The land changed as they pushed inland. The lush forest gave way to marshy ground, where each step sank ankle-deep in muck and clouds of biting insects buzzed in their ears. Strange reeds as tall as men swayed without wind, their hollow stalks groaning like pipes in the distance.
The air smelled of rot and iron.
Elira swatted at gnats as she slogged forward, muttering to herself. "This ecosystem… it shouldn't exist beside the forest. It's as if whole climates bleed into each other unnaturally here."
Ronan flicked a leech off his boot and grunted. "Whatever it is, it stinks. I'd take sirens over this."
Edric moved at the front, his eyes scanning constantly. His blade was out, but not for beasts. The silence here was wrong. Too heavy. Too watchful.
They came upon it suddenly—a clearing where the reeds parted around a circle of churned mud. Dozens of carcasses lay strewn about: beasts, not men, but each twisted, blackened, drained of color as though their very essence had been pulled from them.
The stench was unbearable.
Elira gagged, covering her nose. "They… they weren't eaten. They were emptied." She crouched beside one, running her trembling fingers near the brittle skin. "No blood. No life left at all."
Ronan scowled, resting a hand on his dagger. "So what, something drained them? What kind of beast does that?"
Edric's jaw clenched. "Not a beast."
In the center of the clearing was a mark carved deep into the earth: a jagged spiral of ash and char, still smoldering faintly though no fire had touched the marsh.
The moment Elira's eyes fell on it, she froze. "This… isn't natural. It's deliberate. Someone made this."
Edric stepped closer, his hand tightening on his hilt. "A warning. Or a signature."
The mark pulsed faintly, like a heartbeat.
For a fleeting second, Edric thought he heard something behind him—a whisper too faint to catch. He spun, but there was only mist and reeds. Still, his skin prickled with dread.
Elira rose, pale and shaken. "I've read scattered reports—only fragments, rumors from sailors who escaped the continent. They spoke of a… figure. A shadow who preys on everything here, even the natives. They called him many things, but one name kept repeating."
Her voice dropped. "The Pale King."
Ronan snorted, but there was no humor in it. "Sounds like a bedtime story. Still, if he can do this—" He gestured at the withered beasts. "—then I'm not sure I want to meet him outside of a bedtime story."
Edric sheathed his sword with deliberate calm, though his stomach churned. "Stories or not, someone left this for us to see. Which means they know we're here."
As they pressed onward, none of them spoke much. The marsh gave way to firmer ground, but the silence followed them. No birds, no insects—just the faint impression of being watched.
Ronan walked with his hand always at his sidearm. Elira kept her eyes darting between shadows.
And Edric… Edric walked with his head high, even as unease coiled in his chest. He would not bend to fear. Not to the land, not to its natives, not to some Pale King whispered of in rumors.
But even as he thought it, the hairs on his neck stood on end.
Somewhere, unseen, something moved when they moved. Stopped when they stopped. Waiting. Watching.