They sat around the fire, eating in silence. The meat Veron had found was the sort of thing you didn't ask questions about, and you ate only because you had to. It was stringy, its outer surface overcooked, yet somehow still bleeding underneath. Each bite was a struggle to keep down, and the thick, burnt air made it worse. The root didn't make it into the pot; even Esther, who chewed leather without hesitation, had wrinkled her nose at its appearance. Instead, it sat untouched beside them, twisted into the rough shape of a hand, fingers spread wide. Occasionally, someone glanced at it, but no one dared reach for it.
Thierry chewed slowly, the meat turning into paste in his mouth. Breakfast of champions. There was no joy in the meal, just a heavy weight pressing down on him, the taste lingering like ash. The thick air around them pressed down, cold and oppressive. Gods, I miss bread.
Across the fire, Emma sat up straighter, her eyes distant, brow furrowed. She seemed to shift subtly, like someone experiencing something just out of reach. She touched the base of her neck, as though she could feel something within her, something foreign moving.
"I can feel it," she said, voice soft but clear.
The words hung in the air, and the rest of them stilled.
Emma's voice remained steady, though there was an undercurrent of awe in it. "The flux. It's moving inside me. It's... shaping itself, forming on my anchor."
Thierry blinked, his mind struggling to catch up. Of course it took her one try. Of course, it's her.
Esther's gaze darkened slightly, her lips pressing into a thin line. "That was fast."
"I didn't expect it either," Emma said quietly, almost as though she were speaking to herself. "But it's real. I feel it. Something inside, in my spine. It's like... a pressure."
Lee, seated behind her, continued sharpening his axe, the motion rhythmic and methodical, his focus unwavering. "Good. We need more active anchors. Just... make sure it doesn't hollow you out."
His tone was flat, almost absent, like he was commenting on the weather rather than the heavy responsibility Emma had just placed on the table. But Emma didn't seem to mind, her attention inward, absorbed in the sensation she was experiencing.
Veron looked momentarily pleased, his expression shifting to something almost close to a grin. "That makes four of us then. A flux channeler could be useful. It would changes things if you had your chain form."
He glanced toward the horizon, where the fog lay thick and unyielding, blotting out what little view they could have had. The sky was a permanent bruise, a washed-out grey, hanging like a threat that never quite revealed its hand.
"But it doesn't change where we are," he added, voice low. "This place... it's dead. Burned from the inside. It might be a death zone."
Thierry chewed the last of his meat and swallowed, the taste leaving a sour aftertaste in his mouth. A death zone, huh? The term sounded as dramatic as the place felt. He didn't argue, though, his thoughts darkening. What are we supposed to call this place? 'The godsforsaken forest where nothing makes sense and everything wants to kill you'?
Esther's glance caught him, sharp, the weight of her stare making him sigh inwardly. There was something in her gaze—part warning, part invitation. It made his chest tighten. Say it.
Thierry looked down, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes. "There was verdance to the south," he muttered. "I climbed a tree yesterday. Beyond the fog, there's still life down there. Tall trees. Green. Untouched."
Veron's head snapped to him, his gaze unreadable, but there was something like calculation behind it. He studied Thierry for a long moment before nodding. "Then that's our direction. If there's anything to find, it'll be there. This place is spent."
He stood with a decisive movement, brushing dirt from his pants. "Pack up. We'll move in ten."
Lee didn't need to be told twice. He was already strapping his axe to his back, the motion smooth and practiced, as if they were still on a normal path rather than trudging through a dying world.
Thierry watched him for a moment before standing himself. The sky above them remained stubbornly the same—a flat, lifeless expanse of grey. It wasn't night, it wasn't day. It just... was. As if the world had stopped trying.
They moved together, the air thick around them, the path vague—a mix of ash and nothingness. They didn't speak, save for the occasional quiet exchange. The fog swallowed their movements as soon as they made them. The forest was silent, its trees brittle and black, their twisted trunks jutting like skeletal remains of something long dead.
Then, as they walked, something shifted. Not a sound, not a tremor—just an unnatural pressure that seemed to close in on them. It was subtle, like the world exhaled in the wrong direction.
Figures emerged from the mist, their forms low and contorted, as though they had been carved from tar and twisted into unnatural shapes. Their flesh writhed and folded over itself, a mass of movement that never stayed still. Strings of black moss threaded through its flesh, holding the writhing form together like a grotesque stitchwork. Without it, the thing might have collapsed under its own instability. Their heads split in two, as if something had torn them open, revealing rows of needle-like teeth that chattered in perfect rhythm. The things had six legs—maybe seven—each one ending in sharp, clicking claws.
There was no hesitation from Lee. In one smooth motion, his axe was raised, and with a single strike, it cleaved into the nearest beast. There was no ceremony, no warning. Just pure savage action. Esther's spear followed, her movements quick, a red line painting through the monsters' black flesh.
Emma flinched, raising her arm and trying to shoot her bow toward the creatures. But it was too wide, too wild—her aim was panicked, and the arrow shot high, missing by feet. She took a step back, clearly struggling to regain her composure.
Thierry, without thinking, stepped forward into the chaos. His sword was out before he could decide, and he slashed at the nearest thing, feeling the blade slide off the dense bone and into the rotting flesh beneath. It bucked away, but immediately lunged again. Thierry swung again, his arm heavy and unpracticed. The blade hit hard but wasn't clean, the monster's flesh giving way with a sickening crunch. His breath caught in his throat, and sweat dripped down his brow.
This isn't fighting, he thought bitterly. This is just flailing. This is desperation. His strikes were wild, a blur of motion but no precision. I'm just meat with a blade. I can't even do this right.
Eventually, the creatures fell, one by one. Emma, finally finding her aim, sent a bolt of flux through the last one with deadly accuracy. Lee cleaned up, his axe cutting through the remaining beasts with a series of swift, unceremonious blows.
Thierry lowered his sword, his breath ragged. He glanced back, his heart thudding in his chest, and that's when he saw it.
A stag.
It stood in the distance, half-hidden in the fog. Its body was a ruin, fur tattered and rotting, antlers gnarled and blackened. its eyes were sunken hollows, filled with pale green moss, pulsing faintly—as if one with the forest had claimed it, rooted itself in its skull, and was watching through the hollowed sockets. It didn't move. It just watched them.
Thierry blinked, the image flickering in his vision. And then—gone.
He stared, his heart skipping. Did I really see that? Or is it just... in my head?
Shaking his head, he turned and jogged to catch up with the others, trying to push the image out of his mind. The stag was gone, and they had no time for things like that.