The four adventurers set out at dawn, leaving the towering gates of Caelburn behind. The city's noise dulled into the distance, replaced by boots striking packed earth and the soft rustle of wind through the fields. The great millennia tree still loomed faintly against the horizon, its crown shimmering in morning haze like an ancient guardian.
Lyra strode ahead with an eager spring in her step, daggers swaying at her sides. She cast a playful look back.
"So… childhood friends, huh? You fight together like you've been sparring since before you could walk."
Emi offered a polite smile, her staff resting against her shoulder. "We've known each other a long time. That's all there is to it."
Lyra narrowed her eyes, clearly unconvinced. "Long time, huh? That doesn't explain the way you two move. I've seen veterans fight with less coordination."
Kaelen spoke before Lyra could dig further, her calm voice steady. "What she means is—you've been trained. Stances like yours don't come from luck."
Altheron chuckled softly, not denying it outright. "Maybe we just had someone who pushed us harder than most. It left its mark."
For a moment, Emi glanced his way and smiled faintly, as though grateful he hadn't closed himself off completely.
"Tch, fine. Keep your secrets," Lyra muttered, spinning one of her daggers as she marched forward again.
By midday, the farms grew sparser. The soil darkened in patches, cracked and dry where it should have been fertile. A scarecrow slumped in the distance, half-rotted, crows perched fearlessly on its shoulders.
Kaelen's steady gaze swept the fields. "This land is sick."
Emi frowned. "The guild report mentioned blight, but… this feels unnatural. Like something eating from below."
Altheron crouched near a ditch, running a hand across brittle grass. His expression grew grim. "The roots are dying. Something is poisoning them."
Lyra tilted her head. "Poisoning them? By what?"
He rose, shaking his head. "I don't know. But it's not just blight. This is… corruption."
The word lingered like a shadow.
The stench hit them first—metallic and sour, like rotting meat left too long in the sun.
Then came the sound. A chorus of guttural screeches, crawling across the wind.
From the brush ahead, they emerged.
Goblins.
But twisted.
Their skin was gray-green, mottled with black veins that pulsed like worms beneath their flesh. Their eyes burned with a sickly yellow glow, and jagged claws jutted out where nails should be. Patches of their bodies were fused with bark, bone, or stone, as though the land itself had tried to remake them into something monstrous.
Lyra's daggers flashed into her hands. "What in all the hells—?"
Kaelen raised her shield with practiced calm, planting her feet. "Form up. They're not natural."
The first goblin screeched and charged. Altheron stepped forward, blade flashing in a clean arc. Its head rolled, ichor spraying the dirt.
But instead of fear, the other goblins grew frenzied. Their shrieks rose in a unified howl, vibrating through the air like some grotesque signal.
More burst from the thickets—ten, then fifteen.
Emi's staff swung, cracking a skull. "They're coming too fast!"
Kaelen braced as three slammed against her shield, claws scraping. She shoved back with raw strength, her sword darting out to stab one through the throat. Another leapt past—only for Lyra to spin and bury her daggers in its spine.
One goblin, half-fused with bark, slashed at Altheron. Its claws caught his armguard, leaving black scorch-marks where they grazed. He gritted his teeth, slicing its torso open—yet the wound bubbled, the flesh knitting back unnaturally.
"Regeneration?!" he spat.
"They're mutating!" Emi cried, driving her staff down into another's jaw. "This isn't ordinary corruption—it's spreading through their bodies."
Altheron's eyes hardened. He struck again, this time aiming for the head, cleaving clean through. The body twitched before collapsing, ichor hissing as it touched the soil.
The fight dragged on, every kill demanding precision. Miss a head strike, and the creatures staggered back up, snarling with cracked jaws and twitching limbs. The air reeked with death and burning rot.
At last, with coordinated effort—the shield holding, the daggers darting, the staff cracking, and Altheron's blade carving—they stood victorious.
The corrupted corpses lay still, their yellow eyes fading to black. The ground where they died was scorched, grass withering instantly.
Panting, Lyra wiped ichor from her cheek. "That… was no ordinary goblin band."
Kaelen nodded, eyes grim. "If even the weakest monsters are twisted like this… then something worse is waiting deeper in."
Altheron cleaned his blade, staring at the blackened soil. His voice was low. "This isn't a simple village quest anymore. The dungeon's corruption is leaking."
As silence settled over the clearing, Altheron felt the faintest movement from within his cloak. His hand brushed against the egg he always carried—the same egg he had retrieved long ago in the depths of a dungeon with his father. It quivered once, as though reacting to the lingering corruption in the air.
That night, they made camp beneath sparse trees, the moonlight silvering their faces. The fire crackled low, casting long shadows across weary expressions.
The earlier questions returned. Kaelen leaned forward, voice steady. "Forgive my asking again, but… both of you carry yourselves with a weight I rarely see in young adventurers. Were you trained by someone?"
Altheron glanced at Emi. She gave a faint nod, as though telling him it was alright to say something.
He scratched his cheek lightly, looking almost sheepish. "Yeah. Someone important to us. He wasn't easy on us, but… without him, we wouldn't be here."
It was vague, but far warmer than silence. For once, he didn't look like he was pushing the world away.
Emi smiled softly at his words, then added, "We're just childhood friends from far off. Nothing grand. We… prefer to keep it simple."
Kaelen inclined her head, satisfied. Lyra groaned dramatically. "Gods, you two are mysterious. You sound like a bard's setup for some tragic ballad."
Altheron chuckled quietly this time, shaking his head. "Let's hope not. I've had enough tragedy to last a lifetime."
The group fell into a quieter rhythm, firelight warming their guarded words. For a fleeting moment, under moonlight and drifting embers, it felt almost like trust.
Much later, when the others slept, Altheron alone kept watch. His eyes wandered eastward, to where the millennia tree loomed faintly under moonlight.
The wind stirred. For a heartbeat, he heard it—a voice, faint as breath yet heavy as earth.
"Soon… the roots will hollow. When bark becomes husk and heartwood bleeds, the great tree shall fall. In its corpse, a dungeon shall rise. Will thee chosen one save it, or shall darkness claim all?"
Altheron's hand gripped his sword unconsciously. He turned toward his companions—their slumber peaceful, unaware.
He exhaled slowly. "…No one else heard that."
But the words clung to him like chains. And far beyond, something old and terrible stirred beneath the soil.