The morning after the fog-choked night, Liora could hardly move. Her limbs ached from the marsh, her mind was frayed from fear, and yet sleep had eluded her entirely. The rune charm lay heavy in her palm, its faint warmth a constant reminder that the Beast was not gone, only waiting.
By midmorning, she found herself at the edge of the village, walking toward the old stone chapel at the far end of the hills. It had been abandoned for decades, but her grandmother had once whispered that it marked the boundary between the living and the old ways—the place where the first settlers had attempted to bind the curse long ago.
The air was crisp, the kind of cold that pinched cheeks and made breath visible. Liora's boots crunched over frostbitten grass as she approached the chapel, its moss-covered walls rising like a silent sentinel. The fog from the night before lingered low in the valleys beyond, curling and creeping like a living thing. She felt eyes upon her, though the grounds were empty.
"Liora."
She froze. The voice was soft, deliberate, coming from behind the chapel. She turned and saw Corren emerge from the shadows, staff in hand. Their cloak was damp and streaked with mud from the marsh.
"You're persistent," she said, trying to keep her voice steady.
Corren's storm-colored eyes narrowed. "You walked the marsh last night. I should have expected you wouldn't stay indoors."
"I had to know," she said. "I need to understand what I'm dealing with."
Corren sighed, and for a moment their usual stern expression softened. "Understanding comes with danger. The more you know, the more you put yourself in its path."
Liora frowned. "Then you'll tell me."
They regarded her for a long moment. Then Corren gestured toward the chapel. "Inside, there are records. Old texts left by those who first encountered the Beast. You need to see them. If you are to survive, you must understand its history."
The door of the chapel creaked as they pushed it open. Inside, dust motes danced in stray sunlight, and broken pews lined the cracked stone floor. The air smelled of mildew and time, and the wind whispered through gaps in the roof.
At the far end, Corren pulled aside a loose wall panel. Behind it was a small alcove containing bundles of scrolls and tomes, bound with leather straps, the leather cracked with age.
"These," Corren said, "contain everything we know about the Shape-Walker."
Liora knelt and opened the nearest tome. The script was old, curling at the edges, but she could read it with effort. The first pages were mundane: names, dates, chronicling floods, droughts, and village births. But then came illustrations—sketches of a beast-like figure, shifting between human and animal forms, eyes hauntingly human even in the most monstrous sketches.
"The curse," Corren said, kneeling beside her, "was not born of magic alone. It was born of grief, betrayal, and unnatural binding. Long ago, a woman named Maren was wronged by her lover, a man of the village, and in her rage, she was bound by the village elders to prevent her wrath from consuming them. They combined ritual, iron, and blood magic to trap her between forms. Half woman, half beast, never free, but never fully gone. They called her a Shape-Walker."
Liora's hands trembled. "So… the woman I saw…"
"Yes," Corren said. "Maren's spirit remains, trapped in every incarnation of the Beast. Each time it returns, it searches for release, for someone who can see her truth beneath the horror."
"And it's chosen me," Liora said softly, almost to herself.
Corren didn't answer immediately. They unrolled a scroll carefully, revealing diagrams of the marsh, ritual circles, and symbols marked with runes similar to those on the charm she still carried. "It may not have chosen you entirely by chance," Corren said at last. "Your blood carries something… an affinity. A sight beyond the ordinary. You can see it, perhaps even free it—but you must be prepared."
Liora's stomach tightened. "Free it… or be taken by it."
"Exactly," Corren said grimly. "You will need knowledge, patience, and courage. The Beast will not surrender willingly."
She leaned over the scrolls, tracing the diagrams. "How did they trap her?" she asked.
"Through binding," Corren said. "They tethered her essence to the marsh itself, to the fog, to certain stones and wards placed around the village boundaries. Every few generations, when the signs return—the thickened fog, the restless animals, the disturbed graves—the Beast awakens. It seeks balance, seeking either freedom or a host. Sometimes it chooses death. Sometimes it chooses another to inhabit."
"Another?" Liora's voice caught. "Do you mean—"
"Yes," Corren said. "Someone like you could become the vessel if you are not careful."
The wind rattled the chapel roof, and a faint scratching sound echoed from outside. Liora's heart jumped. She closed her eyes and pressed the rune charm to her chest.
"Stay calm," Corren said, reading her expression. "That's the first test. It listens, it learns. It senses fear."
They spent hours going through the records, Corren pointing out symbols, markings, and rituals that had once restrained Maren, some partially effective, some disastrous. A pattern emerged: the Beast was drawn to those with latent abilities—people who could perceive its duality. Most did not survive the first encounter; those who did were forever changed.
When the sun dipped toward evening, Corren finally said, "We have enough for now. You must return home. Memorize the symbols, the stones, and the wards. Tomorrow, we go to the marsh. You need to see the places where the original bindings failed."
Liora's throat tightened. "I'm not ready."
"No one is," Corren said. "But waiting will not save you. You have been chosen. The Beast will not wait for your courage."
That night, Liora lay awake again, the candle flickering on her nightstand. She tried to remember everything Corren had shown her: the symbols etched into stones, the layout of the marsh, the ritual sequences. Her mind spun with names, dates, and warnings.
Then the voice came again. Soft, almost a whisper.
"Liora… help me…"
She bolted upright, clutching the charm. The air was thick, humid even inside the room. The shadows seemed to move independently, stretching toward her as though drawn by her heartbeat.
"Who are you?" she demanded, voice trembling.
"I am Maren," the voice said, low and mournful. "I am trapped… and you can see me."
The candle flared violently. The room grew cold. Liora's breath came in shallow gasps. She pressed the charm closer to her chest, feeling the faint pulse of energy through it.
"Why me?" she asked.
"Because you can see through the Beast's shape," the voice said. "You have the sight… the understanding. Others cannot help me. You can. Or you can fail. It will come for you. Soon."
The sound of claws scraping across the floorboards made her spin around, but the room was empty. Only shadows danced against the walls.
Her hands shook. The rune charm warmed again, pulsing like a heartbeat. She whispered, "I'll help you. Somehow… I'll help you."
The fog pressed against her window, thick and suffocating. The wind carried a faint, sorrowful howl from the marsh beyond. It sounded different now, almost pleading.
Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow, she would follow Corren into the marsh and face the Beast.
But tonight… tonight, the Beast waited, patient, watching, and listening.