The ancient cobblestone path beneath our feet offered a strange contrast to the twisted chaos of vegetation that closed in on either side of the gorge. The stones, polished by countless years, seemed to radiate an unnatural stillness amidst the shifting Veil. There was something comforting yet unsettling about treading a purposefully created path in a world that seemed to have forgotten all structure.
We followed the footprints. They were clear in the dust and moss, fresh, with the distinctive shape of humanoid boots. Lune led the way, her eyes glued to the ground, following the trail with intense concentration. Gustave, at her side, moved forward with his hand on the hilt of his sword, his stance tense and ready. Maelle and Sciel stood close behind, their faces reflecting a mixture of wariness and the same cautious hope I felt: the possibility of finding others.
"Do you think they're from a previous expedition?" Maelle whispered, the silence broken only by the sound of our footsteps.
"Could be," Sciel replied, his voice low. "Reports of failed expeditions often stop abruptly. We never knew if they simply vanished into the Fade or if they found... other destinations."
"Other expeditions... of erased ages," I muttered, the thought bringing with it a wave of melancholy. Imagining groups of people, perhaps my elders from a few years ago, walking this same path, facing similar dangers, only to be claimed by the Painter or the outside world... It was a grim reminder of our own impending doom.
"If they're from an ancient expedition, I doubt we'll find any survivors," Gustave said with grim realism. "Time in the Fade... is not kind to what's left behind. They could be... what's left of them." The implication was clear: creatures or wraiths formed by the Painter's magic from the missing. The thought chilled my blood.
Lune stopped us, crouching down next to a particularly clear print. She examined it carefully. "I don't think they're that old," she said finally. "The edge is crisp. There's not much accumulation of dust or moisture. Maybe... days. Not weeks or months."
The news brought a new kind of tension. Who were they? Travelers? Inhabitants of the fractured lands? Were they friendly or hostile? In a world where survival is everything, strangers with pure intentions were rare.
As we continued, the path began to gently descend. The air grew heavier, laden with a sweet, cloying fragrance that made my stomach churn. The vegetation along the path changed, becoming more lush, with vibrantly colored but grotesquely shaped flowers that seemed to pulse faintly in the darkness. The contrast with Lumière's gray and the pallor of the forest outside was jarring. It was beautiful, yes, but a sickly and disturbing beauty, as if the Painter herself had attempted to recreate life, but with a touch of death.
"Stay together," Gustave warned. "Whatever grew this... is probably watching it."
My intuition, my sense of rhythm, began to itch. It wasn't the clear sign of imminent combat as with the Feroz, but rather a diffuse sense of presence, of multiple presences, static, waiting. They were close. Very close.
I raised my hand, signaling halt. My companions stopped, their gazes on me questioningly. "I sense... presences up ahead," I whispered. "They're not moving. They're... waiting. Several."
Gustave nodded seriously. "Lune, can you confirm that?"
Lune closed her eyes for a moment, concentrating, her nostrils flaring slightly as she inhaled the fragrant air. She opened her eyes. "Yes. Multiple. Hidden. Ahead, where the road seems to curve."
We silently drew our weapons. Sciel's crossbow, Maelle's key, Lune's bow, Gustave's sword, and my own. We moved even more cautiously, each step calculated, each shadow a possible hiding place.
The road turned sharply to the right. Around the bend, the path opened up into a small natural gazebo, flanked by the same twisted trees and grotesque flowers. And there, in the middle of the gazebo, waiting, was a group of figures.
They weren't creatures. They were humanoids, dressed in strange, ragged clothes, adorned with vibrant, wilted flowers. They stood motionless, staring at us with empty eyes, some holding primitive weapons like clubs or rusty knives. They seemed... unbalanced, as if the Veil's influence had eroded their sanity.
There were six of them. There were five of us. The tension could have been cut with a knife. No one spoke. Only the whisper of the wind in the sickly leaves and the rapid beat of my own heart.
Gustave took a step forward, his voice clear and firm despite the situation. "We don't want any trouble. We're just passing through."
One of the figures, the one who seemed to be in charge, bowed his head, his empty eyes fixed on us. He didn't speak, but made a sound, a kind of low, unpleasant gurgle. Then, slowly, he raised his club.
There was no room for negotiation. They were hostile.
"Get ready!" Gustave shouted.
The figures charged, their movements strangely jerky but swift. The fight broke out again, more frantic this time given the enemy's numerical superiority.
The leader headed straight for Gustave, relying on his brute strength. My peripheral vision registered Maelle and Sciel fending off two others, while Lune tried to gain space to use her bow against those approaching us.
I faced one wielding a knife. His eyes were bulging, madness evident in his gaze. He lunged at me with an inhuman scream. My mind entered the familiar state of concentration. The rhythm. Sensing the attack, anticipating it.
The knife swung in a wide, wild arc. Too wide. My intuition screamed that there was an opening. I dodged to the side instead of back, a risky move but one that left me to the side of my opponent. I wasted no time. My blade swung, aiming for an unprotected area under his arm. Cut! A cry of pain.
But I couldn't focus solely on my own. I saw Maelle struggling with her attacker, almost overcome with aggression. "Maelle, to your left!" I shouted, trying to warn her.
Gustave was pinning down the leader, his defense impenetrable, but unable to launch a decisive offensive. We needed to reduce the enemy force quickly.
Lune, with astonishing accuracy, fired two arrows in succession. One struck the neck of an attacker approaching Sciel, the other lodged in the chest of another trying to flank Gustave. Two less.
My opponent, wounded, was still dangerous. He recovered and charged again, more savagely than before. This time, I couldn't completely dodge. I had to parry his attack with my sword, the impact vibrating in my arm. Clang! The force of the blow knocked me back a step.
"Watch out!" Maelle shouted, having already knocked down her own attacker with a crushing blow from her wrench.
I used the momentum of the parry to launch an immediate counterattack, moving with the fluidity that came with practice, combining quick thrusts and slashes. My attacker, already weakened, was unable to defend against the flurry. He fell to the ground with a groan.
Only two remained, focused on Gustave and Sciel. With my hands now free, I rushed to assist Sciel, whose knowledge of the ancient texts did not make him invincible in close combat, despite his crossbow. Just as one of the attackers lunged at him, I intercepted his blow with my sword. Gustave, finally freed from his main opponent (whom he had left incapacitated, but not dead), joined the fray, his strength quickly deciding the fate of the last enemy.
The gazebo fell silent again, broken only by our heavy breathing and the muffled groans of the defeated attackers. We stood guard for a moment longer, reassuring ourselves that the threat had passed.
We had faced other humans, or what remained of them, distorted by the Veil's influence. They were a reminder that the danger in these lands came not only from creatures, but also from the desperation and madness the Painter sowed.
"They were... empty," Sciel murmured, looking at the unconscious or dying attackers. "Like husks. The Painter... she doesn't just erase. She also corrupts."
The forgotten path had led us to a dangerous encounter, but also to a grim new understanding of the outside world. The footprints had led us here. Where would they lead us now? The trail continued ahead, disappearing into the darkness of the gorge. We were farther from Lumière than ever, and the path ahead felt even more uncertain.
With the dust of the first humanoid engagement still in the air and the sickly fragrance of grotesque flowers in our nostrils, Expedition 33 prepared to move on, wondering what other echoes of the past, or terrors of the present, awaited us in the Fade.