/> Lore Insert – Journal of High Seer Vorell, Year 11 After Eradication
"There were whispers that the curse did not die with the demons. That in certain wild regions, corrupted mana still lingers, seeping into beasts, roots, and even water. We call them 'Miasma Zones' now—unclaimed places where divinity recoils and nature warps. The Church denies their existence. But I have seen them. And I have buried those who came back... wrong."
---
The wind shifted as the shrine disappeared behind them.
They moved deeper into the forest now, navigating toward a rumored side-dungeon entrance hidden near the cliffs. The fog thickened the farther they went, muting the birdsong and swallowing the poachers' laughter until the only sound left was the crackle of undergrowth underfoot.
Kael's legs ached. His hands were blistered from gripping the dagger too tight. But he kept moving, always ten steps behind, silent and watching.
He'd memorized their names by now though none had asked for his.
The hawk-nosed leader: Dren
The sarcastic knife thrower: Jarik
The hulking brute with a scar across his neck: Bruke
The one who joked too much: Fenn
And the two quiet ones: Laz and Torn, both archers
They were killers, scavengers of monsters and men alike. But Kael wasn't afraid of them.
He was afraid of being forgotten again.
---
By mid-afternoon, the group reached a clearing where the trees formed a near-perfect circle. Moss coated the stones, and the air smelled faintly metallic.
"We rest here," Dren announced. "The entrance is close."
Kael dropped his satchel and knelt, catching his breath. The forest felt… wrong here. Colder. Still. Like something watched from behind the trees.
As the others gathered firewood, he stepped away for a moment. His eyes wandered to a fallen log, half-eaten by rot. The bark had strange black patterns swirling along its length, like veins beneath translucent skin.
He reached out to touch it--
"Don't," a voice barked.
Kael snapped his hand back. It was Laz.
The archer stepped forward, gaze narrowed. "That's miasma rot. You breathe too much of it in, it starts changing your thoughts."
Kael blinked. "You've seen it before?"
Laz didn't answer. He just walked away.
But Kael saw the tremble in his fingers.
---
That night, around the fire, they roasted the day's kill a two-headed boar with glowing yellow eyes and bony spines along its back.
It shouldn't have been in this region. Not this far south.
Kael didn't eat. He wasn't sure why, but the meat smelled off. Too sweet, like spoiled fruit. He drank water from his flask instead, then sat by the fire reading from the Memoirs.
He lingered on one passage:
> "The hero bled from every wound, yet stood. His shadow split the light. His silence roared. Even the angels hesitated."
He could almost see it himself, standing at the center of a ruined battlefield, blood running from his mouth, eyes glowing red beneath the stars.
A monster… feared by gods.
---
"Hey, runt," Jarik said, throwing a bone at him. "Still dreaming?"
Kael caught the bone midair.
"Always."
Fenn chuckled. "That book's going to get you killed."
"I'd rather die chasing something," Kael replied, "than live crawling like the rest of you."
That silenced the group for a second.
Then Dren stood. "Enough noise. Get ready. We move at dawn."
---
Kael slept lightly that night, curled near the edge of the fire pit.
He dreamt again.
This time, he stood in a forest of bones. Every tree bled, and the sky dripped red mist. A woman's voice whispered to him, soft as silk.
> "You are not lost, child. You are returning."
He saw a pool in the distance black water under a blood moon.
And in it, a face like his stared back. But with fangs.
---
He woke to silence.
The fire was out.
The camp was empty.
For a moment, Kael thought they were scouting.
Then he saw the boot prints leading away.
None coming back.
His satchel had been moved. His dagger, taken. The Memoirs were gone too.
He searched the entire glade, calling their names, pacing in every direction.
No one answered.
No trail returned.
---
They'd left him.
Alone.
---
Kael sat on a stump, shaking with rage and something deeper disbelief. He wasn't worth robbing, not really. So why leave him?
"Bastards…"
He stumbled toward the tree line, but the fog was thicker now. The forest pressed in, branches like hands, thorns snagging his clothes.
He didn't know which direction led out anymore.
His legs failed first.
Then the hunger hit.
---
By noon, he was crawling.
By dusk, he could barely move.
Everything blurred into hunger and pain. His body burned from the inside out, his blood boiling, throat like sand.
He lay at the base of a crooked tree, staring up at the distorted sky.
Something was growing inside him.
---
He could feel it.
---
End of Chapter 3