Ludwig's group pushed forward, deeper into the choking embrace of the forested island. Every step seemed to sink them into a world less concerned with time and more preoccupied with suffocation. The thorny branches above interwove into a ceiling that choked out the sky, and the vines below slithered and tangled around roots like veins around diseased bone. Mist clung to the ground in heavy tendrils, making it harder to tell what was air and what was mold creeping toward their lungs.
The Vampire Hunters were doing their best to maintain a sense of formation, barking hushed commands and trying to keep some rhythm to their movement. But the weight of the place was pressing on them. The trees here didn't just loom—they leered. The earth didn't just breathe—it pulsed. The mist wasn't just dense—it felt sentient.
