Chapter 2: Shadows in the Mist
The fog hung low over the barracks as Aric stepped out into the chilly morning air, his boots sinking slightly into the damp ground. Each breath he took was visible, a fleeting wisp in the gray haze. The once-vibrant banners of the Forgotten Legion fluttered weakly in the cold wind, their colors dulled by time and neglect. He tightened the straps of his armor, feeling the weight of responsibility press heavily on his shoulders. Every member of the legion looked to him now—not just as a commander, but as the only hope to restore their honor.
The camp was unusually quiet. Normally, the clanging of training swords and the grunts of soldiers filled the morning, but today the silence felt oppressive, almost unnatural. Aric scanned the surroundings, his eyes narrowing. Something was off. The scouts had reported nothing unusual, yet his instincts screamed otherwise.
Moving toward the training grounds, he noticed shadows flickering between the barracks. He froze, hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword. The shadows shifted, elongating unnaturally with the rising sun. Were they deserters? Thieves? Or something far worse that he could not yet name? His pulse quickened as he considered the possibilities.
"Commander Aric," a voice called softly from behind him. It was Lysandra, the legion's strategist, her cloak damp from the mist. Her piercing eyes reflected concern. "I've been going over the patrol reports. Something is definitely amiss. Supplies have gone missing, and several scouts haven't returned."
Aric's jaw tightened. "How long has this been happening?"
"Two weeks," she replied. "At first, we thought it was minor theft, but then we found signs of careful planning. Whoever is behind this is skilled, methodical. They know our routines better than we do."
Aric frowned. The words dug into him like a blade. He had underestimated how fragile their situation had become. The Forgotten Legion had once been the kingdom's most feared force, but now they were shadows of their former selves, struggling against enemies they could not even see.
"Gather the captains," Aric said finally, voice steady despite the turmoil within. "We need a full council at first light. Every patrol route, every sentry post, every weak point in our defenses—we'll review them all. We cannot allow another failure."
As Lysandra hurried away, Aric turned his gaze toward the northern hills. The mist rolled down like waves, concealing the jagged landscape. Somewhere within that gray veil, he knew, danger lurked. His mind wandered briefly to the rumors he had heard months ago—whispers of rogue warbands, remnants of old enemies thought long defeated. Could they have returned? And if so, why now, when the Legion was at its weakest?
The sound of hooves on stone brought him back to the present. A messenger approached at a gallop, hood pulled tight against the damp. Aric recognized him immediately as Kael, one of his most trusted riders. Kael skidded to a halt, catching his breath before speaking.
"Commander! Urgent news from the northern perimeter. A squad of our men encountered unknown figures last night. They've reported strange markings on the trees, symbols none of us recognize. One patrol was missing entirely. The rest barely made it back alive."
Aric's hand closed around the hilt of his sword. Strange symbols. Missing men. Everything Lysandra had said suddenly clicked into place. This was no ordinary raid; this was something far more sinister.
"Lead me there," he ordered. "I need to see these markings myself."
The ride to the northern perimeter was tense. The fog clung to the riders, muffling their horses' hooves and swallowing the sounds of the forest. Aric's mind raced, reviewing every piece of intelligence he had. They had trained for battle, yes—but never against an enemy that moved in shadows, an enemy that struck without warning or mercy.
When they arrived, the scene was eerily silent. The trees bore crude carvings, jagged and sharp, etched into their bark as though by claws rather than tools. Aric dismounted, running his fingers over the symbols. He did not understand them, but he felt their menace. They radiated something dark, something that gnawed at the edges of his consciousness.
"We'll send scouts to decipher these symbols," Aric said finally. "And I want doubled patrols tonight. No one goes out alone."
Kael nodded. "Understood, Commander. But…there's more."
Aric's gaze sharpened. "What is it?"
"The remaining members of the northern squad…they spoke of whispers in the mist. Voices, Commander. They didn't see anyone, but they felt watched, and they claim shadows moved against them. They've requested leave—they're terrified."
Aric's stomach tightened. He had faced fear many times, but this was different. This was primal, unnatural, and the kind that did not respect courage or loyalty.
"Fear is a weapon," he said quietly. "And we cannot allow it to win. Ready the men. Tonight, we watch. We wait. And when they strike, we will be ready."
The fog deepened as night fell, swallowing the perimeter in a cold, suffocating embrace. Aric stood at the edge of the clearing, cloak fluttering in the wind, eyes fixed on the darkness. Somewhere in that haze, the enemy waited. And the Forgotten Legion would rise—or be extinguished entirely.