finally spoke.
"We'll start moving south. Carefully without going too deep. We can't survive a direct fight. But we need answers for whatever's down there… maybe we'll find something or die trying."
Thierry didn't respond. Not out loud.
Of course, we'll die trying. That's the whole damn plan, isn't it?
He leaned back against the tree, trying to steady his breath. The cold shard of the anchor was still in his palm. Still nothing. Still dead.
His thoughts circled, clawed and screamed.
But he said nothing.
He just closed his eyes and let sleep take him.